Page 119 of Don't Say You're Sorry

He chews, swallows, and squints up at me. “What are y?—”

The next one gets him in the chin.

“I love you, E. Happy birthday.”

He’s onto me now, understanding softening his eyes.

I take the last one from the box beside him and paint his neck with the frosting, spreading it down his chest.

“Happy birthday, sunshine. I missed you.”

Four cupcakes—one for today, and three for the birthdays I missed while I was away.

“You’re washing my sheets,” he grumbles, though there’s no heat to it.

I smile and begin cleaning him up with my tongue. I start with his face and work my way down, licking across his throat. He sighs contentedly and fists my hair, guiding my head down to his chest. I eat the frosting there and kiss his tattoo, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. My hand travels down between us, and I lift off his lap, sliding my palm over his dick through his boxers. I rub my ass on his cock, and he looks down to watch, groaning when he realizes I’m wearing nothing but a pair of his basketball shorts. He fists the fabric and forces me to grind on him. When his hand creeps up my thigh beneath the silky material, he remembers his fingers are covered in frosting.

“Shower,” he orders. “Now.”

I jump off him. He grabs the lube and pushes me into the bathroom, kissing my neck while he shoves the shorts down my thighs.

“You drive me crazy, baby.” He drops his boxers and walks me backward into the shower, reaching over to turn the water on. He squeezes my ass as he kisses me, and I rub against him, desperate for more. “Give me thirty seconds,” he rasps.

He washes himself in record time, and I watch with my dick in my hand. Once he’s done, he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers, motioning for me to turn around. I do, and he pulls me back to his chest, his skin hot and slippery. With one arm locked around my waist, he rubs my hole and fingers me open, stretching me in preparation for his cock. Tipping my head back on his shoulder, I dig my nails into his arm as I jerk off. He lowers his head to suck on my neck, and I moan, shoving his hand away and blindly reaching back for his dick.

“Fuck me,” I rasp, finding my entrance with the tip. “Please.”

He takes over and pushes inside me, his teeth digging into my neck so hard that it feels as if he’s piercing the skin. I cry out and snap my eyes up to the mirror above the counter on the other side of the bathroom. I expect to see blood drippingdown my throat, but there isn’t any. Disappointment flashes across my face before I can stop it, and I briefly wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Easton’s eyes meet mine, and he smirks, his fingers wrapping around my throat. His other hand wraps around my dick, and he strokes me in time with his deep thrusts. My eyes roll, and he squeezes my neck, a silent demand to keep looking at him. I stare at his reflection as he fucks me, remembering the first time I ever stepped foot into this bathroom.

Things were so different back then. I was so unsure, so afraid that I’d ruined what we had and there would be no getting it back.

My gaze lowers as I recall dropping to my knees for him. The way his dick felt in my throat. The way he begged me to tell him to stop. The way he called me a masochist. The way he pulled my hair as he came. The way he took care of me afterward.

I look up at his face again, finding him already staring back at me.

“Did you know we’d end up here?”

“Yes,” he admits. “The second I saw you standing next to your mom at the party, I knew you’d be mine again.”

“How?”

He slows his pace, his hips rolling into me from behind. “I spent a lot of time thinking you didn’t care anymore. That you’d moved on. But all it took was one look at you, and I knew. You were still mine. You never stopped being mine. It confused me.”

I grin. “So you punched me.”

He drops his head. “Yeah, well, I thought you deserved it. I didn’t know you hadn’t been getting my calls back then.” Gently kissing my neck where he bit me, he whispers, “I’m s?—”

Reaching for the back of his head, I turn my face toward him and shut him up with my mouth. “Don’t. We don’t say that to each other, remember?’

“You deserve an apology, Adam,” he murmurs, echoing what I said to him not so long ago.

“I don’t want one. I have you.”

His lips twitch against mine.

“Don’t come yet,” he says, and it’s the only warning I get before he fucks me hard and fast, hitting my sweet spot and making me whimper.

He does apologize, but it’s not with words. After he comes inside me, he pulls out, turns me to face him, and drops to his knees. His mouth wraps around my dick, and I almost stumble, pressing my palm against the wall above him for balance. My other hand goes to his head, and I rake my fingers through his hair. He taps my leg, and I get the message, widening my feet to grant him better access.

---