Page 120 of Don't Say You're Sorry

His cum drips down my thighs, and he fucks it back into me with his fingers, throating my dick and sucking the cum out of me. My mouth parts as a shout tears from my throat, my hips bucking. My vision darkens at the edges, but I do my best to keep my eyes on him, groaning as he pulls back and shows me my cum on his tongue.

I drop to my knees with him. Taking his face in my hands, I kiss him hard, loving the taste of myself on his tongue.

We don’t say anything as our filthy kiss turns into something more soft and meaningful. His fingers graze my ribs, and I loop my arms around his neck, gently brushing my lips over his. When I pull back to look at him, we make a hundred silent promises to each other.

This time, I’ll be damned if I don’t keep every last one of them.

After we shower again, we get dressed, and I change Easton’s sheets while he messes with his hair in the mirror, sneaking glances at me every five seconds.

“I got you a present,” I say, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

He lifts a brow and looks down at the small box I’m holding. “What is it, a gift card?”

I click my tongue. “Don’t spoil it.”

Laughing, he takes the box and unwraps it. There’s a smile on his face as he holds up the Lucky’s Diner gift card between two fingers.

I kiss his cheek. “Wanna buy me breakfast?”

He nods as if there’s nothing else he’d rather do.

When we get downstairs, he starts to open the front door, and I step in front of him, pressing my back to the wood to stop him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

Nervous, I rub the back of my neck. “I got you something else, but I’m worried it might not have been the best idea. If you don’t want it, we can take it back, okay? It’s fine. I promise, it’s fine. And?—”

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Is it a motorcycle?”

I press my lips together, feigning annoyance. “You ruin everything. How do you know me that well?”

He gapes at me.

Grabbing my arm, he pulls me out of the way and opens the front door, dragging me outside with him. A light blue YamahaYZF-R1 is parked on the driveway with a huge, over-the-top blue bow attached to the handlebars. I contemplated whether or not the bow was too cheesy for a long time this morning. Sick of me, Frankie snatched it from my hands and attached it herself. I’d say it was a good call judging by the look on Easton’s face.

He’s been talking about getting a motorcycle since we were thirteen, but he always put off getting his license. He never said it outright, but I knew it was because of his mother. She died in a car accident, and he’s the most cautious driver I know because of it. Riding a motorcycle can be dangerous. Of course he’d be a cautious rider too, but all it would take is one idiot on the road to not pay attention, and he’d be toast. He doesn’t want to go the same way his mum did.

While I was in London, my mum told me he’d finally gotten his license, but when I came home, he never mentioned it, and he never bought himself a motorcycle.

“When did you get this?” He walks around the bike in a slow circle, trailing his finger over the framework.

“A couple weeks ago. Xavi helped me pick it out and test drove it.”

He snaps his head toward me. “You weren’t his backpack, were you?”

“No. I don’t have a death wish.” I wince at my poor choice of words. “I meant because Nate would kill me, not because Xavi’s a dangerous driver. He was careful.” I leave out the part where Xavi told me he and Nate once rode his motorcycle while Xavi was blindfolded. I’m sure Easton already knows the story behind that.

“So…” I hedge. “Do you want it? You can say no. And we don’t have to ride it right now if you’re not ready. We can take the car to breakfast and?—”

He grabs my face and kisses me. “I fucking love you.”

I let out a breath, relieved I didn’t fuck this up and make him feel like I was pushing him into it. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?” I ask just to be sure.

“Fuck yes, I want it. Now, can you stop babbling so I can see how good you look wearing that?” He points to the black helmet on the seat, knowing it’s mine without having to ask. His is the blue one.

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