Page 8 of Don't Say You're Sorry
He nods, still giving me nothing.
He opens his bedroom door, and I look around his space as I walk inside. There’s that smell again, an intoxicating mix of him andme. I quickly scan every surface, searching for the source, but come up empty. Maybe he keeps it in the bathroom.
As if reading my mind, he walks into the en-suite bathroom, tipping his chin at me when I stop to wait near his bed. “Well? Come on,” he says.
I slowly step inside with him. He closes the door and locks it, the soft click echoing through the silence. He’s so close again. So close I canfeelhim, so close I could reach out and touch him if I?—
He slowly takes his jacket off before pulling at the knot of the black tie around his neck, all the while staring at mine.
“W-what are you doing?”
“Taking a shower,” he replies as he lets the tie fall to the floor.
“Easton…” I warn.
“What?” His mouth tics up as he works on his cuff links. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. We used to shower together. Don’t you remember?”
I close my eyes. Of course I fucking remember.
His fingers move with deliberate slowness, teasing each button open. The bastard wants a reaction—and fuck, he’s getting one. Heat prickles under my skin, my hands twitch, jaw tight as I wait for him to finally reveal?—
He peels his shirt open, and I stare at his chest, a breath puffing through my lips when I see the single word tattooed on his chest, right above his heart. The word that I wrote on him.
Sunshine.
“It’s still there.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He flicks his gaze to my chest, then back to my face. “Did you have yours covered?”
I shake my head.
He cocks his. “Show me.”
I shake mine again, taking a small step back when he takes two toward me. “Easton, stop.”
He stops, and I frown, unable to hide my disappointment in time. His knowing smirk makes my heart race. He was testing me.
“I missed you too, little brother,” he murmurs.
I take a breath. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You used to like it.”
Damn him.
He takes another step.
“Easton…” I try again, but we both know it’s futile, my pathetic attempt at playing the good guy, theresponsibleone of the two of us.
I don’t want him to stop. He could keep fucking coming, crawl his way into me, and burn me from the inside out, and I still wouldn’t want him to stop.
Less than a foot away, his hands finally,finallyslide up my chest over my jacket. He unbuttons it, then wraps my tie around his fist and yanks me closer, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he runs the silky material between his fingers. He likes ties. Belts. Anything he can use to restrain me.
I stay rooted, hands twitching at my sides, eyes locked on his mouth as he works each button open. When he finds whathe’s after, his shoulders ease. His fingertip drags over the letters carved into my chest—his words, his mark.
Sunshine…
“Do you remember the first time I let you fuck me?” he asks, and I cut my gaze back up to his. He grabs my waist, yanks me into him so we’re chest to chest, skin to fucking skin, and whispers, “I called you little brother, and you moaned so loud I had to clamp my hand over your mouth before you woke our parents.”
