Living in New York has always felt like living inside a packed beehive—buzzing, condensed, and not a lot of space for privacy. I guess that’s why so many of us wind up with roommates we barely know, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst. For me, moving in with Katie was pure luck. We clicked from the first night, when I found her in our tiny kitchen, unpacking glassware like she was handling treasure. She looked up, smiled, and just like that, my nerves vanished.
Katie’s a little shorter than me, with wild brown hair she never seems to tame and lips that curl up even when she’s pretending to be stern. She’s also somehow both chaotic and composed—books everywhere, yet always knowing exactly where her phone is. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how good she looked, wandering our apartment in cropped band tees and those soft yoga shorts, but I chalked it up to a harmless crush, convinced we were just friends.
The first couple months went by quietly. We had a good rhythm: late-night takeout at the kitchen table, Netflix marathons, small talk about work and awkward Tinder dates—almost always hers, because I wasn’t really seeing anyone. Our bedrooms were next to each other, beds pressed against opposite sides of the too-thin shared wall. At night, I’d listen to her muffled laughter through drywall, and sometimes I caught myself wishing she was in my bed instead. But I wasn’t stupid—I valued our friendship too much, and convincing myself she wasn’t interested was easier than risking rejection.
Everything changed one Friday, after the kind of day where nothing goes right. I came home pissed off, tossing my bag on the floor so hard my laptop nearly slid out. Katie was curled on the couch with a glass of wine, scrolling on her phone. She looked up and immediately knew something was off.
“Tough day?” she asked, brushing those wild strands behind her ear.
“You could say that,” I groaned, collapsing beside her.
She didn’t press me, just handed me her glass, and I drained it. A flush crept up her neck—she always had this reaction when we touched, so subtle it might have been my imagination.
“Want to talk about it?” she offered.
“No. Actually, maybe. I just—I feel like I’m stuck. Like I’m treading water and eventually I’m just going to drown, you know?”
She nodded, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, something soft and summery that made me want to lean in. But I didn’t.
She smiled, not quite meeting my eyes. “I get it. Sometimes it helps to just distract yourself.”
Katie stretched, lounging sideways so her thigh brushed against mine. My mind looped images of her in those shorts. I told myself it was nothing—innocent. I had to believe that. I got up to grab another bottle of wine.
We drank, laughing about our shared disasters and how hopelessly single we both were. Hours passed, and the city outside blurred to a background hum. At some point, maybe after the second bottle, our words slowed, conversation melting into charged silences. I was keenly aware of how close we sat, her knee pressing into my thigh with a deliberate casualness. Or maybe it was just the wine. I honestly couldn’t tell anymore.
When she stood up to head to bed, she paused, looking at me like she wanted to say something. Instead, she mumbled good night and disappeared into her room. I sat there, staring at the spot she’d just been, my heart pounding. I tried to shake it off and went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how hard I willed it.
A couple nights later, we were both home unusually early. The air felt thick—tense in a way it never had. Katie came into the living room wearing nothing but a faded oversized T-shirt and those damn shorts. She flopped down on the floor next to the coffee table, opening her laptop.
“Movie?” she asked, but her tone was off—softer, breathier.
“Sure,” I said, half-watching as she scrolled through options. Her knees were bare, feet tucked under her, and when she leaned over to plug in the charger, the collar of her shirt slipped, exposing her collarbone and a little more. My mouth went dry.
We settled on some rom-com and she pressed her side right up to mine. My skin tingled like she was burning me. Halfway through, I’d stopped following the plot. When she sighed, I turned to her, meaning to say something stupid, but then her head dropped into my lap.
She looked up at me, her eyes impossibly wide. “Is this okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I was paralyzed for a second—but then I nodded. She smiled in this inexplicably pleased way and let her gaze linger too long—on my lips, my jaw, the line of my neck, slowly dragging over my body like she was memorizing me inch by inch. I could feel everything through her stare.
I don’t know who moved first. Maybe it was both of us. Suddenly, her face was near mine, her lips brushing my jaw, her hand on my thigh, fingers so hot they made my whole body tense. For a moment, I hesitated—my brain screaming, Don’t fuck this up.
She must’ve sensed it. “Hey,” she whispered, stroking slow circles on my leg. “You okay?”
Her touch sent sparks through me, lighting up places I’d been trying to ignore for months. I swallowed, heart pounding.
“I—I want this,” I managed. “But…”
She sat up, face close to mine, our breath mingling. “But?”
“But I don’t want to lose you,” I admitted. It felt so raw, so fucking vulnerable.
Katie cupped my cheek, thumb grazing my skin in slow, lazy circles. “You’re not going to lose me,” she said, her voice steady. “Promise.”
Time froze for a second as I searched her eyes, looking for any hint of doubt. There wasn’t any. Something inside me snapped. I leaned in, and our mouths met—desperate, messy, tasting like red wine and hunger. Her hands slid up under my shirt, fingernails scraping gently down my chest. I groaned, pulling her closer until she straddled my lap.
She ground down against me and my breath stuttered. The friction drove me crazy, and I pushed her shirt up, fingers finding the warm, soft skin of her back. She arched into me, her mouth trailing down my jaw to my neck, biting just hard enough to make me gasp.
“My room?” she rasped, but I shook my head.
“No—here.” I needed her right now, not in the minute it would take to stumble to one of our bedrooms. That urgency made her laugh—a low, sexy sound that sent a jolt through me. Her hands were everywhere, tugging at my waistband, and I shucked off my jeans, not caring how desperate I looked.
She wasn’t any more patient, her hands trembling as she worked at her own shorts, until she was sitting on my thighs in nothing but a thin scrap of black lace. Her skin was hot under my palms, her lips swollen from kissing. She pulled her shirt off, baring her breasts, nipples tight and flushed. I stared for a second, mesmerized, and then leaned in to suck one slowly into my mouth while I rolled the other between my fingers. She cursed, arching her back, nails digging into my shoulders in the best possible way.
“God, I’ve wanted this,” she moaned.
“Me too,” I managed, my voice wrecked.
She reached between us, freeing my cock, stroking me almost too softly, smirking as my hips jerked in her hand. “Slow down?” she teased, but I was way past slow.
I pushed panties aside, finding her soaking wet, heat like nothing I’d ever felt before. She gasped when I slid a finger inside, tight and slick, her muscles clenching as I teased her. She rocked against my hand, panting, and then she was on top of me, sinking down until I was buried inside her. Her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering closed.
I grabbed her hips, guiding her as she set the pace—slow at first, so slow it felt like torture. Every time she ground down, I had to bite back a groan. Her name slipped out, over and over, until she crashed her mouth onto mine, messy and wild, both of us gasping for air.
Tension built between us, snapping tighter with every thrust, every whispered name and moan. She came first, legs trembling around me, nails raking down my back as she cried out. I followed a second later, shuddering, spilling into her as the world fell away.
After, we lay tangled on the couch, sweaty and laughing, her hand tracing lazy shapes on my chest.
“We just had sex in our living room,” I said, incredulous.
She snorted. “Best distraction ever.”
And just like that, everything felt right—not complicated, not risky. Just right.