Page 50 of Don't Say You're Sorry
He looks at me expectantly, waiting for further instruction.
Unable to help myself, I reach out, running my fingers over the band of his boxers. The outline of his dick makes me want to reach inside, use his cum as lube, and jerk him until he comes again.
“Leave these on and sleep next to me tonight.”
He raises a brow. “With my cum in my boxers?”
I nod, still playing with his waistband. “I want you to wake up tomorrow and remember exactly what I did to you.”
He licks his lips, and I snap my eyes up to his face. The flush on his cheeks has traveled down to his neck and chest, but he doesn’t look embarrassed. He looks turned the fuck on and ready for round two. The way his dick jerks only proves that.
“You talk to all your hookups like that?”
That pisses me off. “Don’t call yourself a hookup.”
His brows perk. I narrow my eyes, waiting for him to ask what he is to me if not a hookup. I don’t think he’s ready to hear the answer, so he doesn’t ask.
“Can I at least take a piss?”
I pretend to think about it. “If you must…”
He laughs and brushes past me to use my bathroom. When he comes back a couple minutes later, I’m back on my bed in just my boxers, mindlessly scrolling through the list of movies on the TV. I’m not even seeing what they are. I’m too busy thinking about him, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he rounds the bed and lies beside me. He leaves a good amount of space between us, so I grab his bare thigh, dragging him closer until he’s right up against me. He smiles as if I did exactly what he wanted me to. I smile too.
“Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” he asks randomly, and I chuckle, tossing the remote to turn on my side and face him instead.
We talk all night long, laughing, eating, touching each other’s bodies, and it’s the most natural thing in the world, the transition from best friends and brothers to…more. It feels right. It feels good.
When he falls asleep, it’s with my chest to his back and my arm wrapped around his waist, my nose in his hair.
“Mine,” I whisper to his sleeping body. “That’s what you are to me.”
The next morning, I wake up alone. The pillow next to mine is crinkled, and the spot where Adam slept is still warm to the touch, meaning he must have just left. Fisting the sheet, I frown. I thought he’d still be here.
Lifting my head, I strain my ears, smiling when I realize my shower is on.
Getting up, I check the bedroom door is still locked before I go into the bathroom, wiping the steam off the mirror so I can see his reflection while I brush my teeth. Adam’s rinsing his hair, the soap bubbles running down the dips and curves of his body, his abs, his cock, his pretty hazel eyes never leaving mine.
“What are you doing in my shower?” I ask.
“I’m sober,” is all he says.
I keep brushing, stalling. “And?”
“And I remember exactly what you did to me. I’m not sorry. Are you?”
Spitting into the sink, I wipe my mouth and drop my boxers to the floor, stepping inside the shower with him. His greedyeyes look their fill of me as I grab his waist, pushing him back against the tiled wall. Dripping wet, he slides his palms up my chest, wrapping his arms around my neck. I lower my head and press my lips to his jaw, my tongue catching the water dripping off his face.
“What do you want, Adam?”
“Kiss me,” he breathes, so I pull his mouth to mine. I’m about to give him the best goddamn kiss of his life, but he’s not done. “Suck me, rim me, fuck me, and come in my ass.”
“Your little virgin ass,” I correct him.
His hands tug on my hair as he gasps into my mouth. “Yes.”
Groaning, I pull his head back and kiss his neck, the column of his throat, his chest, and then lower. Sinking to my knees, I run my tongue over the grooves of his abs before I bury my nose in his trimmed pubes. He smells like me, like the soap I use, and it triggers something in me—a possessiveness I didn’t know I was capable of until now.
Mine.
