Page 57 of Don't Say You're Sorry

Always his.

“Your apartment’s gone, and your brother’s back in Hawthorne,” he says, his lips moving over my jawline. “If you try to run from me again, you won’t get very far. I’ll catch you this time,” he whispers in my ear. “You think your life was miserable before? I’ll show you what it really means to be miserable. Do you hear me?”

“I won’t run,” I vow breathlessly. “Never again.”

He tightens his grip on the tie around my throat, his teeth clamped down on my earlobe.

“Fuck.Yes,” I moan. “I hear you.”

“Good boy.” He removes his teeth, soothing the spot with his lips and tongue. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Let me touch you and I’ll do anything you want.”

He laughs quietly. “Touch me where?”

“Wherever you’ll let me.”

Taking my left hand, he lifts it up to the back of his neck. I dig my fingers in gratefully, holding him down on my ear, my thigh twitching with the urge to wrap it around his hip. But I don’t push my luck, leaving both feet planted on the floor.

“Tell our parents you’re back for good,” he says, and I nod without really thinking about it.

“Okay. Yes. Why?”

“Because I want you stuck here with me,” he says unremorsefully. “I want it to be really fucking difficult for you to pack up and leave again.”

I already knew that, but it feels good to hear him admit it to me. I know this Easton. I know how to take him, how to talk to him, how to please him, how to drive him insane…

“Did you see my bed?” I ask, tilting my head to allow him better access.

He moves his mouth down to my neck. “Hm?”

“In London. Did you lie on my bed?”

His lips curl into a smile against my racing pulse, and I have my answer.

“One night, I tied myself to the headboard,” I tell him. “Just one wrist. Plug in my ass. Face down. Legs spread. My cock fucking the sheet. I came hands-free pretending you were inside me. I even left a bruise on my hip with my own fingers.”

He growls, pushing his body into mine, his hand grabbing the back of my thigh and pulling it up to his hip. “Where’s the plug?”

Now it’s my turn to smile. Guess he didn’t find it while he was unpacking all my stuff that first night.

“Inside pocket of my suitcase.”

“Is it the one I gave you?”

“Yes,” I say, my cheek against his. “Do you still have yours?”

He nods, his mouth on my neck, his blunt nails scraping up my thigh. He pulls my ass away from the wall, and my back arches as he teases my hole with his fingers, his pelvis rocking against me. It’s the first time he’s touched my ass in years, and my body feels like it’s coming back to life, ready and eager for him. The fabric of his jeans is rough against my dick, and the fingers he’s rubbing me with are dry, but I love it. I love the way he drivesmeinsane.

“Have you come yet?” he asks, rubbing himself on my dick with purpose.

“No. I’m saving it for you like you told me to.”

“So good for me,” he praises, rewarding me by spitting on his fingers. He chokes me with the tie as he rubs my hole again, and I moan loudly in his ear, my nails digging into the back of his neck. I don’t let go, and I don’t do anything to muffle the sounds either. If he wanted me to be quiet for his friends’ sakes, he’d shove something in my mouth to shut me up. I love the fact he doesn’t.

“Give me a little bit,” he demands. “Just a taste.”

My dick throbs and leaks for him, and he drops to his knees, my leg hooked over his shoulder, his finger fucking my ass, his mouth sucking the precum from the head of my cock.

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