Meet with Marcus on Friday

We booked the meeting with Marcus for Friday afternoon.

Veronica called him that same day while I was making coffee. She put it on speaker so I could hear. Marcus sounded professional but enthusiastic — he clearly saw real potential in her now that everything had gone public. They settled on Friday at 3 p.m. at a café in the city. Neutral ground. He wanted to talk numbers, strategy, and what representation could actually look like for her.

When she hung up, she looked over at me.

“End of the week,” she said. “Gives us a few days to think about what we actually want to ask him.”

I nodded. “We’ll figure it out.”

She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For being willing to come with me. I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for when you answered that housemate ad.”

I slid my hands under the back of her shirt and held her tighter.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I told her.

That night, she didn’t go back to her room.

She just followed me into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world, climbed into my bed, and curled up against my side. I didn’t question it. I just pulled her in closer and fell asleep with her breathing against my neck.

The next night, she did it again.

And the night after that.

By Thursday, it wasn’t even a question anymore. Her things had slowly started migrating into my room — her charger on the bedside table, one of her hoodies draped over the back of my chair, her skincare stuff in the bathroom. She was sleeping in my bed every night now, and I didn’t want it any other way.

The sex changed too.

It got hotter. Heavier. Like the conversation about protection and the decision to be a little reckless had unlocked something between us. We stopped being careful with each other in the best way.

Some nights it was slow and deep — her riding me in the dark with her forehead pressed to mine, whispering how good I felt inside her while I held her hips and let her take what she wanted.

Other nights it was rougher. Needier.

Like the night she came home from a long stream, climbed straight into my lap on the couch without saying a word, and fucked herself on my cock like she needed it to breathe. She kept begging me to come inside her again, voice breaking every time I thrust up to meet her. I did. Twice.

Another night I woke her up in the middle of the night by sliding into her from behind. She was already wet when I pushed in, like her body had been waiting for me. She reached back, grabbed my hip, and whispered, “Harder,” until I was fucking her deep and rough while she moaned into the pillow.

We didn’t talk much about the lack of protection after that first morning. We both knew the risk. We just… kept choosing each other anyway.

By the time Friday morning rolled around, Veronica had basically moved into my room without either of us saying it out loud. Her bed in the other room sat untouched. Her things were mixed with mine. And every night, without fail, she curled up against me like she belonged there.

We were lying in bed that morning, her head on my chest, when she spoke.

“I’m nervous about this afternoon,” she admitted quietly.

I ran my fingers slowly through her hair.

“I know,” I said. “But you don’t have to decide anything today. We’re just going to hear him out. Together.”

She tilted her head up and kissed me — soft at first, then deeper. Her hand slid down my stomach and wrapped around my cock, stroking me slowly until I was hard again.

We didn’t speak after that.

She climbed on top of me, sank down onto my cock with a soft moan, and rode me slow and deep while the morning light crept across the bed. I held her hips and watched her face, the way her mouth fell open, the way she whispered my name when she came.

I followed right after, gripping her tight and coming deep inside her like she’d asked for every time since that first morning.

Afterward, she stayed on top of me, breathing hard, forehead resting against mine.

“We’re really doing this,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, stroking her back. “We are.”

She smiled against my mouth.

“Good.”