When I first met Emily, I didn’t picture things heading in the direction they did. We ended up as roommates mostly out of convenience—her ad for the spare bedroom popped up right when my lease was ending and Boston housing is a nightmare. She was a senior at BU, majoring in English Lit, and everything about her just screamed bright, quirky, and frustratingly beautiful. She had this effortless sense of humor, always wore her hair in messy buns, and had a pile of books in literally every corner of the apartment. I figured we’d get along just fine, if not for the fact that she was exactly my type.
We spent the first couple weeks being cautiously friendly, late-night binge-watching Netflix and swapping horror stories about exes and disasters. It was pure friendship, or at least I kept telling myself that. I knew she’d had a boyfriend most of junior year, I knew she was straight (enough), and I didn’t want to be the reason the vibe at home got weird. But between the shared bowls of ice cream and our accidental hand-brushes during Mario Kart, I couldn’t stop feeling the pull.
Things started to change one Friday night. Emily came home after a late shift at the coffee shop, cheeks flushed with the cold, and collapsed next to me on the couch. I was already halfway through a stupid romcom, and she flopped her legs into my lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Dude, I’m dead. Give me the remote,” she groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it. Her pajama shorts rode up, exposing more of her pale thighs than I’d ever seen. I tried not to stare, not to make anything out of it, but her skin was so soft and inviting. She arched her foot into my hip, teasing, but maybe she didn’t even notice. Maybe I was just losing my mind.
“Rough day?” I managed, shifting my legs as subtly as possible.
“Ugh, you have no idea,” she sighed, letting her head loll against my shoulder. “People are the worst.”
I laughed a little, flipping through the channels. “At least you get tips, right?”
Emily smirked and finally looked up at me. “Maybe you should give me a massage as a tip.”
It was such a casual, off-the-cuff comment, but something in her eyes lingered. I looked away, pretending I hadn’t caught the way her tongue darted out for a second to wet her lips. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, but I settled for squeezing her calf, playfully.
This routine went on for a couple weeks—little teasing jokes, slightly too-long hugs, conspiratorial midnight chats. I kept second-guessing: was she flirting, or just being friendly? Sometimes I’d catch her watching me from across the kitchen, eyes flickering down to my lips and back up, but it was always just subtle enough to blow off as nothing.
But then there was this night in late October. The air was chilly, the city was dark and rainy, and Emily came into my room because her window wouldn’t shut properly and she was freezing. She brought her own blanket and crawled under mine anyway, her body all warmth and comfort pressed against my side.
We lay there in the dark, scrolling TikToks and giggling. Her bare legs tangled with mine, her knee hooked over my thigh. Every breath, every brush of her hand, sent shivers through me. I could smell her shampoo, lavender and citrus, and I wanted her so bad it hurt. But every time I thought of making a move, panic would fill me. I didn’t want to risk everything for a quick hookup. I didn’t want her to regret it and everything to get awkward.
She turned suddenly, propping herself on one elbow. The glow from my phone made her eyes look molten gold.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice was oddly serious.
“Shoot.”
“Do you think about… us? Like, being more than friends?”
My breath caught. My skin tingled with fear and hope and lust all at once.
I tried to stall, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She nudged me softly. “I’ve noticed how you look at me. Sometimes…I think about kissing you. Like, a lot.”
I could barely get the words out. “Yeah. I do too. I mean, I try not to, but…”
She reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “So? What are we waiting for?”
I hesitated, my chest tight. “I just don’t want to screw things up. We live together. What if it sucks? What if it gets weird?”
Emily smiled, suddenly bold, her face silhouetted by the soft bedside lamp. “If it sucks… we pretend it never happened. But honestly? I think it’ll be fucking amazing.”
Then, before I could rationalize my way out of it, she pressed her lips to mine. Gentle, slow at first, just exploring. I melted, my nerves replaced by hunger. I kissed her back, and her hand slid into my hair, guiding my mouth open. She tasted like mint and wine and longing.
She rolled on top of me, blanket pooling around our hips, her thighs straddling mine. Her hips ground down, seeking friction. It was desperate, hot, and totally new. My hands found her waist, gripping tightly, as I pulled her down for another intoxicating kiss. I could feel her heartbeat drumming against my chest.
“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered, lips brushing my ear. Her hands found the hem of my t-shirt, pushing it up. Her palms were ice cold, but the shock only made me gasp and arch beneath her.
She grinned wickedly. “You’re so sensitive.”
I tugged her shirt upward and she helped me strip it off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Her sports bra was grey and simple, but seeing her like that above me made me dizzy with need. My fingers skimmed the band, and she wriggled free, bare to my greedy eyes.
We giggled, nerves melting into laughter and soft moans. I kissed down her neck, nipped at her collarbone, loving the way she trembled. She pressed my hand to her breast, and I squeezed gently, teasing her nipple until she gasped and rocked against my thigh.
She undressed me with shaky hands, kissing every inch of skin she uncovered. My panties were soaked, and she palmed me through the cotton, her touch clumsy at first but quickly becoming confident.
“God, you’re wet,” she murmured, kissing my stomach, moving lower. I bucked up, grabbing her hair to anchor myself.
Her tongue was hot and exploratory as she pressed it to my clit, swirling and flicking, sucking just right. I tangled my fingers in her hair, hips lifting. She moaned softly, the vibration wrecking me. My thighs shook as she licked me deeper, slower, building me up.
“Em, please,” I whined, overwhelmed.
She slid two fingers into me, curling them just right, her mouth never leaving me. I was dizzy, blinded by pleasure, and before I knew it I was coming apart, moaning her name, body arched and tense.
She crawled back up, grinning like she’d won the lottery, and kissed me hard.
“My turn,” I managed, flipping us over. This time the nerves were gone—just pure, raw need. I kissed every freckle, every soft inch until she was writhing, whimpering, begging for my mouth on her.
When I took her clit between my lips, she cursed and clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds. She tasted better than I imagined. I loved making her lose control—for once, she was the one trembling.
After, we lay tangled and sweaty, pressed so close not even our anxieties could fit between us. Emily rested her head on my chest, breathing hard.
“That was… fuck.”
“Yeah,” I laughed, threading my fingers through her hair. “Are we gonna be okay?”
She looked up, serious for a second, then grinned. “Better than okay. I think we’re gonna be fucking amazing.”
Despite all my panic, all my holding back, it turned out she’d wanted me just as much. And after that night, nothing about being roommates was ever simple again.