The Argument 7

He's your roommate, I thought irritably to myself. Your relationship is platonic.

But somehow, watching him walk out the door with Amelia, the busty blonde from next door, all of that logic flew out with them.

I had been living with Max for a year now. We'd gotten close in an AbPsych class our sophomore year. Neither of us wealthy enough to support ourselves and pay for college, we had decided to move in together. We got along well and shared similar interests. Studying was also a lot easier, because we were both psychology majors. We split the rent and took turns getting groceries. It was the perfect arrangement.

Lately, though, things had been strained. Not outwardly—neither of us were the type to really be emotional—but there was a palpable tension between us. We had grown very close living in such close quarters—with two people in a three room apartment, you're bound to get personal real quick. We told each other everything, except how we felt about the other.

Basically, we were attracted to each other. And maybe more.

Max was great looking, tall, lean and tanned, with an athletic grace that drew girls wild. He had a certain way of brushing his hair out of his face that, coupled with his easy smile and liquid eyes, caused general swooning. The effect had not been lost on me.

Tonight, he was heading out on a date with our neighbor Amelia, a dance major with huge tits that I was positive moonlighted as a stripper. I didn't say anything though; I was trying to be supportive. I knew that Max had had a bad breakup before we moved in together, and it still ached. I tried to be happy that he was dating again, but...

When the door closed behind them, I made my way back to the kitchen/living room and scrounged up some food. With our limited monetary resources, the most we had in the house at a time was some cheap peanut butter, a loaf of bread that was probably stale, some Ramen, and a huge stack of ginger ale on the counter. This week, I had scored a bag of Lays chips, which I now popped open and munched pensively.

I sat down on our threadbare couch and opened my laptop, making my way to Netflix. If all else fails, Netflix will always take your mind off a guy.

Lost in the fifth Children of the Corn, I didn't hear Max unlock our door and tiptoe in.

"Hey," he said. Startled, I looked around and took out my headphones.

"Hey. How was your date?" I tried to keep the acid out of my voice.

"Eh. Okay. She's nice, though."

I made a small noise of acknowledgment and tossed him the bag of chips.

"Throw that in the cupboard, would you?"

He did, and proceeded to kick off his shoes and join me on the couch.

"Children of the Corn, huh?"

"Yep."

Silence.

Things weren't usually this awkward between us. I was distinctly uncomfortable, and I could tell he was too. He blew a long sigh and stared at the cheap Dali print on our wall. After a long and awkward silence, he turned to me with a wary expression.

"Are you mad at me?"

Taken aback, I answered truthfully before I could stop myself.

"Kinda. I mean, no, not at all."

"

Kind of?"

Floundering for an excuse, I latched on to the

first thing I thought of.

"Well, I just think you could do better than her, that's all," I said, a little defensively. He caught my tone and looked at me strangely.

"What's wrong with Amelia? She's nice, she's cute—"

"Oh, and I guess that's all that matters, isn't it?" I snapped, again before I could stop myself.

Max just stared at me openmouthed, his confusion at my sudden venom evident.

"Em, what the hell?" he said, firing up. "What's your problem? Can't I go on a date with someone without the third degree?"

I didn't reply and looked away, trying to hide my discomposure. I couldn't believe I had just let it out like that—now he was definitely going to know something was up between us, however one sided it might be.

"Seriously. Where is this coming from? Did you fight with your dad again?"

One of the problems that stems from two budding psychologists living together is that you both subconsciously psychoanalyze each other. Max knew that I dealt with abandonment issues because of my dad, and we had telephonic blowups at least once a month.

"No! Fuck, Max, can't you go two seconds without analyzing me?" I almost shouted, knowing that given the chance I would be doing the same. I had set him off, though.

"I don't know what the fuck your problem is, Emily, but you need to back the hell off. I don't know what I'm supposed to have done—"

"You don't? I guess it's acceptable to fuck the stripper next door now, huh?"

He took a step back.

"Is that what you think? That I slept with her tonight?" I didn't need to employ the tricks of my trade to gauge his truthfulness; the sheer incredulity in his voice was enough.

"You think I took her out and fucked her, right? Well, I'm glad you have such a goddamn high opinion of me, Em."

He walked away from me and toward the fridge, cracking open a cheap beer. Suddenly, he rounded on me again.

"And so what if I had? It's none of your business who I sleep with, I don't interrogate you whenever you flirt with a guy at a club or go out for drinks!"

"Emily, the truth is..." he sighed, and broke off. "Never mind."

"What?" I snapped, my voice cracking like a whip. "What Max, are you going to tell me some bullshit about how you're not ready for commitment so you just fuck around instead? Is that what you want me to believe?"

"What the fuck? I haven't slept with anyone since I broke up with Rachel, Emily! You're such a bitch sometimes!" he snarled.

I slapped him.

He let his breath out in a whoosh, and we stared at each other, fuming.

Then, out of nowhere, he crossed the room in two strides and crushed his lips to mine.

I stiffened in surprise and tried to break away, but his grip on my arms was like steel and his mouth was insistent. Within seconds, I opened up to him. Our tongues lashed in a frenzied dance and my fingers scrabbled to find the buttons on his shirt. Impatient, I ripped the tiny plastic circles open as he clawed my shirt over my head. Barely pausing to think, I kissed him back, digging my nails into the hard muscle of his back. He picked me up, still kissing me, and slammed me against our paper thin walls. My breath whooshed out of me, and I struggled for air as he bit at my lips and neck. I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders tightly, clinging to him. My long, dark hair came out of its plastic clip and spilled over my shoulders, and he tangled his hands in it roughly. I groaned as he tugged my head back to nip at my throat.

We slid to the floor somehow, and he rolled over me. His fingers deftly unclipped my bra and tossed it aside. Max kissed his way down my neck and shoulders to my breasts. He took each nipple between his teeth just hard enough to make me squeak and shudder. Before I knew it, he had my pants and underwear off, and I could feel the rough industrial carpet scraping against my ass.

I wanted him so badly in that moment that it was indescribable. My thighs were slick and wet, and sweat was beading on my chest under his mouth. I fumbled with his fly and he kicked off his jeans and boxers. As if it were planned, I opened my legs and he slid his full length into me, up to the hilt.

We both moaned at the sensation, put off for almost two years. He pounded into me relentlessly, and I dug my fingers into his ass, urging him on. I could feel my thighs bruising, but I didn't care. He leaned forward and sank his teeth into my shoulder, his pubic bone hitting my clit perfectly. I let out my breath in a strangled gasp and raked my nails down his back. I could feel the exquisite pressure building up in my center, and knew it would not be long now. One, two, three strokes, and I was there, shuddering and gasping beneath him even as he filled me with his come. He groaned and tensed, quaking in his release, and then he collapsed on top of me.

His weight was comforting, as was the sound of his panting in my ear. We laid together for a few minutes, catching our breath, the scent of sweat and sex a sweet perfume in the air.

Finally, he rolled off of me and we laid side by side on the carpet, breathing heavily and staring at the stained white ceiling. At the same time, we turned to look at each other and laughed.

"Wow," said Max. "I should argue with you more often."

I smiled weakly and grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry I slapped you. And scratched you," I added, catching sight of the livid welts on his shoulders.

"No worries. I'm pretty sure you have some teeth marks on you."

After a few moments, we stood up. He took my hand and led me to one of our tiny bedrooms—his, I saw. Before he could say a word, I dropped to my knees in front of him and took him in my mouth. He stiffened instantly.

I cupped my hand under his balls and massaged them gently in my hand, all the while nibbling gently up and down his shaft. It was dim in the room, but I saw that his head was thrown back in pleasure.

"Oh, God, don't stop," he croaked, and I felt his hands settle in my hair. I laughed softly and sucked on his head hard, eliciting a sharp gasp. Finally, I took his whole length in my mouth, sucking long and slow, feeling every inch of his proud cock in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around and around, lingering on the swollen tip. He was moving his hips slowly, fucking my mouth, and suddenly he pushed my head forward and held me there as he came again, shooting hot jets of come into my mouth.

I swallowed every last drop and licked my lips, satisfied. He pulled me to my feet and crushed me against him.

"You are amazing," he said, and I laughed again.

"I try. You enjoyed that, I take it?"

"Very much so. Your turn."

I squeaked in surprise as he tossed me onto the bed and rose up over me, kissing me thoroughly before moving down...and down...

I shuddered as his mouth closed on my pussy. He flicked his tongue over my clit and spread my lips apart with his fingers. I tensed as he slid his tongue over every inch of my sex, and when he dipped it inside of me I groaned.

He replaced his tongue with his fingers and used them to fuck me fast and hard, flicking his tongue at an amazing speed over my clit. I writhed and bucked under his mouth, my breath coming faster and faster until I exploded into orgasm, racked with shivers, my inner walls clenching around his fingers.

He let me come down from my high and then slid up next to me. He kissed me deeply, and I could taste myself on his lips. The taste aroused me again, and I pushed him onto his back.

I straddled his hips and bent to kiss him. His hands drifted over my shoulders and back, fingers brushing over my sex charged skin. I rose up above him and stroked his cock a few times, feeling it grow rock hard in my hand. Then, I guided him inside of me and rode him slowly. His hands settled on my hips and we rocked together, reveling in the feel of our joining. I was aware of every hard inch of him filling me up, and when he reached up and rubbed my clit with a thumb, it didn't take long for me to fall forward, shuddering in my third orgasm. He kept thrusting into me as I contracted around his cock, fucking me slowly as I rode the wave of my release. Just as I came down, he finished, filling me once more with his hot come. He whispered my name as he came, gripping my waist almost painfully.

We both collapsed into the bed, exhausted. After lying there for a while, he pulled me to him, arm slung over my shoulders. I cuddled into him and laid my head in the hollow of his neck.

"Em?" he asked, just as my eyes were closing.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

I smiled, wrapped my arms around him, and sighed in contentment.

"I love you too, Max."