Page 9 of Tate: Gemini King

Before I can say anything else, Natasha angrily stomps back into her bedroom and slams the door. Her angry stomping and crashing around wakes up Terrorist who whines and barks in my room until I get him out into the kitchen and give him a little water while he nips around my feet.

I shake my head. Natasha will give up her little attitude problem once she gets hungry. The snow is really coming down outside and she won’t use the kitchen while I’m using it. I keep cooking, totally zoned out until I get the pasta in the water. I might have to change my plans and tantalize her with a plate of food. She is a difficult woman…

I saute the shrimp while the pasta boils and as my spatula pushes the little sea creatures around my skillet, I hear a dull vibration coming from Natasha’s room. I ignore it at first, focused entirely on cooking until the vibration gets a little louder and then I hear another sound. One that I recognize. Terrorist yaps a few more times, ignoring me when I press a finger to my lips to keep him quiet. It doesn’t matter if he’s yapping or not because after a few more seconds, Natasha makes that sound again.

She moans.

The pasta has two more minutes until it’s al dente, which is plenty of time for me to spy on Natasha. Our apartment has insanely creaky hardwood floors which means sneaking up to her door will be a huge risk, but it’s worth it if Natasha has a vibrator pressed between her legs. I want to hear that shit for my own sick reasons and I’m not sorry about it.

I take a step towards her door and the floor doesn’t creak. I have long legs. The fewer steps I take, the easier it will be to listen. I take another step and by some miracle, the floor still doesn’t creak. Natasha moans again and this moan is so goddamn sexy that my cock gets instantly hard.

She cranks up her vibrator another setting as I take another step close to her door and press my hand against it as if pushing my palm up against her door will make me fall through it into Natasha’s bed with her. She moans again and blood spurts from my lower lip. Fuck. I didn’t realize how hard I was biting down on my lower lip to stop myself from doing or saying something crazy.

I touch my lip to dab up the blood as Natasha’s moans grow softer instead of more intense. I can’t tell when she finishes except for the vibrator going dead. She must have silenced her moans in her pillow. I’m breathing so hard, I can’t hear anything happening on the other side of her door anymore.

The timer on the stovetop beeps loudly and I nearly make a very unmanly sound as I jump out of my goddamn skin. I hurry back over to the stove and drain water from the pasta. Once I calm down from the thrill of listening to Natasha touch herself and the more potent thrill of getting away with it, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

I knew Natasha was a normal human woman with normal urges. She can’t hide from me forever and she can’t hide her desire either. I can’t get my dick to calm down until I’m done cooking and it’s only because I eventually get distracted from fantasies about Natasha’s wet, naked tits underneath my tongue.

“Natasha, baby,” I call out to my sexy, curvy roommate, like I don’t know what type of filthy acts she was getting up to behind her bedroom door. “Dinner’s ready.”

I think I changed my mind about sharing. She’ll need pasta to handle all the wine I plan to soak her up in. We’re going to be stuck together all night and I need this plan to work… She’s already nice and horny. How could this go wrong?

* * *

five

Natasha

I don’t know what just came over me. Tate finally pissed me off enough I had to fuck myself, I guess. I just hope he didn’t hear it. Men don’t pay attention to anything, so I’m not even tripping like that. The man just gets on my nerves. He drives me to act on the worst impulses that pop into my head.

I’m surprised that I haven’t given up on the spell already and gone for old-fashioned murder. A bed warmer? Who the fuck says that to someone? He clearly thinks because he was born with moderately good looks he can get away with anything. The only time I want that man anywhere near me is if I have my hands wrapped around his damn neck.

What the hell was he thinking exposing me in the shower like that and just staring at me? The way he looked at me was… dirty as fuck. I can’t let him think this is going to be a regular practice because it’s never going to happen again. I’m not letting Tate anywhere near my naked body. His violation of my shower time pushed me to the brink of needing some serious self-care with my mechanical boyfriend. Not like that has anything to do with Tate’s looks or anything, by the way. That was just normal and healthy female stress relief from the pain of being around Tate. I can hear Tate moving around in the kitchen with the heavy footsteps of a black bear.

I hope he’s wearing a shirt. And fully clothed.

What the hell is wrong with him and why did he pull that move in the shower? Ugh. I push the thought out of my head. If I’m questioning Tate’s intentions, I have clearly been single for far too long.

I’m naked in bed now, gasping for breath in the dark because the snow is coming down so hard that the sky is black. Tate just called me out for dinner and I just had an intense orgasm in bed. I’m not thinking about dinner at all. I’m thinking about… You know what? It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking about. I’m just… not in the mood to strangle someone anymore. That feels good.

My chest moves slowly with my breath as I ignore Tate calling out to me again. But my blissed out state has driven me a little insane. Tate sounds hot. I roll around beneath the covers towards the edge of the bed as he calls my name again. Why is his voice so deep and sexy?

And why the hell did it feature so heavily in the fantasy that just made me cum? Again, Tate has no way of knowing that and maybe a dirty fantasy is exactly what I need to stop letting him bother me.

“Natasha? Did you hear me?” he asks. I hear him moving closer to the door and I’m glad he’s not looking at my face, so he can’t see how nervous I am. I try to sound sleepy and not suspicious so he doesn’t know what I was doing.

“I’m not hungry.”

Listen, my idea worked. For the first time in a while, I don’t want to smack the shit out of Tate. Even when he keeps talking.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says to my closed door. “This tastes delicious. You’ll like it…”

My eyes flicker to the black ceiling. What is going on here? I put effort into this spell to dispel my irritation with Tate and the only changes that have happened are completely irrelevant to my goals. This can’t be how he dies… Well, maybe he’s dumb enough that he made shrimp Alfredo while being allergic to shrimp. I want to see what happens.

“Fine,” I grunt reluctantly. “I’ll come eat.”

Terrorist barks a couple times and even if my bed is incredibly comfortable, and I don’t want to face Tate, he’s right – I’m hungry. I groan and get out of bed, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and throwing a GENESEO hoodie I stole from my ex-boyfriend on over my crop top. After Tate’s stunt in the shower, I don’t want him staring at my boobs.