As soon as Ollie* walked into the flat to view our spare room, I knew he was my type. There was something about his northern accent, the smart white shirt paired with Dr Martens, and the way he carried his 6ft 2in frame with such confidence, that pulled me in. When he messaged a few days later to say he wanted to take the room, my stomach flipped. I told myself it was just a crush, that nothing would – or ever could – come of it. Under no circumstances could I get with Ollie and ruin the harmony within our tiny flat of three.
But almost straight away we started spending all our time sitting at the kitchen table together laughing, shooting flirty glances at each other and occasionally just giggling at the unspoken tension. Whenever I was heading on a night out and had dressed up, or had come home from the gym wearing tight leggings, I made sure I casually bumped him in the flat. I’d make an excuse to talk to him, or offer him a cup of tea. Before I went out for a mate’s birthday, I knocked on his door and he told me my outfit ‘looked cool’. When he gestured for me to sit on his bed, my heart rate shot up. I knew it was risky, but I wanted him to find me attractive too. Even if nothing could happen, it was becoming my secret fantasy to sleep with him.
One Sunday we went for a hungover dinner and it felt like one of the best first dates I’d ever been on. When we hugged goodnight at the end, I had to resist grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss. A few weeks in, even the smell of his shower gel in the bathroom turned me on. I was insanely jealous that he was still messaging a girl he used to date who’d recently moved to New York.
After a month of longing for him, I came home from work to find him sitting at our kitchen table – and our other flatmate out for the night. We decided to be spontaneous and crack open a bottle of fizz to celebrate it being Friday, which led to us heading to a bar to meet some of my friends. When we returned home at the end of the night, we both lingered in the hall and Ollie bit his knuckles. That’s when I knew he felt the sexual chemistry between us too so, emboldened by the champagne, I moved my face closer to his. Straight away, he kissed me back, hard.
Ollie knew exactly what he was doing as he unzipped my trousers and pushed his fingers inside me, while softy kissing my chest. “I shouldn’t be doing this to my flatmate,” he whispered, half-laughing, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
When he could tell I was close to finishing, he lifted me onto the kitchen counter. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he thrust inside me. Next, he carried me over to one of the chairs we’d spent so many hours sitting on while the sexual tension fizzled away between us. He lowered me onto his erection and I rode him frantically. Knowing that our other flatmate could walk in at any moment, and that the neighbours could probably see us through the window, only added to the thrill. We both came within seconds of each other.
A few days later, over dinner, our other housemate commented that the chair he was sitting on felt rickety. I smiled, but said nothing.
*Names have been changed
