Moving to New York had always been my dream. When I finally landed an internship at a design studio in Brooklyn, everything else fell into place—except for housing. Which is how I ended up living with Jamie, a friend of an old classmate who needed help with rent for her downtown loft. I’d only met her once before in a crowded bar, but her easy laugh and sharp eyes made me think we’d get along.
Turns out, we did. At first, it was just trading stories after work, microwave dinners, side comments about the unpredictable subway. Jamie was the kind of woman who could fill a space—she’d move around in her ripped jeans and worn t-shirts, hair always up, her presence casual but magnetic. I found myself paying attention to her in quiet ways—how she moved, the curve of her mouth when she smiled at something on her phone. Every night, I’d sense her somewhere behind the wall, close enough to touch.
We quickly became comfortable, almost too comfortable. There were mornings she’d walk from the shower in a towel, water beading on her shoulders. Afternoons sprawled on the couch, watching Netflix, her bare feet landing on my lap as she complained about her job. She’d playfully nudge me, “God, get a boyfriend already. You’re acting more single than I am.”
It should have felt like nothing, but it didn’t. The tension started small—how my stomach would jump when she tilted her head and laughed, how I’d glance at her lips for a second too long. I didn’t know what to make of it at first; I’d dated women before, but Jamie was technically straight, or so she said.
One night, the city was alive with summer warmth, and the apartment windows were open to let in the breeze. Jamie pulled out a bottle of wine and we sat on the balcony together, talking about everything and nothing. I kept thinking about how close she was sitting, her thigh brushing against mine, her ankle swinging over her knee. The conversation turned to relationships, as it somehow always did.
“You know,” she said, looking at me with a challenging glint in her eye. “You’ve never actually told me about your type.”
I shrugged, holding her gaze. “It changes.”
She raised her brows. “That’s vague.”
“I like people who make me feel something. Someone I shouldn’t want, maybe.”
Jamie laughed, but there was something different in her voice. She leaned in, close enough that I could smell the hint of citrus from her shampoo. “But isn’t that the fun part? Wanting what you shouldn’t?”
It was the first time I really let myself imagine kissing her. I saw it happening—her hands in my hair, my mouth pressed against her neck. I flushed, shifting away.
That night, I lay in bed, too awake. I could hear her music drifting from the other room—some sad indie singer, her voice sweet and slow. I got up for water, passing Jamie’s door, and found her sitting on her bed scrolling through her phone, legs tucked under her. She noticed me and smirked.
“Can’t sleep?”
“No, not really,” I admitted.
She patted the mattress beside her, “Come here, talk to me. I’m bored.”
I hesitated, then slid onto her bed, feeling the tension coil in my stomach. We talked for a while—her job, my internship, little complaints and future plans. I was hyperaware of how close we were sitting, our knees occasionally bumping in the dark.
She set her phone aside and turned toward me, so close I could see the freckles scattered across her cheekbones. “So if I dared you to kiss me right now, would you?” Her voice was a tease, but her eyes were dark, serious.
Every instinct screamed at me: get up, laugh it off, don’t ruin it. But all I could think about was her mouth. I hesitated, analyzing the playfulness in her voice, searching her face for a sign of what she really wanted.
“Are you serious?” I asked, my hand trembling a bit. “Or are you fucking with me, Jamie?”
She scooted closer so that her thigh pressed flush to mine. “I’m not messing with you. I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe longer than I should.”
It was like the room shrank, just the two of us in a bubble. My heart hammered as I closed the distance between us, my hand reaching up to slide through her hair. Our mouths met—soft, searching and then harder, her lips hungry against mine. She moaned, the sound muffled in the meeting of tongues.
She pulled me onto her lap, her hand sneaking under my shirt, fingers dancing over my waist. Every nerve in my body blazed. I couldn’t hold back—I kissed her deeper, tangling my fingers in her hair, letting her explore wherever she wanted. Her other hand cupped my breast, making me gasp as her thumb grazed my nipple through the thin fabric.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” she whispered against my lips, her breath hot.
We tumbled backward, tangled together, hands desperate and curious. My shirt was gone before I registered it, heat rushing over my skin. Jamie’s mouth found my neck, biting gently, trailing her tongue down to my breasts. My hips arched instinctively, wanting more.
She stopped, just for a second, looking at me. Her eyes searched mine, almost asking for permission—maybe for more, maybe for everything.
“Are you okay with this?” she asked, her voice raw.
I nodded, breathless. “Yeah. More than okay.”
She grinned wickedly, her hand trailing lower, slipping past the waistband of my shorts. Her fingers found me wet and aching. I moaned, bucking into her touch, grabbing at her shoulder to steady myself.
We lost ourselves in each other, bodies pressed skin to skin. Her fingers worked me, slow circles, making me beg. I ran my hands under her shirt, pulling it off, tracing every inch I could reach. I wanted all of her—her taste, her sound, the way she gasped when I slid my hand between her thighs.
“Fuck—yes, there,” she hissed, her back arching as I pressed against her, finding her rhythm. We were a mess of tangled limbs, frantic kisses, and desperate, breathless sounds.
Hours later, spent and tangled in her sheets, Jamie curled against my chest, her hand tracing lazy circles on my hip. I realized I wasn’t afraid anymore—not of wanting her, not of what came next.
She smiled up at me, eyes shining in the darkness. “Roommates, huh?”
I laughed, brushing hair from her face. “Yeah. Roommates.”
She leaned in, kissing me slow, promise and hunger tangled together. Something told me we’d never sleep apart again.