Roommates

  Roommates: An MM Mpreg Romance

  Briton Frost

  Published by Briton Frost, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ROOMMATES: AN MM MPREG ROMANCE

  First edition. February 5, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Briton Frost.

  ISBN: 978-1386258063

  Written by Briton Frost.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Epilogue

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  Further Reading: Forget Me Knot: An Mpreg Romance

  Also By Briton Frost

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  MATTHEW

  My roommate is giving me a hard-on.

  He’s breezing in and out of the room now because he's getting ready to go out on a date. It’s just as well. He smells too damn good, and one of these times he passes by me on the couch, I’m liable to reach out and pull him down to me. Mold my hands around that ass. Kiss those lips that haunt my dreams all night long and tempt my control in the daylight hours. And his Adam’s apple. I don’t think I ever paid much attention to a guy’s neck before, but I am obsessed with Beckett’s throat.

  He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. How he's awakened the...I guess you'd call it...alpha beast...inside me. Hell, if he knew about the things I want to do to him, he’d pack a bag and run.

  But that’s just it. Where would he go?

  My only saving grace right now is that he thinks I’m straight. And that’s for the best. It helps me keep my hands off him. Most alphas and omegas are gay, but not all. But an alpha can only impregnate an omega, and an omega can only conceive with alpha seed.

  I’ve spent the last four years taking care of Beckett from afar, but he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t know that the renewable, annual scholarship that paid his tuition, room, and board all through college was funded by me. He doesn’t know the car he “won” is a gift from me, either.

  And the condo? It’s mine, too. That he knows. He was supposed to be housesitting for me while I was out on the oil rig. But until I’m done with physical therapy and my foot injury is healed enough to go back to work, my ass is planted on this couch during the day and the guest room at night.

  Yeah, I sleep in the guest room of my own house.

  I only bought this condo so Beckett would have a safe place to stay. I had to buy furniture to make it look even a little lived in. I used to just have a small shitty apartment and storage for what little stuff I owned. I spend most of my life on the oil rig where I work. When I have time off, I usually travel on my Harley or park my ass on a Mexican beach. Away from people.

  So sure, I told him to take the master suite when I asked him to move in. I made sure it had luxury everything because I wanted him to live here a long time so I could easily keep an eye on him.

  I’m not a stalker or anything.

  I’m just a man of my word. I made a promise to his brother.

  My best friend, Beckett’s older brother Cameron, was in a bad car wreck four years ago. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for my buddy, he was more like my brother than a friend, so when he made me promise to look out for his baby brother, I vowed to him I would.

  And then he died.

  This is not what Cam meant when he asked me to take care of Beckett. The way I imagine defiling him over and over again. Beckett’s too sweet for a guy like me. Too pure.

  He was raised to be a good boy. From a good family. Cam and Beckett’s parents are respectable people, but not rich people. Cam had been helping them with bills and had been planning on helping with college for his baby brother. His dying left them in a bad place, emotionally and financially. I’m not rich or anything, but I make damn good money, and I don’t spend much of it. So, I played like Santa’s fucking elf and took care of shit.

  But Cam’s baby brother isn’t a baby anymore. Something I wasn’t prepared for when I moved back into the condo for the summer.

  He’s fucking hot and he’s not even my type. His body has got my hands itching. I want to map every inch of him with my tongue. He's not as big as the guys I usually get hot for. I like the gym rats and the bears, mostly because I don’t have to worry about hurting them. But Beckett’s plump ass is juicy and hard to ignore. It makes me want to grab him, hold him down, and fuck him hard.

  I want him as mine.

  He’s too young. Too innocent. And he wants the kind of life that includes a picket fence and family portraits on Instagram. I’m not that guy. I’m the guy who could fuck him, and fuck him well. But that’s it.

  I'd wreck him, though. I'm too brutal. Too rough. Too big.

  Everywhere.

  So, I haven’t told him that I’m gay, too. He just assumes I’m straight because his brother was my best friend, and Cameron was a fucking pussy magnet. Seriously, women used to just drop their panties around him. If I had been into chicks, we would have been a lot more trouble together.

  But I’m partial to dick. Really, really partial.

  “Matthew? How’s your foot?” He’s standing adjusting his jacket sleeves. Because he’s ready to go. On his date. With a guy who isn’t me.

  I want to punch a fucking wall, but I’ve got no right.

  “It’s fine.” My foot hardly ever bothers me, but the doctors say my threshold for pain is high, too high, so I need to be even more careful. I don’t like feeling like a wuss and doing nothing when I should be working, but if I reinjure it because I don’t feel the pain, I could end up permanently unable to go back to my job.

  “Did you take your pill?” He's holding my prescription, rattling the pills in the bottle. I hate those things.

  “I don’t need one.”

  “Matthew, you know what the doctor said.”

  I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m not in any pain. Now go. Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” He sticks his tongue out at me.

  Fuck me. I know he means it in a funny, sarcastic way. But all I can think of is him calling me “Daddy” when I’m pumping my cock into him. And that tongue he stuck out, the dreams I’ve been having about that tongue...

  I need to get back to work on the rig. There is no way I can survive the summer in close quarters with him and keep our relationship platonic. He thinks of me like some kind of foster big brother. I’m supposed to think of him like a sweet, baby brother.

  But I don’t. I used to. But I don’t anymore. Not since I saw him for the first time in the flesh last month.

  Back when Cam was alive, I saw his pictures of Beckett, and they never did anything for me. He was cute then. Awkward, with too long of limbs and a mouth full of metal. A teenager. After Cam died, I saw Beckett once at the funeral, and again...he was just a cute kid. I kept in contact with his parents, and he and I texted sometimes or emailed. But I hadn’t seen him since. I didn’t know.

  He’s a man now. A beautiful one. But a sweet one. Somehow naïve despite the world we live in. Cam would expect me to honor that. Take care of that innocence.

  Not fuck it right out of him. Like I want to.

  And so, instead of hooking my arm
around his waist and bringing all that juicy, plump ass into my lap, I send him off on a date with someone else. I don’t get to be territorial.

  But I swear to God I want to kill this Trent or whatever the fuck his name is that’s taking him to a ballgame. I’m pretty sure Beckett doesn’t even like baseball. I doubt Trent cares.

  “Dinner is in the fridge. You just need to nuke it to warm it up.” He does that. Every night now.

  “You don’t have to cook for me. I’m not an invalid. I can cook my own food.” My words come out short and grumpy. Which is how I feel, but he doesn’t deserve that.

  “I know I don’t have to. I like taking care of you. Besides, it’s the least I can do when you let me live here rent free.”

  “You’re doing me a favor. I don’t like leaving this place empty.” I shake my head. "Sorry I snapped at you. You know I love your cooking, right?" Because I do. It's like...this is going to sound stupid...but it's like I can feel how much he cares in each bite.

  He smiles at me and it’s ...fuck me...it’s adorable. There, I said it. I find him adorable.

  Never in my life has that been something I’ve gone for. I like big, hard guys. Guys I won’t crush. Guys who don’t want to take care of me or even hang out when we’re through fucking.

  But I have a crush. On an adorable, innocent, really nice guy.

  As soon as he leaves, I’m going to have to rub one out because my balls are fucking full.

  He gets to the door when his phone dings, and he looks down at the message. His face falls. His lips press into a tight line, and his hand starts to shake. I’m across the room before I realize I’ve gotten up. “What’s wrong?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  Fuck that shit. I take his phone, hold his wrist when he tries to get it back. I read the message.

  Decided I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Just want to be friends. It’s not you, it’s me. Best we skip game. Taking my brother instead.

  That little fuck.

  “May I have my phone, please?” His voice is strained.

  “He’s a punk.”

  “Whatever.” He takes his phone back. “I’m just going to go lay down for a while. I have a headache.”

  I haven’t let go of his wrist. “Don’t do that. Don’t let the punk who wasn’t good enough for you make you feel bad. He’s an asshole.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “Any guy that cancels at the last minute by text is an asshole. I promise. You deserve better.”

  Shit. He looks so sad. I don’t know how to handle sad. I can barely handle his smiles. They make me try to think of shit to keep him happy. But sad, man, I will rip the arms off the bastard punk who dumped him if it stops Beckett from being unhappy. I’ll do whatever the fuck he needs to never see this expression again.

  “I’m not really sure I deserve better anymore. It’s starting to feel like I don’t deserve anyone at all.” He frowns at me while looking at my foot and then over to the couch. “You left your cane over there.”

  He brings it to me, and I grab an arm around his middle and make him sit on the couch with me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Beckett covers his face with his hands. “I don’t want to.”

  “Becks,” I growl. I can’t fix it if I don’t know. Did he really like that guy? Should I go drag his ass back here?

  “I need some kind of intervention. I’m so stupid.”

  “Now you’re pissing me off. There’s nothing about you that is stupid. What’s going on?”

  “There is something wrong with me, and I really don’t think you’re the person I can talk to about it.”

  That kind of hurts, and I don’t know why.

  “You can tell me anything.”

  “Not this.”

  I’m holding in a growl. Actually, it’s more like a primal howl. He’s holding back from me. Hiding something from me. It should be his own damn business; he owes me nothing at all. But tell that to the caveman inside who thinks he belongs to us.

  “You can tell me anything. I’ll always help you. You know that.”

  “I don’t think you want to help me with this. Nobody, it seems, wants to help me with this.”

  I’m trying to be patient. Really, I am. “Have I ever let you down?”

  He looks at me, his eyes shining. “No. You’re the best man I know, Matthew.”

  “Well, that’s pushing it.” I clench my hand to keep from reaching for his hair because I want to run my hand through it. “Just tell me what the problem is. I’ll make it better. You know I will. I can fix damn near anything.”

  “The problem is...oh God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. The problem is that I’m a virgin.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  BECKETT

  I want to reach out and pull the words back into my mouth. But they are out there now, and Matthew looks like I just slapped him across the face.

  “You’re a virgin?”

  Like, is this the worst thing in the world or something? I mean, it’s a little annoying to me, but why is this some big issue for him? “Never mind. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Were you going to give it to him?”

  Now I feel like the one who got slapped. It? Crass much? “Maybe I was. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Trent didn’t want it. Nobody wants it.” And I am making this hole so much deeper than it needs to be. But hey...I can crawl into it and hide now.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  He leans back against the cushion. “Why are you still a virgin? Why were you going to give it to him? Why nobody else? I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  I want to tell him it’s none of his business. But I guess I made it his business when I told him. “In high school, after I tested positive for the omega gene, I wasn’t sure I was gay. Well, I probably was sure, but I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself. Cam was my idol and I wanted to be cis-het just like him. In college, I don’t know...I was still sad about my brother dying, and then I was just too busy to worry much about guys or getting pregnant. So, I knew I was attracted to them, but I never got up close and personal with anyone. Now, I’ve waited this long, so it feels like I should at least be serious about someone before I have sex with them. At the very least, third date material. Except, I can’t seem to get a second date. Which means no third date.” I cover my face again. This is too much. Matthew does not need to know this.

  He pulls my hands back down. He’s shifted so he’s hovering a little so he can keep my wrists at my side. “Why?”

  “Why do I want to wait for a third date to have sex? I don’t know. I guess I’m old fashioned. I’m not really a Grindr kind of guy. I realize many gay dudes are freer with sex than I am but—”

  “No, why don’t you go on second and third dates?”

  I shrug. I don’t know how to explain it. If I did, I wouldn’t have this problem. “I get asked out on first dates, and I even do the asking sometimes, so some guys find me attractive, I guess. But everything just fizzles out on the dates. Sometimes I know it’s not going anywhere, so I don’t expect a call, or I ask them not to call. But lately, I’ve been willing to at least try date number two...but it never surfaces. Maybe they can smell my desperation.” I look into his dark eyes. They are so intense. So focused on me. I have to swallow hard. My throat feels tight. “Do I smell desperate to you?”

  I tilt my head to look at him. His face is close. I can feel the heat of his skin. His breath on me. The world pauses for a second until he blinks like he’s waking up. “You smell like cookies to me. And cinnamon rolls.”

  I inhale sharply. His words kiss something inside me, and my belly tightens.

  “Cookies?”

  “Yeah. And cinnamon rolls. You smell good.”

  I have to laugh a little. He doesn’t pay compliments like most people. But you never have to wonder if he means what he says. There’s nothing artificial in his words. Ever. If he says
I smell like cookies, that means he likes how I smell because I’ve seen how much he likes cookies. I’ll have to bake cinnamon rolls this weekend and see how he feels about them.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Matthew.” Sometimes I wonder what I’d do with him, if given the chance. Matthew is like every dream, every fantasy, I’ve ever had rolled into one extra-large, extra-handsome package. Nothing about him is soft or sweet at first glance. He’s big, beastly really. Every muscle comes from hard work. But the sweetness is there, under the rough exterior.

  He thinks of me like a little brother, though. And he’s straight. I just worship him from afar. If I can’t get a guy like Trent, there’s no way I could get a guy like Matthew, even if we played on the same team. I don’t know the kind of women he dates, but I can guess. Not the kind who teach kindergarten who’ve never seen a penis up close that wasn’t on a porn site.

  So, yeah, getting distracted now.

  “Well, there are worse things to smell like than cookies,” I say. “But then I still don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I've ever really wanted was a family of my own, and maybe that's the problem. Even though I don't wear a sign that says, "I want to get married and have babies with you," that's what they sense. But I don't want to just jump into a committed relationship any more than they do. I just want to see where things could go.” I pat his knee. “I really am going to go lay down for a while. I think I need comfy clothes and Mr. Darcy.”

  A man in a wet, white shirt will go a long way in fixing this day.

  “Who is Mr. Darcy?”

  I roll my eyes. I maybe minored in English Lit, but even if I hadn’t, I’d love Colin Firth in a wet shirt. “Pride and Prejudice." He looks at me blankly. "Jane Austen. None of that rings a bell?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.” He stops me from getting up. Just thrusts one well-muscled arm out. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

  “I just need to be alone. I’ll be fine.” Is it wrong that something about his forceful hold makes me hard? It’s...hot. Maybe my alone time will include some...me time.