Page 71 of Dirty Martini
Not when I wrap my arms around his neck and lock my legs around his waist. Not when he fucks me—languidly, tenderly—like we have all the time in the world. Not even when we’re done and sated. I’ll keep holding on because what started as hero worship when I was young, to hate in the last two months, has turned into something I don’t want to live without.
“I’m so yours,” I mutter into his ear, rewarded when a choked sound leaves him, and his thrusts become sharper. “Yours to fuck. Yours to own. Yours to use however you want.”
“Fuck,” he rasps, snapping his hips, tunneling that maddening cock inside me. “Gonna come.”
I take my dick in my hand and stroke myself in time with his thrusts. “Fill me up, Rhys. Mark me. Take me. Claim me.”
“I’ll fucking claim you,” he growls. Growing erratic and choppy, his sweat slicked chest rubs against mine. “Because there’s never going to be anybody for you but me.”
The gravity of his words doesn’t sink in as I feel his cum fill me. It’s a foreign sensation—hot—like molten lava trickling down a volcano. I come alongside him and cry out his name through a sob that he catches with his lips.
“Shhh,” he mumbles, stroking my twitching sides as the intensity of all my emotions overcomes me. “Just let it happen, baby. Feel me. Feel me dripping out of you.”
“So good,” I slur, then rise on my elbows when he disentangles himself. I reach for him, reluctant and petulant as he slides out. “Rhys?”
“Just want to see,” he says, pushing my legs up and back until my knees hit my chest. His hiss is low as he spreads my cheeks. “Look at you, all puffy and swollen. Your poor little hole must be sore.” Kissing one of my cheeks, he kneads the other. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it better.”
I’m just about to ask what he means, but then he dives down and licks one long stripe up my crease. My mind becomes hazy with pleasure at the sloppy swipes of his tongue. He moans against me, the deep rumble shooting straight to my cock that’s trying to rally for a second round. I don’t realize that I doze off until he’s tucking me under the covers. He looks at me, just looks, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He’s tense, reluctant almost. After a long moment, he gulps. “Did you mean it?”
He doesn’t have to elaborate. In the heat of the moment, empty promises can be made. When you’re trapped in pleasure, things just come out.
But I meant it when I said I’m his. I’m tethered now, and I never want to experience a world withoutusin it.
“Every word,” I say, tugging him down so he’s lying on my chest.
We fall asleep like that, peacefully wrapped in each other. But still, in my dreams, there’s a nagging thought that haunts me.
That the beautiful bubble we’ve built around us is made of glass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rhys
To saythings are going well is an understatement.
In the last week since Knox’s party, Everest and I have been more inseparable, if that’s even possible. We’ve abandoned all pretenses of sleeping apart. Even if we don’t end up having sex—which we’re havinga lotof—we fall asleep together every night. He’s consumed my entire life, infiltrated and established himself in every crevice, until I can’t go more than a few minutes without thinking about him.
I whistle as I dry the martini glasses, tapping my foot to the beat of the new track Cassius is trying out in the background. Normally, this is the part of opening the bar that bores the shit out of me, but it’s giving me time to think of where I should take Everest on our first date. We’re way past the awkward point of a relationship where we’re getting to know each other, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to wine and dine my guy. Despite having been sleeping together for two months now, we haven’t actually been out together.
Even though it’s summer, it’s way too hot to go to the beach. We could see a movie at that retro theater in Dolphin Mall or explore the art scene at Wynwood Walls. I know he’d probably like Bayside Marketplace, so we could walk around and lookat all the boats. Either way, with how hard Everest has been working during the tail end of his semester, he deserves to go out and do something fun.
With his boyfriend.
I smile like an idiot, continuing to whistle as I dry another glass. Britt rounds the corner of the bar, two registers under either arm, and smirks. “What’s got you so happy?”
“Nothing,” I say, but my smile only widens when my phone buzzes with a text from Everest.
Britt hums under her breath, brushing past me to set up one of the registers. “If you say so. You got everything set up for tonight?”
“Yeah. The fruit has been cut, the bar wiped down, the liquor stocked. I just have to finish these glasses and refill the ice before we’re good to go.”
“That’s why I like when you open.” She gives my shoulder a pat. “Bless Skylar, but he’s always scrambling to get things done.”
“He’s more of a hands-on people person,” I concede, knowing that between the three of us, Skylar is the best at actually working the bar. Customers love him and he has this natural ability to calm people’s bullshit.
“Speaking of which,” she begins, setting down the last register as she turns her brown eyes toward me, giving me all her attention. “How do you like working here?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I like it just fine, I guess?”
