Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men’s Club Book 1)

Payne is a genius.

I’d never made the link between prisons and my fortress before, but since he connected the dots in my head, I researched other prisons, ones that were supposed to be impossible to escape, and I finally found my answer.

My hero doesn’t actually have to do anything.

Alcatraz was supposed to be impossible to break out of … until it started to deteriorate.

I might not have salt water, but my world has magic, so why not use that?

With my fortress slowly crumbling, my block should be gone. This was the issue I was having, so technically I know the direction I’m taking things, but … something still isn’t right.

It makes me even more irritable than usual.

My work hours become so erratic to the point I barely see Payne. He’s at work during the day and sleeping while I’m up and down all night.

The one small mercy about my scattered concentration is it means I haven’t had to face him again since he saw way too much of me to be comfortable.

I’m not embarrassed over it, not really, because it was an accident and we’re grown men and Payne was so cool about it, blah blah blah. But when I think about that night, I think about the way his pants hugged that thick, hard outline of his cock, and saliva pools in my mouth.

I’ve taken to jerking off strictly behind locked doors, stroking my cock into total submission so it doesn’t have the opportunity to get excited when I catch a whiff of Payne’s shampoo in the shower or hear him moving around in the apartment when I’m trying to force sleep.

Maybe asking him to move in wasn’t the smartest idea, because this crush I’m supposed to be getting rid of has other ideas. It feels like it’s growing and taking on a mind of its own. I’d planned to eventually tell him how I feel, but it’s gotten to a point where I’m scared of these feelings, and I think it would be better off for all of us if I can pretend they don’t exist.

Marty is having a few people over for drinks this weekend, so I know I’ll have to face Payne again by then, and for some reason, the nerves combined with my frustrations over this book are sending me spiraling.

Yoga is my new best friend, and I’ve taken to unfolding and refolding the paper crane Payne left for me that night. I’ve ordered a bunch of coloring books, which still haven’t arrived, and pound out the sit-ups before bed until I’m at the point of passing out.

It’s past midnight, and I’m typing furiously at one of these nothing flash fictions that are coming so easily to me when the air behind me shifts. My fingers pause and hover over the keys, while awareness slivers down my spine.

It’s either Payne or someone who’s broken in to kill me, and considering I’m not interesting enough to kill, that leaves me with only one option.

I’m not sure which choice is better.

Payne.

Axe murderer.

Payne.

Axe murderer.

Nope. Too close to call.

“Please tell me those words are on your book?” His deep voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, warms my insides.

I turn in my chair to face him. “Unfortunately not.”

All of the lights are off, and what I can see of Payne is illuminated by my computer screen. He’s in sleep shorts and … nothing else. Damn. His sexy chest and all those tats are … I physically shake my head and try to meet his eyes again, only to find them trailing over me.

Normally I’d assume it’s because I have food down my front, but this is a fresh T-shirt, and when Payne’s gaze flicks back to mine, even in the darkness I can tell there’s something different about them.

“Wha—” I clear my throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I knew you’d be out here. I haven’t seen much of you.”

I shift self-consciously. “I told you I keep weird hours.”

“I think it’s less weird and more unconventional.” His smile makes me shiver to my toes. “Like you.”

“Is that your way of pointing out maybe this is one of those things I should work on?”

His amusement dies. “Did I say that?”

“To be fair, you haven’t actually pointed out anything though.”

“And why is that?”

I consider the question. “I guess I haven’t been around you enough for you to do it.”

“Yeah … that’s it.”

“Well, you’ll be at Marty’s this weekend, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go together, and if we hang out there, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me, and every time I do or say something weird, you can tell me. Oooh, maybe we could come up with a code?” I drag my hand back through my hair as I think. “Maybe a cough? No, maybe you can tap your nose? Wait, no, what if I’m not looking? Umm … you could pinch me, or—”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” The amusement is back in his tone.

“Deal.”

“Are you sure you’ll even be there? I swear you haven’t seen sunlight in a week.”

“Most of the time when I’m up during the day, you’re at work.”

His eyes hold mine. “You’re not avoiding me, are you, Bo-Bo?”

“What? No. Why would I?”

He narrows his eyes.

I try to look innocent.

We’re locked in a standoff for what must be minutes of intense eye contact and me fighting the need to tremble. Goddamn I want him so bad.

Eventually, he grins. “No reason.”

“Good. No reason.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You seem … more, I dunno, high-energy than usual.”

“Oh. Yes. That. My concentration has gone completely out of the window, and I’m not able to focus on anything.”

“Because of the book?”

“Yeah, I get unsettled when I don’t feel like I’m making progress.”

“What helps?” he asks, sounding like he’s genuinely interested.

“Well, yoga, usually. And recently I’ve taken to refolding the crane you left for me, but the paper is wearing thin.” I laugh softly. “Coloring is usually the best thing because I don’t need to concentrate on it—I can fully zone out. But I didn’t realize I’d finished the books here, and doing it on a tablet isn’t the same.”

“Coloring?”

My face heats. “I know people think it’s for kids, but you can get some really detailed adult—”

“No, no.” He holds up his hands. Big hands. Instead of placating me, all it does is make me focus on those thick fingers and how desperate I am to suck on them. “I know coloring is a thing. I was going to say, when I visit Bridget and Soph, they usually color in my tattoos. If you think it would help, you can use me. Best part is that I can wash it off, and you can do it again.”

Use … him. I will my voice to come back to me, but it’s stuck somewhere in my throat behind a tongue that feels too big for my mouth.

“You … tattoos …” is the best I can get out, but somehow, Payne doesn’t notice the weirdness.

He moves closer, then opens my top desk drawer. “You have markers in here?”

“N-next one down.”

The top drawer closes with a click, and then Payne opens the second and pulls out my black marker case. He throws it up and catches it with the other hand. “Coming?”

Coming? I might. Is he trying to kill me?

“Now?”

He shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’m already awake, and you’re clearly not getting to sleep until you’ve shut that brain of yours off.”

“Wait. Stop. You want me to color in your tattoos?” Why is my brain struggling with this so much? “The ones on your skin? You want me to touch the tattoos on your skin?”

Payne laughs. “If you don’t want—”

“I want.”

“Okay, then. Where do you want me?”

And I must have serious issues because my brain takes that one line and turns it so dirty, my cock takes interest. “I … umm …”

“Normally it relaxes me enough to fall asleep, so come on. If we do it on my bed, I’ll probably crash right after.”

He needs to stop talking. Immediately. Because there’s no way he can say “do it on my bed” and have me not immediately think about sex. I force a nod because I don’t trust myself to speak, then stand numbly and follow him.

I’ve always noticed Payne’s tattoos, but as a method of self-preservation, I’ve never let myself focus on the specifics. They’re all line work, which makes them perfect for coloring. He’s got flames over his abs and characters woven together up both arms, then across the back of his shoulders. The simple lines make it hard to tell what they are from a distance, but when he crawls onto his bed and lies facedown on top of the covers, I have time to drink in my fill.

Payne tosses the case to me, and I realize this is it. I’m about to touch Payne Walker … for as long as I want to.

Fuck, is there no oxygen in this room? Why am I light-headed?

And even though I’m ninety percent certain I’m about to blow my plan to resist him to pieces, I can’t stop from moving toward the bed.

His back rises and falls with each breath, and he tilts his head from where it’s rested on his crossed arms so he can see me.

“Will this work?” he asks.

“Yep. This should be … this is fine. Good.”

“Awesome. I’ll drift off, so take as long as you need.”

Payne’s eyes fall closed, and I stand there for a moment, unable to believe this is happening. If anything, his plan has already worked, because I’m not having an issue with concentrating now. All I can focus on is Payne, half naked and asking me to touch him.

I don’t want him to pick up on me hesitating, so I crawl up beside him and open the case. The tattoos across his back are underwater themed, and the more I look, the more I see. There are mermen, a sea castle, starfish and dolphins. It doesn’t make any sense, but as I uncap the first marker and try to figure out where to start, my mind is already putting together a story from it all.

When I begin, I try to work out a way to do it without touching him, but that plan is derailed when I keep going out of the lines.

So I give in and place my hand on his back to steady myself. The warmth under my palm is hotter than I expected. His skin, smoother. I swallow thickly and try to focus on the images instead of burying my nose into his hair. I’m so close. It would take no effort to lean forward and press my lips to the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. To nuzzle into his jaw. To press my hard cock against his ridiculously round ass.

I lick my lips as my gaze pulls again and again to the two round globes covered by his sleep shorts.

Fuck, I need a cool shower.

I need to jerk off.

But both of those things would require me to stop touching Payne, and there’s no way in hell that’s happening.

I’m going to sit here and endure this sweet torture for as long as I’m able.

I don’t manage to completely zone out, but the longer I work, the more relaxed I get, even as my cock stays persistently hard. Payne’s deep, rhythmic breathing falls into sync with my own, and having him close, being surrounded by his scent, and allowing myself to fall into those things as the coloring clears my mind … it’s perfect.

He overrides my senses, and for the first time all week, I’m calm.