Pretty Boy

The Boys of Apartment 13 Book 1

Brianna Flores
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 Copyright © 2024 Brianna Vega

All rights reserved

ISBN: 9798882985850

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Brianna Vega

Printed in the United States of America

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 Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Content Warning
Author's Note
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Epilogue
Afterword
Books In This Series
Books By This Author

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 Content Warning

This book, while low angst, does contain topics that

may be triggering to some readers. This list may
contain spoilers, and I do recommend skipping it if
you'd like to avoid those. However, if you do have
triggers and/or just want to know what sorts of
naughty fun you can look forward to, please read
below.

Homophobia (mild), both at the hands of an MCs

parent and internalized
One use of a homophobic slur (said by an MC as a
means to defend himself)
Thoughts and behaviors that may be attributed to
eating disorders and/or body dysmorphia
Brief mentions of (off-page) physical acts of violence
that can be described as self-harming
 Brief mentions of (off-page) child abuse (not SA) at
the hands of abusive and alcoholic parents
Mentions of a parent in prison, and a legal adoption
as well as the adoption process being described
Mentions of an underage boy getting tattoos (off-
page)
Scenes depicting physical acts of violence at the
hands of an MC (not against other MC)
Depictions of intermittent explosive disorder, often
described as "blackouts" during violent episodes
Lots of consensual sex between male MCs
Feminzation kink and terminology (describing a male
MC's genitalia with feminine terms) as well as the
use of a WLW term as a term of endearment for a
male MC
Cockwarming, both with sex toys and an MC's dick
Accidental practice of unsafe sex
A baby-bi who is just too lazy and uneducated to
properly prepare his needy hole at times (most of the
time)
Bi-erasure at the hands of side-characters who do
and do not mean well
Lots of sex toys and use of said sex toys
Facetime sexy time
Depictions of a broken bone and blood on page
A dick piercing that is healing on page
A cheating partner (not either MCs)
A pretty, six-foot-one boy with a solid six-pack who
loves wearing lace for his boyfriend

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 Author's Note
Howdy pals!

While I do feel the need to warn you about the copious amount of sex in
this book, I am not at all sorry about it! Hopefully you just enjoy it.

Slurs of any variation make me sick, and I debated back and forth for a
while on the use of one in this story. I made sure that it was a queer MC
who says it, and he only says it as a means to defend himself.

Homophobia is a real-life thing. I know that it's not always fun to read
about real-life problems, and I promise I won't always include this specific
topic in my books, but for a baby-bi baseball player, it does work in his
story. That being said, I promise it is not a huge part of the book.

Unlike my debut, this book is very low angst. My grump is grumpy for
reasons and mentions of his past are heavy, but the story itself is mild and
steamy and I so hope you enjoy it!

Thank you for reading!

-Brianna Flores

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 Prologue
Liam
“Are you sure?” I ask Lucy, studying her face and knowing that she’s
lying. It’s not even one in the morning, and it had been right at midnight
when Anna had sent her birthday message to me. She wanted to be the first
person to say it to me, and she was. She’s a pretty great girlfriend that way,
always doing nice things like that. “I saw her car downstairs.” Plus, she told
me she was home not even an hour ago.
“Liam,” she cringes, clearly uncomfortable. But why?
“Lucy, what is it?” But I already feel the beginnings of dread starting to
trickle down my chest. I don’t want to believe that my girlfriend is cheating
on me, but I can’t think of any other reason Lucy wouldn’t want to let me
inside. I come here all the time. My place has three other guys living there,
so we usually hang out here when we want to be alone together.
“I’m sorry.” And she really looks it.
I consider just leaving because I’m pretty sure I know what it is that I’m
going to find if I go in there, but I don’t. I need confirmation.
Anna and I have been together for just shy of four months. That’s the
longest I’ve ever dated a girl. She’s technically my first girlfriend. I dated a
few girls in high school, but never anyone exclusively. I didn’t vibe hard
enough with anyone. Not until I met Anna. She’s cool and funny, someone
just so easy to like. I wanted to be around her for more than just sex, and
that’s never happened to me before.
“Can I come in? Please.” I stare heavily at her, watching her face go
through about twenty different emotions before finally, with a big sigh, she
moves aside and lets me in. I immediately head towards Anna’s room, and
when I get close, I stop.
So, yeah. My girlfriend is cheating on me. On my fucking birthday. But
I mean, shit. If whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is can make her moan like that?
Maybe I sort of get it.
Neither of us sounds like that when we have sex.
 For a second, I wonder if maybe she’s just in there alone with a toy or
something because there’s no way a dude can make anyone at all sound that
obnoxiously loud, right? But, no.
Unfortunately, I hear a guy’s voice join in. They both sound like they’re
auditioning for a porno and are about to get turned down for being too over
the top. Sorry, guys. We’ve never said this before, but you’re just too loud
for porn.
I should have just stayed home and hung out with Cade. This week has
fucking sucked, and coming here has just made things worse. This is almost
as bad as losing my starting position to Sam Martin.
Only then, Anna moans Sam’s name, and suddenly, it’s just as bad.
Probably worse, if I’m being honest.
I’m not really a crier, so it’s not all that surprising that I’m not on the
verge of tears, but it is a little weird that I find myself laughing. It’s not
even that this is funny. It’s not. Not really. But still, I have to cover my
mouth, not wanting them to hear me.
But then I doubt that they’d be able to with the way that they’re almost
screaming. And that thought only makes me laugh harder, so I turn around
to walk away.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” Lucy tells me again as soon as I make it back to the
living room.
“Shit, Lucy. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’d probably move if I had to
listen to any of my roommates doing… that.”
My face starts to heat when it occurs to me that this is kind of
embarrassing. I’m being cheated on. On my birthday.
It’s like the hurt catches up to me, starts to prick at my stomach. Why?
“Who is it?” I know who it is, but I want her to confirm. She’s reluctant
to answer, purses her lips, and doesn’t say anything at all, but I must be a
masochist because I ask again. “It’s Sam Martin, right?”
She keeps her lips sealed, but she nods her head the tiniest bit. I doubt
I’d seen it if I hadn’t been watching her so closely.
Sam-fucking-Martin.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” She sounds so solemn. Like she’s sad for me, pities me.
I don’t want a bunch of people looking at or talking to me like this. Or
worse, laughing at me. People will say that I should kick his ass, and I just
don’t want to. Even if I thought I could––and maybe I could––I can’t stand
stuff like that. Expectations. There’s too much pressure on guys to be tough,
to take no shit. I hate it.
“Please don’t tell her that I was here. You didn’t see me. Only, don’t say
that because then she’d probably suspect that I was here. Just don’t say
anything, okay?” I take a breath to stop myself from rambling. “Promise
me.”
“I promise. I won’t say a word.”
I have no choice but to believe her. Hopefully, she feels sorry enough
for me that she keeps her word because the only thing worse than losing
both my starting position and my girlfriend to Sam-fucking-Martin would
be if everyone knew that I lost both my starting position and my girlfriend
to Sam-fucking-Martin.
I already feel like a loser. Not only is he fucking my girlfriend, but he’s
making her moan louder than I ever could. No fucking way am I letting that
be public knowledge. I’d die. I’ll just shoot her a text dumping her, and
that’ll be that.
I really liked her, though. She was fun to be around and to hang out
with. I know that I should be jealous, sad, or even pissed off that I’m losing
a girlfriend, but mostly it feels like I’m losing a great friend, and that
fucking blows.
Maybe I should be happy that I’m not more upset about losing my first
girlfriend, but mostly it just sucks that I’m not all that surprised. That’s the
upsetting part. I’m Liam Walker. This kind of stuff just happens to me.
But why? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I think of the way she was moaning just now, and it starts to make a
little more sense. Sex is… well, I have it, that’s for sure. I like it enough. I
just don’t get all crazy about it like other guys seem to. I’m not passionate.
I’ve never felt a bone-deep urge to just be with someone. And I’m kind of
lazy, honestly. Not all that giving and I’ve had girls bring it up. I’ve even
been called boring before.
I’m the one who was cheated on, so I know that it’s not on me to feel
ashamed about this, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting in knots
as I make my way back to my car.

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 One
Liam

T
hat guy has a lot of tattoos.
I can’t help but stare, but I do feel bad about it. Uncomfortable
with the fact that my eyes seem to be stuck on him. But he must get
that a lot. He’s big, but also not? He’s tall and broad. Bulky, yet lean. I’m
not a small guy, but if he walked up to me and told me that he could bench-
press me, I’d believe him. And he has so many tattoos.
He looks… I’m not sure, but my eyes can’t keep off of him. Floppy,
dark brown hair that’s short on the sides but wavy on the top, a straight
nose, and full lips. He’s conventionally attractive.
But very tatted.
I’m a total wuss when it comes to needles, so I’ve pretty much avoided
tattoo shops and the topic altogether my whole life. I’d never get one. Ever.
It’s obvious this guy doesn’t have the same issues, though. He’s got
almost two full sleeves of realistic roses, even the front of his throat
covered in, look at that, more roses. I don’t usually like tattoos, but they
look good on him. Really good. He’s the kind of guy I’d probably be a little
jealous of if we hung out together because I just know that he attracts all
kinds of attention from girls.
“How tall do you think that guy is?” I ask Cade, who’s jogging on the
treadmill next to me. Today was leg day, but we’re just cooling down now.
We already did a full workout, so why he insists on jogging is beyond me.
I’m perfectly fine walking my mile. Or whatever distance I end up finishing
at when he decides he’s done.
“Who?”
 “That guy,” I motion with my head. He’s pretty big. He’s not like too
big, but he’s pretty solid, and it’s noticeable.
I don’t know why this amazes me so much. I’m not a small guy. I’m
six-one and pretty bulky myself, but him? He’s bigger than me. There’s a
lot of power in that body.
“Sebastian?”
My eyes finally manage to unglue themselves from the guy––man.
Sebastian, apparently. “How do you know his name?”
“I asked him,” he says easily, his feet still pounding on the treadmill
and showing no sign of slowing. He asked him. I don’t know why that’s so
surprising to me. Maybe because the idea of me just going up to ask him
something like that kind of makes me nervous.
I’d like to be able to say that I look away then, stop staring like a total
creep, but I can’t because I definitely keep my eyes fixed on him. I know
that it’s impolite to stare, but it can’t be helped. Every time I actually do
manage to look away, I only make it mere seconds before my eyes find their
way back to him.
This is how I end up seeing it when a smaller guy––like truly itty-
bitty––walks up to him and kisses him on the cheek. Sebastian has to lean
way down just so that he can, and the way they hug isn’t exactly the way
bros hug.
“Is he gay!?” I at least have enough sense to whisper, but it’s still a little
too loud. A girl on the elliptical machine a little ways in front of us turns
around to look at me.
“Who? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t actually know him. He just works
here.”
“Works here?” How didn’t I realize that? He’s wearing a loose athletic
shirt with the gym’s logo on it and everything. I can see his torso when he
leans down or turns to the side.
“He’s a personal trainer.”
“A gay personal trainer?”
“Dude,” Cade laughs, looking at me in a way that really points out how
weird I’m being. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” I say defensively. It’s not that I’m homophobic. I don’t mind
that gay people exist, and I do think that love is love and all that jazz. It’s
just that I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a gay man like him. So big and
manly. So tatted, and just…
 I grit my teeth, more than a little aware that my thoughts may be
problematic, but I can’t help it. I just genuinely had no clue that this was a
thing. Big ol’ gay men with big arms and beefy legs. He’s in one of the
trainer rooms now, and I can see through the big windows as he squats––
watch as his shorts ride up the expanse of his thick as fuck thighs.
Jesus. They’re so broad, the muscles there bunched and corded tightly
as he does his thing. His legs aren’t as covered in ink as his arms, bare skin
clearly visible and I can’t help but notice his leg hair. It’s not overly thick,
and it makes me wonder what the arm hair situation is like. Lots of hair on
guys has always grossed me out. It’s why I like that I have so little. I
wonder if he has any on his chest. I hope not. Or, I don’t hope, but I mean––
shit. What do I mean?
“Liam. Stop staring.”
I huff, annoyed with myself and over this Sebastian dude. I turn the
treadmill off, waiting for it to fully stop before getting off and heading back
towards the locker rooms, knowing that Cade won’t be far behind. Cade
probably thinks I’m acting homophobic, and that sucks, but maybe him
knowing the truth would be worse?
I’m straight. I’ve had sex with plenty of girls and am definitely attracted
to them. So, I wouldn’t want Cade to get the wrong idea if I tried to explain
myself.

∞∞∞

T
he sight of my ex-girlfriend sitting on some random guy’s lap confuses
me for a second, but not for the reasons that it should. It’s not a
surprise that she’s with someone else, but it is a little strange that it
took me so long to notice that she was even on him. It wasn’t until they
started sucking face that I saw her.
I was too busy looking at him, this guy that I don’t even know. He’s
about my size, maybe broader, but not by much, and he’s wearing shorts.
And for whatever reason, the sight of his exposed thighs reminds me of
Sebastian’s.
 Only this guy’s kind of sucks compared to Sebastian’s. They’re not as
thick, and his leg hair is blonde. Sebastian’s…
Yeah. So, that’s why I’m confused right now. I shouldn’t be fixating on
this. It’s not something I usually focus so hard on, and it’s got me all
messed up.
Stupid big gay dude broke my brain.
“She’s so fucking hot. I can’t believe you let her go.”
I can’t help but glare at Cade, giving him a side eye as he rests his
elbow on my shoulder and stares at my ex. I don’t bother saying anything.
Nobody but Lucy knows the real reason I broke up with her, not even my
best friend. They only know her side of things, and she definitely didn’t go
around telling people that she’s a cheater.
Nope. According to her, I was simply using her and tossed her aside
when I was done. But whatever. It’s better that people think that than know
the truth. It’s much less embarrassing this way.
Looks aren’t everything. I know that, but I get what Cade is saying.
She’s hot. Tall and slim, blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s like the definition
of today’s beauty standard. But I know what I look like, too. People, most
of them anyway, like the way I look. I know because they tell me. It’s
always been like that.
Pretty boy is an insult as much as it is a compliment.
I’m positive that’s the only reason Anna had been interested in me. She
liked how I look and liked it even more that other people like how I look.
Girls were jealous of her, or so she told me. All. The. Time. But, yeah.
Looks aren’t everything because if they were, she wouldn’t have cheated on
me.
When I broke up with her, I sort of expected her to start dating Sam. I
was dreading it, to be honest. I’m glad that didn’t happen, but with it pretty
much being known that she plays the field these days, it does make me
wonder if there were other guys when we were together. Dudes other than
Sam.
The idea that there were, that more people knew I was being cheated on
by the only actual girlfriend I’ve ever had…
I need to get laid. Move on. For somebody who wasn’t all that sad to
say goodbye to her, I sure do think about this shit a lot. I can’t help that it
eats at me, though.
 I think about how loud she’d been when I caught her and Sam together
all the time. She’s an actual screamer, but when we had sex? Crickets
basically. Am I that bad in bed?
I have to be. I hate that I even have to question it. Why is it the guy’s
job to please? I mean, to be fair, I apparently suck at said job. I’m sure lots
of guys do, though. So yeah, women, I feel you.
I want to be the one whose pleasure is the focus, not the other way
around. Why can’t I just lay there and take it? I am not at all a giving
person. Give it to me, dammit. Give me all of the things. That’s what I want.
Sex would be so much better if I weren’t the one in control.
I’m pretty close to talking myself out of looking for a hookup, but it’s
been almost three months, and I am horny. It came out of nowhere, but
when the need hits…
I spot Lucy, and for a crazy second, I consider it. But, no, that’d be
weird. Not only is she still Anna’s roommate, but she’s also one of the only
people who knows the truth, and I don’t want that to come up. She is a
pretty girl, though. On the curvier side, with rich brown skin. She almost
always has her hair done in braids and dresses up more often than she does
down. She’s a cool person. It’d be nice to just be friends with her, honestly.
If she didn’t know what she knows, that is.
I look around, still dead set on finding someone, but as I sip at my beer,
I find myself losing interest. There are a lot of girls here, just none that are
catching my eye. None that I can see myself actually interested in enough to
want to play a more active role in bed with. I try picture myself with them,
one at a time, and I can’t see me getting into it. Enjoying it.
I never fucking do. Sex is fine. I like coming, but it’s not all that big of
a deal. Most of the time, I don’t even know why I have it. And none of these
girls seem worth the internal dilemma tonight.
There are also a lot of guys here, and I sort of hate myself for it, but
Sebastian has me looking at them a little differently. Paying attention to
things I wouldn’t normally notice at all, and I find myself a little relieved
that not a single one of them sparks any sort of interest. I make myself
imagine myself with them, too, to really clear my conscious, but I feel
nothing.
I end up looking for Lucy again, if anything, just wanting a friendly
face, but when I spot her, she’s talking to a guy I vaguely recognize as
someone on the football team. Jason. I think that’s his name.
 I sigh, knowing that she’s better off. He’s probably a better lay than I
am. I’m tall-ish and good-looking, but I apparently suck in bed, and he
probably doesn’t. Plus, he’s also tall-ish and good-looking.
He’s got nothing on Sebastian, though.
God, I just don’t know what the fuck it is about that guy.
Lucy would get it. He’d be all tall and huge and looming over her, and
she’d fucking swoon. The height difference? The tattoos? Yeah, girls like
that shit. I can see Sebastian leaning over her the same way Jason is now,
only he’d have to duck his head even lower. She’d have to reach for him,
crane her neck just to kiss him.
Hell, even I’d have to tilt my head. I’d have to look up, at least a little.
My lips would meet his from below because he’s taller than me. Bigger and
broader. That’s––
My dick literally twitches in my jeans, and I’m so fucking stunned that
all I can do is stand there, frozen in the middle of this packed frat house. I
keep staring at Lucy and Jason from way across the room and feel my face
start to heat. It’s so bad that the back of my neck itches, most likely just as
red as my cheeks. I have to rub at the skin there, trying to soothe the slight
burn.
I make myself close my eyes, will my half-hard dick to behave because
I am not doing this. Nope. I’m done. Over it. I will no longer imagine
kissing a man, not even one who looks like that.
When I open my eyes again, with a plan to find the nearest bathroom, I
only end up making it one step before I stumble into someone and have to
apologize profusely. I’m a little more buzzed than I thought I was, the beers
I’ve downed are finally catching up with me.
It’s a relief. I’m just drunk. And horny. It all makes a lot more sense
now.

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 Two
Liam

I
woke up this morning a little hungover and a lot sick of my shit. The
literal first thing, the very first thing I thought of when I opened my
eyes, was Sebastian. It’s beyond annoying.
How long does it usually take to become obsessed with something? I’m
pretty sure for me, it took a single second. If even.
“Hey.”
I blink over at Cade, too tired to say anything back. There are four guys
living in this three-bedroom apartment, and since we’ve known each other
since we were kids, we didn’t mind having to share a room. I was just
pumped to get the bathroom with the bathtub. I have to scrub Cade’s
nastiness off before I actually take baths, but it’s worth it. I’m a total slut for
bubble baths.
I’m still in bed, lying on my stomach and unwilling to move. I don’t
have any classes today, so I planned on sleeping in. Only instead of sleeping
in, I’m actually up even earlier than when I do have class.
All because of a big, stupid gay man.
“Bet you’re wishing you didn’t suck so bad at beer pong, huh?”
“Mm,” I grunt, turning my head towards the wall. “Mostly I just wish
you’d shut the fuck up.”
He’s right, though. I do suck at beer pong. I sort of suck at all sports––is
beer pong a sport? I don’t know, but I do know that the only reason I even
play baseball is because of my dad. I didn’t have talent, but I play well
enough now. And that’s only because he made me play so much. All the
time, obsessively almost, because he was adamant that if he was going to
have a son who plays baseball, he better have been good at it.
There were a lot of tears involved in my tee-ball days.
 I’ve looked back at my childhood a lot, and the only time he ever really
expressed any interest in me was when I was playing. It wasn’t until my
sophomore year of high school that my mom told me why. He tried to go
big, make it to the MLB. According to her, he was close, but then he was
injured, and suddenly, all his life plans came crumbling down.
I don’t see how that’s my fault though.
“I think I want to quit baseball.”
Cade is silent, but I don’t really expect a reaction. He knows how much
I hated playing baseball growing up. Even now, I don’t complain as much
as I used to, but I still throw some stuff out there every once in a while. I
kind of want to ask him if he thinks my dad will be mad, but there’s no
point. He’s going to be livid. Do that thing where the vein in his forehead
looks like it’s going to pop. Which is stupid. I don’t know why he cares.
He’s not really around much, not until the season starts. And even then, all I
usually get is a laundry list of things I could have done better after every
game he watches.
“You should.”
He was silent for so long that I honestly forgot I had been talking to
him. He’s right. But this isn’t the first time we’ve talked about this. I always
want to quit, but I never do.
I don’t know why I care so much about what my dad thinks of me. He
divorced my mom when I was twelve, and not even a year later, he was
remarried and expecting a baby girl. And now he has two of them who he
loves and sees every single day. I try not to feel bitter when it comes to the
girls. I love them, and they adore me. It’s not their fault that they were born
girls, and for whatever reason, that means that my dad has fewer
expectations for them. Maybe, when they’re older, they’ll resent that, but
they’re the lucky ones.
“I’m going to.” I think it’s time. Even just saying that, speaking it into
existence like this, has a flurry of excitement and unease swirling around in
my guts. I’d have to tell my coach, then tell my dad.
“Want me to be there when you tell your dad?” The bed dips behind me
as Cade climbs into bed with me. He places an arm over my back,
snuggling close and offering as much comfort as he can. He’s always been a
touchy guy. I’m kind of the opposite, but I guess our dynamic works. I’m
certainly used to it.
 “Nah,” I tell him, not bothering to remind him how much my dad hates
him. The cuddling is one of the reasons. He caught Cade sleeping in my bed
on one of our sleepovers as kids and overreacted. Luckily, my mom was
able to calm him down because I doubt that Cade and I would even still be
friends if my dad had had it his way.
That was just something innocent. Two little boys just shooting the shit
and staying up late until they crashed. I can’t even imagine how he’d react
if I actually wanted to sleep with guys as an adult. Not that I do.
My mind jumps to Sebastian, this guy I don’t even know.
It’s just short of maddening, the way I cannot stop thinking about him. I
can’t control it. He’s like a splinter just under my skin and fucking
festering.
“Do you think my dad would be more pissed off hearing I’m quitting
baseball or that I want to sleep with a dude?”
We both stiffen. I don’t even know why the fuck I said that. My hands
are itching to cover the back of my neck, which I’m positive is washing red,
but it’s like I’m stuck. Frozen solid, yet burning up all at once.
“Liam, are you saying that––”
“No! I’m––I meant hypothetically. Like, what if I was gay or––I’m not
gay.” I hike my elbow up, trying to move his arm off of me.
It’s ridiculous. We’ve done this countless times before, but one little
accidental query about homosexuality and suddenly, I can’t stand his skin
on mine. I sit up and turn around to face him just as he’s getting off my bed.
He stares at me with a look on his face that I can’t decipher.
“I’m not gay,” I say again, despite knowing how much worse I’m
making things by needlessly repeating myself.
“Yeah, man. I believe you.” He shrugs. “I mean, you could tell me if
you were.”
“I’m not!”
“Okay,” he holds his palms up. He opens his mouth to say something
else, but his alarm goes off on his phone and saves me from whatever it is
he wants to add. “You need in the bathroom before I shower?”
I shake my head, making myself look at him despite wanting to look
away. This is my best friend. Practically my brother. He stares at me for a
beat, and I can’t help but wonder if he can see the pulse point in my neck
throbbing.
 It’s an overreaction for sure, but it can’t be helped. I just cannot stand
the idea of him––of anyone––thinking that I’m gay. It’d be different if I
were, but I’m not.
If I was... I don’t think he’d have a problem with it. We have a gay
roommate, and Cade has never once said anything mean about him. I don’t
think that he has a homophobic bone in his body, but maybe he’d find an
issue with the guy he’s known for most of his life deciding he likes guys all
of a sudden.
My dad is another story. There is no maybe with him. He’d be upset,
but I’m not sure how upset he’d be.
“I’ll see you later.”
He shuts the bathroom door behind him, and I breathe a little easier.
I made shit weird, and for what? I’m not gay. Acting all sketchy like
that kind of makes it seem like I am. Or it definitely makes me seem overly
sensitive to the topic, and I could easily see how that’d spark some doubts.
I feel like I’m having some doubts.
But if I were gay, I’d know, right? I’m twenty-one years old. I’d know
if I liked dick.
Or… ass?
Dudes, my brain supplies. I’d know if I liked dudes. There’s no need to
stress over the anatomy because it’s a nonissue. I’d know if I liked men, and
I don’t.
Sebastian is just an anomaly.
Man. This guy has fucked me up. Seriously. I need to change gyms,
start going in the morning or something so that I can avoid him.

∞∞∞

“Y
ou really shouldn’t bend your back like that.”
I jump, the deepness of his voice catching me off guard. I
expected him to say something, knew that if he saw me bend over
to grab the bar, he’d feel obligated to correct my form. At least, I hoped the
trainer in him would care enough to do that, but I did not expect his voice to
sound like that. The sound is low and velvety. Husky and smooth but deep.
 It has me regretting all my life choices. Why did I think this was a good
idea? What do I even say now? Obviously, I work out. I know how to
fucking deadlift.
“Uh,” but that’s as far as I get. Yeah, that’s good, Liam. That really
clears shit up.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I was just…” Again, that’s as far as I get. It’s annoying.
Confusing. This man’s attention on me, his voice when he speaks to me, has
a debilitating effect. It has my mind going blank in a way I’ve never
experienced. It’s never been like this for me. I’m not a big people person,
but I’m not exactly shy. And I know words. Use ‘em all the time, in fact.
“Okay then,” he eyes me, his vivid blue eyes peering into my soul the
way all baby-blue-eyed-motherfuckers seem to be able to, and I swear I can
feel it. It’s like that heavy stare is actually touching me. It’s creeping me
out, skimming over my skin in an imposing way.
I hate it, but then he looks away, and I hate that even more. He turns his
head away from me, and my shoulders slump, all pathetic-like. It should be
a relief. It’s easier to breathe now, and that’s a good thing. So why does it
feel so fucking bad?
God, what is wrong with me? Seriously. I’m not even supposed to be
here. I told myself I would stop coming just this morning, and yet, here I
am.
Fucking weak.
I’ve only seen him twice––unless I count all the times I’ve imagined
him, which I don’t––but this is the closest I’ve ever been, and it feels… it’s
fucking with my head. He is. Even more than he was already.
He has piercings. Five in one ear and four in the other. Two little hoops
on one side of his nose. It’s… they look good on him.
I’ve never really been impressed with piercings or tattoos. I don’t
usually have much of an opinion on them other than needles are fucking
scary, so I won’t ever get any, but on him? It’s kind of hot.
I groan out loud, which has him turning back around to look at me. I
can’t help but blush. I should look away. He just caught me staring at him,
and I know that I should look away, but I can’t.
“Do you need something?” He’s annoyed with me, actually glaring.
It makes sense because I am ogling him like a pervert. It makes me
think of how he’d smiled at that guy who’d kissed his cheek. Maybe he
only likes guys like that. Small ones who look cute and shit.
I am not cute. I’m kind of big. Six-one and too fit to be considered
skinny. God, if he only likes small guys, I just… well, nothing. I shouldn’t
feel any type of way about that because it has nothing to do with me.
“You work here, right?”
That has his face sobering, just a little, but enough that I feel myself
relax a bit.
“I do. I’m not working at the moment––just working out––but what did
you need? Were you looking for a trainer?” He looks at me, actually trails
his eyes down my body in an appraising gaze, and I have to remind myself
that I look good. I know I do, so there’s no reason to feel so insecure right
now.
“No. Well, maybe. Does this place have, like, classes?” I’m just pulling
shit out of thin air. I have no idea how I’m going to talk my way out of this
without him thinking that I’m an idiot, but he’s looking at me and talking to
me, so I’m sticking with it.
“You want to take a fitness class?”
“I mean, sure. I hate working out.”
His brows scrunch up a bit like he’s confused, and I get it. I look like I
work out regularly and I do, but it’s not a lie. I hate working out. In high
school, bouncing back and forth between my parents’ houses, I had to work
out almost obsessively. I’d eat foods I wasn’t allowed to at my mom’s and
then feel guilty, and go ham in the gym. Then I’d be at my dad’s, and he’d
just push me into diets and exercise as if my survival depended on it.
“I’m quitting baseball, so I don’t think I need to keep up with the crazy
fitness plan anymore, but I don’t want to get too lazy either.”
His lips quirk, flashing a dimple on one cheek, and I fucking swoon. I
feel my stomach start to roil like the feeling of giddiness has taken on a
physical form and just started wailing on my guts. It has my chest swelling.
I kind of––barely––like it, but mostly, it makes me want to throw up.
I like him. I have a crush on this guy. A big one. I don’t know what this
means, how it’s possible to go from straight to wanting everything from
some big-tattooed dude, but it’s there. And I want everything. His attention,
the words he speaks, the very air he breathes. I want him to like me, to want
me as much as I want him.
Oh, god. He has a dick.
 I want that? I just don’t know. None of this makes any sense. What
would I even do with it if I got it?
The thought has the back of my neck heating, and I have to palm the
skin there, trying to soothe the blush away.
“Well, no classes, but I have availability if you’re interested.” He shrugs
like it doesn’t matter either way.
Like he didn’t just ask if I want to get sweaty with him on a regular
basis.

OceanofPDF.com
 Three
Liam

H
e hates me.
Nobody I’ve ever liked enough to pursue has ever just flat-out
hated me like this. I’m fairly certain that nobody has ever hated me at
all, actually. Ever. In my whole damn life.
I can’t say that anymore, though. My perfect record of being liked by
literally everyone I’ve ever met is now tarnished because of this guy.
Sebastian.
Except, okay, maybe it wasn’t all that perfect to begin with. I’m pretty
sure my ex at least strongly dislikes me. And Sam-fucking-Martin must not
have cared too much for me if he was willing to steal my starting position
and fuck my girlfriend. And honestly, most of the time, I don’t think my dad
likes me all that much either.
But still. Bash hates me. That might be one of the reasons, me calling
him Bash. He apparently hates nicknames. He apparently hates most things,
so I really shouldn’t let his obvious disdain for me bother me so much, but
god.
I want him to like me. I want him to stop looking at me like I punched a
puppy or something.
I want to touch him, want him to touch me. There should be more
touching in this whole deal. If they had a suggestion box, I would so tell
them that. Start a petition for the rest of his clients because I’m positive I’d
get eager guys and gals signing that shit, no question.
His tatted hands––black and grey roses on each one, with a bunch of
smaller random tattoos on each finger––would look so good on me.
Anywhere. My neck. My arms or legs. My dick.
Ugh. They’d look so fucking good on my dick. I just know it.
 “Did you hear anything I just said?”
I blink dumbly, drag my eyes off his hands upwards until I’m meeting
his irritated, ice-blue gaze. I have to force myself not to stare at his neck as
my eyes skim over his tattoos there too. More roses. He has a lot of roses on
his body, each one skillfully drawn and placed. Works of art just plastered
all over his built frame. Built but not too brawny. He’d look like a work of
art even without all the ink.
No wonder I’m suddenly ten different kinds of confused.
He asked me a question. “Uh.”
His thick brows dip as he huffs out a quiet breath. He’s annoyed.
“Whatever.” He shakes his head softly, already walking towards the door.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days, Liam.”
Liam. He said my name. He’s never said my name before. I’ve had it
for years. Liam. It’s nothing special. A pretty common name. I’ve heard it
hundreds, thousands of times over the span of my life, but it’s never
sounded like this. Everyone calls me that, but for some reason, the way it
sounds as it drips off his tongue, seasoned in that deep, smokey voice of
his… fuck.
It doesn’t even occur to me to move until the glass door shuts behind
him. The trainers’ rooms aren’t at all private. There are windows all along
the wall where you can see every inch of the attached public gym. I don’t
know why it bothers me. I don’t even think I could handle being alone with
him, really.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to be alone with him, though. It’s like
forcing myself to watch scary movies, chasing a wimpy little adrenaline
rush I can barely tolerate. That’s kind of what I imagine being in a room
with him––no windows––would be like.
My phone rings, makes me jump a little and my eyes look over to see
my screen lit up sitting on the shelf where the cleaning supplies are. I frown
at them. Bash––Sebastian––didn’t wipe the equipment down. He did after
our first session. Maybe it’s not something he does every time? Or, more
likely, maybe he just really wanted to get away from me. Maybe I creep
him out with all my staring.
No wonder he hates me so much.
My jaw tenses as I walk towards my phone, but seeing my mom’s
smiling face on the screen has that tension oozing out of me.
 “Howdy,” I answer and then immediately hold my phone away from my
ear as she starts to sing-song her way-too-loud greeting.
“What is my favorite son up to?”
“Your only son is at the gym.”
“Ah, yes. I knew that, actually. Ask me how.”
“How?” I smile prematurely and end up freezing when she mentions
how much I’ve spent at the gym this week. I live off a bank account that she
and my dad fund. They didn’t want me working while going to school, or
this wouldn’t be an issue. I should have expected this. Bash’s rate is fifty
dollars an hour, and I’ve signed up for four hour-long sessions a week. My
parents do better than most, but my mom didn’t grow up with money. She
married into it. A decent amount of it, but she remembers what it was like to
not have it. She understands the value of a dollar, and she’s raised me the
same. My dad though…
“I––Mom, it’s fine. Dad will pay for it. It’s for baseball.” Liar!
Ohmigod, you fucking liar. I just lied to my mother. What the fuck? “I could
always just get a part-time––”
“Nope! I worked my ass off while I was going to school, and it
definitely affected my grades. It was unbearable, Liam. You’re not doing
that if we can avoid it.”
“Mom, not even out of baseball season? I really think tha––”
“Liam!”
Damn. “Okay, Mom,” I sigh. This is the hill she will gladly die on.
“Why are you spending so much at the gym?”
I explain––leaving out my weird, out-of-character crush––and let her
know how the payment plans work here. I tell her how much I hate working
out and how I desperately need the motivation a personal trainer can offer
because, without it, I’d just sit on my ass as much as possible. Which is true
enough.
She gives me a lecture about how it’s okay to take it easy sometimes,
and baseball isn’t life, and so on and so on. I already know all of this. I’ve
heard it all before. She’s told me about a hundred different times in about a
hundred different ways, but it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t understand
the pressure he puts on me, why I’m not able to quit even if I hate it.
Except I am going to quit. Today. I’ll send my coach an email as soon
as I leave the gym.
 The feeling that washes over me as I try to convince myself I’ll actually
do it is beyond disquieting, so bothersome that I immediately change my
mind. I am quitting, but it makes more sense to wait. My dad is going to
freak, and by waiting, I get to cut the amount of screaming he does down by
a considerable amount.
She tells me to drop two sessions a week, and I reluctantly agree. It’s
fine. It’s for the best. Maybe if I see him less, he’ll hate me less.
She hangs up after a few minutes, letting me know that she’ll call my
dad and ask him to pay for this. That has my stomach tightening, guilt
making me uncomfortable. If she tells him it’s for baseball, he won’t even
hesitate. But it’s not for baseball. Because I’m quitting baseball.
I am.
“I love you, too, Mom.” I hang up and then grab the sanitizing spray
and a couple of paper towels off the roll. I wouldn’t want to come in after
some dude got his sweat all over the equipment, so I wipe down what I
remember touching.
“You’re still here.”
“Fuck!” My heart pounds as I hold the bottle of cleaning spray against
my chest. “You scared me,” I say, even though that much is very evident.
“Why are you still here?” Bash asks, ignoring the part where he almost
gave me a heart attack.
“I was cleaning.” Duh. I’m still holding the supplies in my hands.
“I would have done that.”
Why is he frowning at me? I hate it. I swear I almost hate it as much as
he hates me, and that’s saying something! He never smiles. Not at me, not
since that one time when he flashed his stupid dimple at me.
Personally, I’d have just said a simple thanks if someone did my job for
me, but that’s not how Bash rolls, I guess. He doesn’t really roll at all. He’s
too rigid for that.
“Okay.” I stand there a split second too long, just enough that it’s
awkward, before I finally move to set the cleaning supplies down and grab
my phone and water bottle off the shelves. “I’ll see you next time.” I don’t
look at his face.
I try really hard not to look at his face.
Only to end up looking at his face. But it’s worth it. Seeing him still
frowning at me, giving me plenty of space to leave the room without getting
close to him, that part kind of sucks. But getting to see him, it makes it kind
of worth it.
This shit is completely one-sided. He does not like me. There’s a word
for that that I just can’t think of right now, but the point is this: I like him.
He hates my guts.
What’s his problem? Most people look at me, but not like that. They
look at me like they’re interested. Maybe even annoyed, jealous. It’s not
usually anger that I see on faces, though. I’m hot! I know I am. I am a
good-looking man. Boy. I don’t exactly feel like an adult, but I am a sort-of-
man. And he’s supposedly gay.
But what if he’s not? God, what’s wrong with me? I’ve built all this up
in my head on a wimpy little maybe, questioning my own sexuality for
possibly no reason at all. There’s nothing solid about the evidence I’ve
collected. All he did was let some little guy kiss him on the cheek, and my
stupid brain yelled that man is GAY!
I look over my shoulder like one look can confirm whether or not this
guy fucks other guys. And would ya look at that? It sure the fuck does. His
eyes, still clearly blue even with the distance I’ve put between us, are
trained on my ass. I can’t help but smirk as I continue my walk out of the
gym, grateful for the assets baseball has given me.
That man is gay. Fuck yeah.
Only as soon as I actually exit the gym, my smile disappears. What
does any of this even mean? He might be, but I’m not. Or I don’t think I
am. It’s possible I’m bi, but again, I don’t feel it. I have no clue what to
label myself, but I’m also not sure straight fits. Not anymore. Not since I
saw him for the first time.
But what if––assuming he gets over his utter disgust for me––he
actually does want me, and I choke?
I don’t get embarrassed too easily––not all the time anyway––but I’m
certain I’d die if that happened.
I’m too worried about this. I know I am, but I can’t stop it. College is
supposed to be all about finding yourself, experimenting, and trying new
things. Loads of people test their sexualities in college. So why can’t I?
I can, I decide. I abso-fucking-lutely can. And if I’m doing that, it may
as well be with the guy who started this whole mess. It’s all his fault, so it
should be on him to help me figure shit out.
I don’t know that he’d agree, but like, who doesn’t like sex?
 Well, I think there have been at least a few people who haven’t exactly
liked having sex with me.
Imagining being brave enough to actually go for him, only to disappoint
him in the end has my mood plummeting, my feet dragging all the way to
the car my mom bought me as a graduation gift.
I’m making a big deal out of absolutely nothing. I’ll never have the
chance to disappoint Bash in bed, because I don’t have a chance with him,
period.

OceanofPDF.com
 Four
Bash

I
t’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he can go now, but I keep it in.
I just keep packing up my gear and pretend that he isn’t weirding me
out. He’s my last client, but he always lingers. I don’t really know how
to take Liam Walker, but I do know that he always takes on the persona of a
kicked puppy when I act like my usual reserved self.
I don’t know for sure what he wants from me, but––and this could just
be me being full of myself––I’m almost certain that he does not give one
fuck about staying in shape. He just wants me. We’ve done five sessions,
the fifth having just ended a few minutes ago, and each time, he spends
more time trying to talk to me or simply staring at me than actually working
out.
Like right now. He’s just standing there. Looking at me. Which he does
a lot. I’m a fairly blunt person because I don’t usually have the patience to
sugarcoat shit, and maybe it’s time I remember that. But as soon as I look
at him, watch as he visibly perks up the split second my eyes are on him,
the words die on my tongue.
Jesus. He’s got it bad.
He bites the corner of his lip, and my eyes track the movement. He has
nice lips, soft-looking and pouty. He’s actually really hot in a pretty-boy
kind of way. His looks are almost regal, fancy. He has sharp cheekbones, an
even sharper jawline, and hooded eyes that are so deeply brown they’re
almost black. But at the same time, there’s a softness about him. To his
looks and his overall being. He’s only five years younger than me, but his
personality is delicate in a way that makes him seem younger. Or me older.
It’s why I’m having a hard time telling him I’m not interested. Well,
that and I am interested. A little, at least. I just don’t fuck clients––or
anyone I have to see on a regular basis. I hate having to talk to hookups, see
them all the time. I’m a one-and-done kind of guy, and Liam here screams
clingy. Fucking screams it.
I could drop him. Tell him that I need to lessen my client load, and since
he’s my newest, he’s the first to go.
It’d be worth it, too. He looks like a good fuck. I’d wait until after we
hooked up, though. And he’d go for it, I know he would. The way he looks
at me tells me he’s absolutely gagging for my dick. I know the type. He’d
be eager to please, do anything I said, and do it happily.
“You got any plans tonight?”
He drops the water bottle in his hands, and my brows dip as he hurries
to pick it up. “Um, what? I mean, wait. Are you asking me––”
“Do you want to hang out, Liam?”
His cheeks flush as he reaches behind his head to cup the back of his
neck. He does that a lot. Sometimes all it takes to trigger that move is me
simply looking at him.
This is a bad idea.
“Uh, sure.” He gives me a little smile that comes off so shy and sweet
that I almost want to roll my eyes.
Fuck. This is a horrible idea.
“Cool. Do you need a ride, or do you want to follow me?” Yeah, I’m a
piece of shit. If I had even a drop of nice in me, I’d tell him I changed my
mind. Only, I am what I am, and right now, what I am is horny. And it’s his
fault, really. If he keeps looking at me like he wants to choke on my dick,
I’m going to have to make it happen before we leave.
He tells me that he’ll follow me, so I turn to go, trusting that he’s
competent enough to do as he said he would. It’s good that he has his own
car; that way, he can just leave when we’re done.
Oh, god. What if he doesn’t? Tries to linger in my house or my bed after
we’ve fucked like he does after our sessions here at the gym. Shit will get
awkward.
“You done for the day?” Darren, my coworker, asks as I pass the front
desk.
“Clearly.”
He snorts, more than a little used to my brusqueness. “Alright, man, see
you tomorrow.”
I ignore him, but behind me, I hear Liam murmur a quiet bye.
 “I’m the black Jeep.” I nod my head, motioning to the left, and glance
behind me to see him headed to the right. He looks at me with a nod,
pulling his keys out of his pocket and turning to get to his car. I can tell he’s
nervous, but hopefully, the drive will help ease some of that. I’m not in the
mood to put on any kid gloves tonight.
He follows me in a red Prius that briefly has me scoffing before I focus
on the road and my music. He parks next to me when we get there, and I
consider telling him that he should move because he’s parked in a
designated parking spot, and I happen to know that that neighbor is a dick.
But he shouldn’t be here that long, so I don’t bother.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I walk towards the fridge before he
has time to answer, and when he asks for water, I grab two bottles. When I
turn around, my brain lags for a second.
He really is hot. Even dressed in basic gym clothes, with his hair still a
little damp and sweaty. It has a nice length to it. Something I could easily
tug on. Just the thought has me more eager to get things started. I know I
should take it slow, or as slow as a sudden hookup can be anyway, but he
looks too fucking good.
I guess I have a thing for nervous pretty boys.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask him as I hand him his drink, and
when his eyes widen, his plump lips parting the slightest bit in shock, I
almost smile. “I don’t bottom. Ever.” I know what I like.
“I––that’s fine.” He averts his eyes, feeling even more bashful now that
the topic of sex is being brought up. It has me feeling a little guilty,
suddenly sympathetic to his anxiety.
But not that sympathetic.
“Any hard nos?”
“Um,” his brown eyes flick over to me before promptly looking away
again. “No, just––take it easy?” He says it like it’s a question, but before I
have a chance to respond, he’s nodding his head. “Yeah. Just go easy on me.
Please.”
This time I do smile, unable to stop it from forming on my lips. “I can
do that.” It’s almost cute, that little request. Out of all the shit he could’ve
said, don’t piss on me, no degradation, I hate spit, he goes with a simple
just go easy on me. I can definitely do that. I don’t think I ever have done
that, usually one to fuck hard and fast, but I guess I could. Since he said
please.
 I step into his space, and when he drops his water bottle and blushes, I
chuckle. I can’t help it, but I don’t want him to feel any more self-conscious
than he already is, so I decide it’s best to change tactics. Take it easy.
I cup his cheek and lean in. I expect the kiss to be chaste, a brief
meeting of lips, but he gasps against my mouth and leans into me heavily.
So fucking eager for it that I can’t help but glide my tongue against his.
He whimpers. This six-foot-something boy with a solid six-pack
actually whimpers against my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my
dick. I push him against the door, feel his cock, hard against me, and grind
a bit until he leans his head back and moans. I kiss his exposed throat, smell
the sweat there, and can’t help but lick a few times just to get a taste. I focus
on the skin there, probably leaving marks, until his hands move to grip my
biceps, and I finally lean back to look at him.
He looks wrecked already. His eyes are glassy, his pupils blown as wide
as possible, and his lips swollen and shiny. I have to kiss him again. It’s
hard and biting until he lets out a soft whine that reminds me of his request,
and I remember to move slower. Easy. He wants it easy.
It’s a struggle even imagining what easy looks like with me. But I can
feel him start to relax against me, releasing tension I wasn’t aware he was
holding in these muscles of his and it has me wanting to try. He stays lazily
rolling his hips against mine as the kiss goes on and on. It’s slow-moving
and sensual, has my cock throbbing that much more with every low moan
that escapes his chest.
Easy doesn’t feel too fucking bad.
“Fuck,” I pant against his mouth before forcing myself to take a step
back. He blinks, confused at the sudden lack of contact, before he tries to
step back into me. “Come on,” I have to put more space between us to stop
myself from mauling him, move away from him, and turn away when his
face falls. We need to get in my bed. Now.
I’m on him the second we’re in my room. My mouth eats at his, tastes
and savors every needy noise he releases, and when my hand snakes its way
under his shirt to gently skim over his stomach, he shivers.
“I––you should know that––”
I cup his jaw, making sure I’m being gentle, before sweeping my tongue
back into his mouth. There’s nothing I need to know. This isn’t something
that needs to be complicated with personal details. Chances are, I’ll never
even speak to him again when this is over with.
 God, the way he kisses, it fills me to the fucking brim. It has my chest
swelling, my brain slipping into a haziness that I have to step away from
him just to see through. Never has a kiss just wholly devoured me like that,
demanded so much from me. Just fucking owned me so completely.
I tug my shirt off and watch as his tongue slips over his bottom lip
before he drags it between his teeth, and his eyes flutter closed. He keeps
them that way as I get undressed, not looking at me and clearly not as
impatient as I am. I leave my boxers on as I reach for him, and when he lets
out a little breath, so sweet-sounding and desperate, I can’t help but press
my nose into his neck, inhale that bit of flesh, and fight back a groan.
Such a pretty little thing, I think, my lips pressed against his throat. “So
soft and sweet,” my lips move silently, not speaking it and I have a split
second to wonder what the fuck it is that I mean, why I’m almost saying it
because he’s a big guy. Not as big as me, a few inches shorter and leaner,
but he’s solid muscle. And, yet, the words aren’t untrue. He is soft and
sweet. Almost delicate and so fucking pretty.
“Do you need me to undress you, Liam?” I ask aloud, my voice
sounding foreign.
I slip my fingers under the hemlines of his bottoms, reach back to palm
his ass just as he releases a shaky breath, and then I do just that. I remove
his clothes, going so far as to bend down to urge his feet out of his shoes so
I can fully undress him, and when I finally slip his shirt off of him, he
cradles my face in his hands and consumes me. I can’t remember the last
person I kissed this much or if I’ve ever kissed anyone at all this much. It’s
confusing, has my chest pinching as I think about it, and then I’m pushing
away from him and moving to the side.
“On the bed.” I watch as he blinks a few times, looks at the bed as his
cock bobs the slightest bit. When a drop of precum falls to my floor, I
groan. I have to touch him, grab him, and move him because he’s going too
slow. He makes a noise like he’s confused and maybe a little alarmed. I
have to remind myself––again––that this boy wants things easy. I make
myself swallow back an apology because I’m quickly forgetting why I’m
here, and I can’t have that. “Come on,” I soften my voice. “On the bed,
beautiful.”
I have to ignore the nickname, ignore it when his lips quirk in the barest
smile, and his already-flushed cheeks pinken that much more because I’m
not usually one to hand out words like that, and I don’t know how to feel
about how I’m just throwing it out there like this.
“How?” he asks as he sits on the edge of my bed, and it takes me a
second to understand what he means. I lean over him to kiss him, end up
placing my lips on his cheek, and make myself pull back again.
“All fours,” I breathe the words, my chest rising with every breath. He
looks behind him at my pillows, and I watch as his shoulders slump. He
wants it on his back, wants it face-to-face, but I don’t do that, so he’s just
going to have to deal.
He moves how I want him, crawling up the bed and giving me some of
the best jerk-off material I’ve ever laid my eyes on,. He reaches for one of
my pillows and drags it in his arms, resting his face on it as his ass stays in
the air. Arching his back and presenting for me just like I wanted.
I grab a condom and the bottle of lube I have stashed in my dresser, and
then I move behind him, smoothing my hands over his back and dragging
them down until both palms are on his cheeks and spreading them apart.
His hole spasms like he feels my eyes on him, and I almost want to lick
him. I rarely give rim jobs; it’s something that requires trust. Maybe a
conversation. This needs to be quick and easy, so I ignore the urge and
apply some lube to my finger.
He tenses with that first touch, so I keep it light, just rub and circle his
rim until he relaxes again, and then slowly sink inside him. He buries his
face in my pillow, but I keep going. I just move that finger in and out
slowly until the hard clench around my finger eases, and I can add another.
I expect him to tense up all over again, but he only moans, the sound
muffled against my pillow. The muscles in his shoulders tighten as I start to
fuck my fingers into him faster, deeper, and when his hips start to move, I
use my free hands to drizzle more lube on his hole and circle his rim before
sinking three fingers inside him.
“I’m gonna come,” he warns, still keeping his face hidden. I can hear in
his voice how tight his jaw is clenched, how much he’s holding back. “I––
just do it. Come on, Bash, I need it now.”
I’ve told him not to call me that, but I let it go for now, focus on my
fingers in his impossibly tight hole, and enjoy the steady stream of moans
he’s releasing. I haven’t even touched his dick, and I’m making sure not to
stroke his prostate too much, so I don’t believe that he’s actually close to
coming.
 “Please!” His hips jerk, and he reaches a hand behind him to grip his
own ass, spreading himself apart for me and whimpering.
“Shh,” I soothe, rubbing my hand in a circular motion on his lower
back. “You said easy, Liam. I’m going to take care of this little hole, I
promise, but I’m doing this how you need it. So gentle, isn’t that right,
beautiful?”
He moans louder now that his mouth isn’t pressed into the fabric of my
pillow, and my cock jerks at the sound. I pull my fingers out after long
moments of watching them work at his insides, and as I watch that slight
gape close up tight again, I can’t help but wish, for the second time, that I’d
used my tongue to open him up.
“Now?” he asks impatiently, fisting the comforter on my bed and
looking back at me for the first time since I got him in this position. His
cheeks are so pink, the blush seeping down his neck and over his shoulders.
“Yeah, pretty boy,” I chuckle, finding his eagerness oddly endearing. I
lean over him just to give him one final kiss. “You get my cock now. And
you’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you?” I ask him, my mouth almost
touching his as I slide the condom over my sensitive length. He whimpers,
giving me a little nod and kissing me again.
I sit up so I can apply more lube and align myself right at his entrance,
and he goes still. I don’t even think he’s breathing, so I pause. “Shh, it’s
okay. I’m gonna fuck this little hole so softly, Liam.” He nods his head
again, eyes screwed shut, and when I press in, he gasps.
“No, kee–keep going,” he pushes back when I pause, and I relent,
sinking in deeper and groaning at the perfect pressure and heat surrounding
my cock.
“Goddamn,” I groan, throwing my head back, and can’t help but slide
back out before I’m even all the way in, giving in to the urge to fuck just a
little. I keep my strokes shallow, my movements faint until he starts to
move against me. He matches my thrusts, forcing me into him deeper until
my hip bones are pressing against his ass. “Holy shit,” I moan, gripping his
hips as my balls pull tight.
“I––Bash, please.”
“Tell me,” I grunt. “What do you need, beautiful?” My hips stutter just
a bit as his hole clenches around my dick. “Fuck,” I mutter, the word harsh
sounding and scraping against my lips as it falls out of my mouth. This is so
much better than I thought it’d be. I don’t even mind how slow I’m moving.
It’s just steady glides in and out, and it’s so fucking good.
Jesus. Let this be the hole they bury me in.
“Can I––on my back? Please.” He moans, the sound deep and guttural,
and I don’t even think about it as I pull out, and when he cries out in
distress, I move over him instantly, hurrying to settle him. I urge him to roll
over and spread his legs so I can move between them and then take the
pillow from under his head to prop his hips up. “Yes,” he hisses as I sink
back inside, his hands on my ribs and his back arching as I fuck into his
tight hole.
It’s all very sensual, almost intimate. He’s wholly focused on me, his
gaze moving around like he can’t decide what it is he wants to watch. My
tattoos, my abs, my hands. He looks into my eyes and seems to get stuck
there until his eyes roll back in his head and his swollen lips open in a silent
moan.
I roll my hips languidly into his, and when his ass squeezes the ever-
loving fuck out of my dick, I have to stop moving. His body is jerking as he
cries out in ecstasy, his hole spasming around me as he loses his mind to
pleasure.
He just came. Completely untouched. His dick is still twitching, a little
stream of cum trickling down his length by the time I lean back enough to
see, with some drops already on his torso.
“Oh, shit.” He looks down at himself, still faintly moaning, and his
body still twitching here and there as he runs his hands over the cum on his
abs. “That’s never––I didn’t even know that was possible.”
I laugh, grab his hips, and sink deeper inside of him before letting my
face fall to his neck. I shake my head into his shoulder, a little amazed at
what I just witnessed. “Don’t make me pull out. Please don’t make me pull
out, beautiful. God, this ass…” I need to come, and it needs to be inside
him.
“I’m still hard.” He swallows, the sound clicking in my ear, and it
prompts me to check. He is. Hard as a rock, his cock flushed almost purple
with a bead of cum sitting at the tip. “I can take more. I want it.” He looks
up at me with a look on his face that I don’t even want to decipher before he
closes his eyes.
I can’t help but smile, leaning in to kiss him and letting my tongue lick
against his as I start rolling my hips into him again, keeping my thrusts slow
and deep. “You feel so fucking good, Liam.”
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding so in need of reassurance that I have to
laugh.
“Oh, fuck, beautiful. Absolutely,” I nod my head and end up pressing
my face into his. I just can’t keep my mouth off of his. “Like this ass was
made for my dick.”
My teeth carefully scrape at his jawline just as his hands cradle the back
of my head. He whimpers, once again arching his back and moaning.
“Are you gonna come again, sweetheart? You like my cock that much?”
I fist his dick, stroking him and using the bit of cum still on him as lube as
his legs tighten around me.
“Yes!” He cries out, coming on my dick for the second time before I
even manage to come once. I move faster, trying my best to drive into his
ass and stay gentle despite his body convulsing tightly and repeatedly
around me as I stroke and fuck him through his orgasm.
My own release is quickly building, bleeding down my spine, and
making all the muscles in my body tense. Liam’s hands move to either side
of my face as he stares into my eyes, a look of wonder and awe lighting
those dark irises of his right up, and the sight has me feeling uneasy.
It’s making me uncomfortable, so I have to look away. I settle for
leaning over the curve of his neck, and when he moves an arm under mine
to grip my shoulder, his blunt nails digging into my skin, I finally drive into
him one final time, pouring all the tension in my body into his before
collapsing in a heap on top of him.
“Fuck,” I pant against him, wiping my face against his sweat-dampened
skin and feeling a little stunned at that whole experience. I was not myself.
That just wasn’t right. I should be sated, and really, I am, but there’s also
this sickly feeling clawing at me just beneath my skin.
Liam’s fingertips skim down my back in a barely there touch that has
me flinching. I push myself up, intending to move off of him, but I make
the mistake of looking at him. He just looks so…
His hand settles on my cheek as he leans up to kiss me, but I move
away, sitting back on my heels. He props himself up on his elbows, looking
a little confused and absolutely wrecked. Like my cock just fucking ruined
him. His cheeks are splotchy, eyes red rimmed, and his lips look thoroughly
kissed.
Honestly, it makes me want to fuck him again.
 But no. I wanted it and got it over with. I’m done.
I move off the bed, only looking at him again when he hisses as my
cock pulls free from his hole, and then walk to the little trash can by my
desk so I can remove the condom. I pull some sweats out of my dresser and
tug them on, painfully aware that he still hasn’t moved from where I left
him.
“Here,” I hold out his shirt for him, hoping that it pushes him to get
moving, but his brows furrow as he looks at it in my hand. I end up having
to just set it on the edge of the bed.
I can’t even pretend that I don’t understand his confusion. I went from
calling him beautiful, sweetheart, and pretty boy and fucking him like he
was something I cherished rather than just the quick fuck I’d wanted. Now
I’m trying to put space between us, hoping it’s not too late and that he
doesn’t get the wrong idea. It’s my fault if he does. I shouldn’t have done
half the shit I did.
He just seemed so scared and nervous. Almost like he was a virgin.
I don’t wait for him to get dressed as I move to my living room, and the
first thing I see when I get there is that bottle of water Liam had dropped
when I first kissed him. I stand there staring at it, feeling a stupid mix of
confusing emotions.
“So,” Liam starts as he walks up behind me a moment later, and I tense
up at the sound. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday?”
My jaw tightens when my instincts can’t decide what the answer should
be. But before this happened, I knew what I wanted, and pre-sex Sebastian
is a lot fucking smarter than post-sex Bash. The answer is no. It has to be,
and this is the perfect opportunity to tell him.
“Actually, no. They’re cutting training hours, so I have to drop a couple
of my clients. And,” I turn around then, surprised that he still hasn’t walked
around me. His face just looks so empty. Completely expressionless as he
stares back at me. “You were the last client to sign up, so that means you’re
the first to go.”
He nods his head, still holding eye contact and not giving me any
indication that he actually cares about what I just said. I know he’s not
stupid. I just fucked him and then fired him as a client. He knows the two
are correlated.
“Alright,” he says, voice dry. He sounds nothing like the boy who was
just whimpering and moaning in my bed only minutes ago. “I guess I’ll see
you around.” And then he just walks away. Leaves. Doesn’t even look back
as he steps over the water bottle he dropped.
I expected him to be sad, disappointed. I expected his feelings to be
hurt. I’d even understood if he’d gotten angry, but this? Just nothing? I
should be relieved.
But for some reason, I’m so fucking disappointed.

OceanofPDF.com
 Five
Liam

“D
amn,” I huff, my lungs burning as I come to a stop in front of the
apartment door. I hate running. I truly just hate working out,
period, but I’m avoiding the gym, and I can’t just go from
working out regularly to doing nothing.
Stupid Sebastian. Ugh. Stupid me, honestly. What the fuck was I
thinking?
“Shit!” I jump when the door is yanked open in front of me.
“Did you just go on a run?” Cade looks me up and down as he stands
grumpily in the doorway.
“Yeah,” I pant, still huffing and puffing due to the run and the fright he
just gave me.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my lazy best friend?”
“I’m just, I don’t know. Trying something new, I guess.”
“You once said you’d rather cut off both big toes than choose to run
outside over walking on a treadmill.”
“Yeah, well, I can be dramatic.”
That triggers a smile. He’s probably remembering some of my more
theatrical moments over the course of our friendship. And there have been a
lot of them. Too many, really. I’m good at keeping shit in, but as my best
friend, he sees and knows things I wouldn’t ever show anyone else. I don’t
keep secrets from him.
Only, apparently, that’s changed. I am keeping a secret from him. A
pretty big one. It makes me nervous. Makes me feel guilty.
“True. So, I’m guessing you don’t want to head to the gym with me?”
My stomach pinches in discomfort as he stares at me expectantly. “Uh,
nah. I did my workout for the day.” I watch as he visibly dims, disappointed
at my answer. Cutting out our gym time has meant cutting out a big chunk
of our time together, period, and I know he’s sad about it. I am too.
Counting the two weeks I was working out with Sebastian, it’s been three
weeks since we’ve gotten together at the gym. We’ve always been
consistent with our hangouts, but we’ve been hanging out less and less this
past month.
It’s not that I never see him because we literally share a bedroom, but
still. It’s another thing that has me feeling guilty.
“I feel like we barely see each other now.”
“I––” Shit. “I guess I can come with you.” I sigh heavily, but he chooses
to ignore it, smiling and moving aside so I can walk inside.
“Do you need to grab your gear?”
“Nah.” I’m already dressed, and since I haven’t lifted a single heavy
thing in a week, I’m planning on taking it easy.
“Well, you should at least grab a shake.”
My face twists in mild disgust. I would rather choke, but I'd never tell
Cade that. He is weirdly obsessed with his workout supplements, so I do as
he suggests silently, figuring I could use all the help I can get for this
shitshow anyway.

∞∞∞

I
don’t even try not to look for Bash when we get there. It’s compulsive,
the urge to just see him. He’s doing his trainer thing, staring at his client
with that bored look on his face that made me annoyingly self-conscious
when it was directed at me. It didn’t take very long for me to learn that,
more often than not, that’s just his face, but even then, I’d feel stupidly
worthless when his eyes were on me. Small. Dumb. (A lot like how it felt
when I’d try to talk to my dad as a kid.) I just wanted him to like me, look
at me with those way-too-blue eyes of his, and smile or something.
His eyes aren’t on me now. Which is a good thing. I don’t want him to
notice me. That’s––it would be embarrassing, and I’ve way beyond
embarrassed myself enough where this man is concerned.
 God, I had sex with him. I still don’t even understand how that
happened. When he asked me if I wanted to hang out, the very last thing I
thought was, actually, no. Sex wasn’t anywhere in my thoughts when he
asked. I thought he meant hang out, as in actually hang out. Play video
games, watch Netflix, drink, something normal.
His dick in my ass was not something I considered a possibility.
And yet, when it became clear that it was on the table, I didn’t leave. I
just spread my fucking legs and let him right in. In my asshole. Then, like a
total whore, I came twice. Without even touching my dick. Just with him
slowly rocking his inside me.
I know I enjoyed it way more than he did. That’s probably why he
wouldn’t kiss me afterward. Would barely even look at me. I made him fuck
me slow and then came twice as much as he did. Literally.
Seems kind of rude when I think about it.
Why am I so fucking boring?
My hand rests on the back of my neck as I force myself to stop staring
at him. My own thoughts are making me blush. It’s humiliating. And it
came out of nowhere. Not the boring thing, I’ve always been lame in bed,
but the whole letting-a-big-dude-shove-his-big-dick-in-me thing? That’s
new.
I went from straight to… I’m not even sure. Bi? I don’t know. No other
guy really does it for me. I can’t imagine any other guy fucking me. Asking
another man to take it easy on my ass is just too much.
Ugh. I gotta stop. Either stop thinking of this shit or just become a
hermit and spend my every waking moment in bed so nobody sees me ever
again.
It’s good that I can’t imagine any other guy… doing that to me. I don’t
want anyone at all to do that to me. Ever again. Turn me into some… slutty
thing. That shit was horrible.
I’m not doing it again.
Except, lying to myself is hard as hell. Harder than Bash had made my
dick over a week ago. Can’t argue with the facts. I liked it. Him inside me,
filling me up, calling me beautiful and sweetheart, moaning and groaning
because he liked doing all of that? (Well, it sounded like he did.) Yeah. I
liked that. Loved it.
I feel like a slut.
But just for him.
 Pfft. That’s not true either. I haven’t even been able to come without
something in my ass since then. And I’ve been coming a lot. I’m
masturbating more than I did when I started puberty. I’m lucky that Cade’s
schedule differs so much from mine. I’m even more lucky that our room has
a lock. And even more lucky that there’s a stupid amount of sex shops in the
city.
“Hey, did you tell your coach you’re quitting yet?”
I give him a dead look, standing above him as he situates himself on the
bench before me.
“Well, you should. Before you change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.” I bristle a bit at that. I’m quitting.
I’ve decided. It’s a done deal.
“Then do it, man.”
“I will.” I’m getting annoyed, my tone defensive. I have some time to
tell him that I’m quitting. I just know that as soon as I do, I also have to tell
my dad. That’s not something I’m ready to deal with. I might never see him
again.
That’s an exaggeration. I’m sure I’ll still see him here and there, but I
have no delusions about whether he’ll want to see me often or not. Baseball
is all I’m good for. It’s all we have in common.
“Are you working tonight?” I ask just to change the subject. I already
know the answer.
“No. Want to do something?”
“Want to get drunk?” I raise my eyebrows, fighting a smile as he rolls
his eyes. A drunk night out sounds like a great idea. And the bar we usually
go to has the best wings I’ve ever tasted. He agrees just as I spot one of our
other roommates on an elliptical. “Hey, Baby’s here.” We’ve both come
here a lot and never once have I seen Baby here. But then, I also never
noticed Bash until a few weeks ago, either.
“Where?” Cade cranes his neck just as he sits up, and I use my head to
motion towards him. “Hey, Baby!”
“Jesus, don’t do that!” We immediately get looks, lots of people looking
at us, Bash included, and it’s then that I notice he’s done with his client and
closer to us than he was originally, no longer in one of the three training
rooms. It has me shuffling closer to Cade like my six-foot-one ass could
hide behind him or something.
 Baby’s cheeks flush as he spots us, slowing down on the machine and
glaring at us as Cade snickers at the obvious embarrassment. He’s a child. I
don’t know why everyone calls him Baby, other than that’s what he
introduced himself as when we met, but I accepted it. Cade thinks it’s
funny.
Our roommate walks towards us, dressed in short-as-hell gym shorts
and a cropped white tee. He’s so gay. The kind of gay I bet Bash likes, with
his smaller stature and nice hair. He’s all cute. The same brand of gay as
that one random who kissed Bash’s cheek weeks ago. The same brand of
gay Bash prefers and wouldn’t mind seeing in public. Kissing in public,
even if it’s just on the cheek. Or even just someone he wouldn’t mind
kissing after he’s come.
The thought has my stomach twisting in knots, and as Baby steps up to
us, his head stopping at about four or so inches below mine, I could take my
brain out of my skull and scrub it with some steel wool. Bash was looking
at us. I know he was because as much as I try not to pay attention to him, I
can’t help but be aware of him at all times. So, if he was looking our way
after Cade’s annoying outburst, he probably saw Baby. Looking all adorable
and cute and gay as fuck.
Is there a non-homophobic way to hate a gay person? Because, right
now, I’m pretty sure I hate Baby.
“Do not ever do that again. There’s no need to address me in public,
period, but screaming my name like that so every single person in the gym
looks at me? You’re lucky we’re in public.”
Otherwise, he’d bite him. He does that a lot. Chomps on us when we’re
annoying him and standing too close. Sometimes I don’t even have to do
anything but exist to earn a bite. He claims it’s one of his love languages,
but I’m pretty sure it’s his hate language.
“Ah, poor little vampire. You can bite me in public, Baby. Go ahead.
Just––ah! What the fuck?” He rubs at the nipple Baby just pinched, and I
can’t help but laugh.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, noting how frizzy his usually
silky hair is. Sweat and humidity, any kind of moisture, always have an
interesting effect on his hair.
“I have no clue. I just had to get away from Logan, and he said I’d
probably die doing any sort of exercise, so I had to prove him wrong.
Bought a membership and everything.”
 Cade and I both laugh at that. Those two are always arguing over
something stupid. I’m not sure why Baby hasn’t just kicked him out,
honestly. Sometimes, it seems like it’s all in good fun, but mostly, I really
think they hate each other.
“Want to go get drunk with us?”
“Dude,” Cade lightly slaps at my abs. “We just got here.”
“Can I pick the place?” Baby ignores him, looking up at me with an
eery little glint in his eyes. “Class?”
“That’s a gay club.”
I look at my best friend, briefly wondering why he knows that before
Baby starts speaking again.
“And I’m gay. Come on. Don’t say no to your only gay friend. That’s
homophobic.”
“You want to go now?” Cade asks, ignoring Baby’s theatrics and
looking up at me, still seated on the bench. I shrug. I didn’t really want to
go to a gay bar at all, but it beats staying here.
“Well, we’d have to change. We can’t all go dressed like this.” Baby
looks at the both of us, his eyes lingering on me for a second or two longer
before placing his small hand on my chest and giving me a flirty smile. I’m
used to it from him. “Liam could probably pull it off. But not us. No way
would we get free drinks lookin’ like this.”
“I would definitely––”
“No, you wouldn’t. You need to change. Come on.”
Baby turns his back on us, heading for the lockers and expecting us to
follow him. I have to look over at Bash before I can make my feet move,
and regret it as soon as I do. His eyes are on Baby, fixed in that stupid glare
he always wears, probably staring at his ass as he walks away.
Man. Fuck him.
Seriously. Fuck that guy.
I have to close my eyes when my stupid brain reminds me that I did. I
did fuck that guy. And when that same stupid brain reminds me that,
actually, he fucked me, I swear I could knock myself out.
“So, I guess we’re going to Class.”
“I guess so,” I shrug, though admittedly I am not as indifferent to this
whole situation as I hope I’m appearing. “Have you ever been?” I already
know the answer. If he’d gone to a gay club, he would have told me.
“Uh, yeah.”
 “What? When?” I gawk at him, and when he starts to blush, my eyes
bug. “Dude. Was it a secret or something? Why don’t I know about this?”
Best friends tell each other when they go to gay clubs.
Well, shit. I guess best friends also tell each other when they let an
asshole covered in tattoos fuck them, and for some reason telling him––
telling anyone––hasn’t even crossed my mind. This makes both of us shitty
friends, but somehow I think my lie is worse. Not a lie. My secret. Me
keeping this secret is worse than Cade’s but I didn’t know he had secrets.
“I don’t know, Liam.” He shrugs, finally standing and walking towards
where he stashed his gym bag. “It’s just, you don’t always have the best
reaction to anything… homo-related. I’m honestly surprised that you’re so
open to even going.” He gives me his back like he’s suddenly in a hurry to
leave the gym when just moments ago, I’m pretty sure he was annoyed that
we were leaving at all.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I have to jog a bit just to
catch up with him because I don’t want other people to hear this
conversation.
“You just get all weird, dude. I don’t know how to explain it.”
I think about his words, let them sink in, and even though I want to ask
him to clarify, I don’t. I don’t want to analyze this. I hate that it seems like
he has.
I’m pretty sure I know what he’s talking about. Like that morning when
I told him I wanted to quit baseball. I made shit uncomfortable. Weird. I was
even aware I was doing it while I was doing it, and just could not stop. I
know that’s not the first time something like that has happened, either.
And I don’t want to have to explain any of that. I don’t even really
know the reason why I do that stuff, and I have no clue what I’d say if he
asked, so I shut up. I just shut my mouth right the fuck up.
It’s not until we’re pulling into the parking lot of our apartment
complex that I finally break the strangely tense silence. “What are we
supposed to wear to a gay club?”
“You can wear whatever you want. People were wearing all sorts of
crazy shit when I went, but there were also a lot of people who just looked
normal. Jeans and T-shirts, that sort of thing. Also,” he turns his body
towards me the split second the car is shut off. “I’m ninety-nine percent
sure that the guys there would have hit on me dressed in my gym clothes.
Baby doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He has a type, and I’m not it,
so he likes to rag on me. Unfairly.”
I smile at him and brace myself for a rant where he’s surely going to go
on and on about how he’s the hottest guy who has ever stepped foot in the
apartment, and Baby just doesn’t want to admit it, and blah blah blah. And
that’s exactly what happens. Almost those exact words and everything. He’s
still talking about it by the time we unlock the front door, and Baby is
walking up behind us, having just parked.
“I hate to break it to you, Cadence, but––and nobody is more saddened
by this information than me, trust me––Logan’s immature ass is the hottest
guy in the apartment. And then it’s me, and then Liam, and then it’s any
number of Liam’s baseball buddies who visit because you said ‘who has
ever stepped foot in the apartment,’ so they count. And then… then it’s the
maintenance man who fixed our sink last week. And then you.”
“I’m telling Logan you said that.”
Yeah, I saw that coming. My eyebrows jumped to my hairline when
Baby mentioned him being the best-looking roommate, and I just knew
Cade was gonna jump on that.
“You will not!”
“Oh, I sure the fuck will. Logan, Baby said that you’re the sexiest man
who––Goddammit!”
I saw that coming too. Annoy Baby, get bit. He should know better by
now.
I squeeze past them on my way to the room and immediately head to
the bathroom to take a shower when I get there. I’m quick with it because I
know Cade needs one, too, and when he finally gets in, I get dressed in a
fitted black tee and a regular pair of dark blue jeans. My hair does
whatever my hair does, so I don’t worry about it, but Baby does.
He has the bathroom door in the hallway open when I pass it, and he
doesn’t even look at me as he tells me he needs to fix my hair because I
cannot go like that.
It ends up taking all of us about an hour to get ready, which is
ridiculous. I would have been ready the second I pulled my shoes on, but
my roommates had to get all dolled up and made sure I was too. Cade
forced one of his gold chains on me, and Baby put like three separate
products in my hair. I feel way overdressed all the way until we actually get
there, and then I realize I look like a bum, even in designer jeans.
 Class is a trip. It’s loud, colorful, and so crowded I can’t even smell the
gallon of cologne Baby sprayed me with anymore. There’s got to be some
sort of law about how many people are in here because it’s crazy. But then
Cade leads me to the side, where tables are placed, and it’s easier to breathe
because the people are more spread out. Some of the tables look like actual
desks, like something I’d sit at in a high school classroom, but bigger. My
eyes ping pong all around, taking it in and catching sight of a few guys
dressed in what looks like school uniforms, only sluttier. Cropped shirts,
some of the guys even wearing plaid skirts. They’re not all the same, but
they are all… Hm. It isn’t until I look behind the bar that I realize those are
their work uniforms.
“This is kind of weird, no?”
“What do you mean?” Cade yells, leaning in closer to me to better hear
me.
“Like, the uniforms? Kind of pervy.”
He smiles, hiking his shoulder up as he looks around. “If you think
that’s bad, you should definitely stay away from the back of the building.”
I’m about to ask why when he continues. “If anyone asks if you want to go
to detention, say no!”
Detention? I’m about to ask what that means when Baby suddenly
appears, somehow holding three shot glasses in each hand.
“Okay, so––” he pauses to hand us each a shot. “This place is pretty
hardcore. Dance, flirt, have fun, but if anyone gets too handsy, try not to
bro-out on them, okay?” He stares at me, I guess waiting for me to
acknowledge what he said, so I feel compelled to give him a nod. I don’t
think I’ve ever bro’d-out before, but whatever. “You guys are hot,” he side-
eyes Cade, which triggers a glare from my best friend. “Sort of. And this is
a gay bar, so guys are going to want to flirt with you, touch you. Please
don’t overreact!”
“It’s not that bad. People are usually cool. If you make it known you
aren’t interested, they back off,” Cade tells me, taking his second shot after
he finishes and unknowingly peer-pressuring me into downing my first. I
expect to cringe and brace myself for the bad taste of alcohol, but it’s
actually very sweet. I eagerly swallow the second one.
Damn. Gay guys know how to drink.
I make it a point not to look too closely at the other people here, being
weird because there’s a whole lotta homo-related happenings going on at
the moment, and for some reason, every time I see guys grinding on each
other, I fucking blush. Which, being that I’m in a gay bar, is a lot. It’s
overwhelming.
But we stick together for the most part. Just the three of us, dancing and
laughing and drinking in between songs. Cade tells us he’s going to go get
us another round, and when I try to tell him no more for me––I haven’t
eaten in hours, and I’m feeling a little more than buzzed––he doesn’t hear
me.

OceanofPDF.com
 Six
Bash

“C
lass? You hate that place. It’s always busy, and you said the
uniforms there grossed you out.”
I do hate that place. It’s overcrowded, and yeah, those
uniforms are a little gross. I don’t understand the school uniform obsession
the world seems to have, but Class caters to that kink. Among others. There
is a big room in the back labeled “detention” for people who are too horny
to wait until they’re in a bed to fuck around. I have not been to that room
because exhibitionism is not at all my thing, but I know that nothing too
crazy happens in there. Blow jobs, hand jobs, lots of kissing. There’s very
little light in there, so people get to scratch their public sex itch while
maintaining a certain level of anonymity.
I understand the appeal, mostly, but it’s just not something I’m into.
And ever since I heard Liam and his friends talking about it, I can’t help but
wonder if he’s into that. He seemed shy in my bed, so I’d like to think the
answer is no, but I don’t know him. Not really. So, I just keep thinking
about it. Can’t seem to do anything but think about it.
I wonder if he’s there right now. In detention, letting that handsy little
twink grope him again. Or just on the dance floor, with men all around him.
Touching him.
Fuck, even just looking at him.
I don’t understand why it bothers me so much, but I’m not one to live in
denial. It bugs the hell out of me. Clearly, some part of me has claimed him
because the mere thought of someone else’s hands on Liam has me
seething. There’s a throbbing in my forehead that every so often is intense
enough that it makes my eye twitch.
Fucking Liam.
 I haven’t seen him in a week. He just hasn’t been to the gym, or he
comes early because I’d definitely notice him if he’d been there while I
was. I almost asked Darren to check the guest check-in log to see if he’s
been in, but I didn’t let myself. That’d be crazy. But I thought about him a
lot. I thought if I saw him, I’d––maybe––apologize because even though he
didn’t seem at all bothered when I blew him off, I still felt an irritating level
of guilt about it.
But then he just never showed up, and I stopped thinking about him.
Mostly. Until today.
“Seb?” Jax snaps in front of my face, and my scowl deepens.
“Whatever. Come or don’t, I don’t care.”
He huffs a quiet laugh as I get up and head for my keys. “You invited
me over just to ditch me and go clubbing? That’s pretty fucked, even for
you, Seb.”
Actually, I invited him over in a poor attempt to avoid going clubbing. I
was hoping to avoid going and spying on Liam like a total stalker, but Jax
wasn’t a big enough distraction. So, that’s on him. I don’t bother explaining
all that, though. He wouldn’t get it. And even if he did, he’d have way too
much to say about my inconvenient obsession with this guy. He’d ask for
details and laugh. I fucking hate being laughed at.
“Alright! Since you asked so nicely, I’ll come.”
I’m grateful, but I don’t acknowledge him.
“We should order a ride if we’re going to drink.”
“I’m not drinking,” I tell him, locking my door behind us. I rarely do,
and when I do, it’s not usually for the right reasons. He knows knows the
issues I have with that but he has seen me drink before, so he never just
assumes.
“Then why are we going?”
“Because I want to.”
“Are you planning on finding a hookup?”
“No. Yes. No.” I shake my head, settling on my answer. No. No
hookups.
And if that’s the case, then his guess on why I’m going is as good as
mine.

∞∞∞
I
t’s too packed when we get there to make finding Liam easy, and I really
don’t want it to seem like I’m looking too hard for him. So we find a
table, steal one really, as a group of guys get up to do something.
“Who are you looking for?” Jax yells after a minute. I look at him,
debate ignoring him, but whatever.
“Just some guy.” I shrug and go back to looking around the dancefloor.
“I thought you weren’t looking for a hookup.”
“I’m not.” My jaw ticks as I grit my teeth.
“Well, this is lame!”
I look over at him and sigh when I see him staring longingly at the bar.
“Just because I’m not doing something doesn’t mean you can’t.” When he
looks at me with his eyebrows raised in a hopeful gaze, I sigh. “Go on,” I
nod towards the bar. I don’t have to tell him twice. He bounces off not even
a split second later.
“Hi there!”
I ignore the dude who walks up to me, or I try to until he sits down.
“I’m looking for someone,” I tell him, not bothering to look at him.
That’s when I spot him. Liam. He’s not all that far from me, sticking to
the edge of the crowd rather than submersed in the thick of things. It’s a
relief when I finally have my eyes on him.
He’s just dancing. By himself, it looks like. People are, of course,
dancing near him, but he’s not paying any attention to them, too busy doing
his own thing. I can’t be too sure, but I think his eyes are closed. He’s
moving slowly, swaying his hips, and the sight has my lips twitching. It’s
hot. He’s an attractive guy dancing like he’s horny, so of course it is, but
he’s nowhere near the beat of the song playing.
That doesn’t seem to deter the guy behind him from closing in on him,
though. He walks right up to him, presses against his back, and all Liam
does is smile and tilt his head back, leaning on him. Inviting the guy to keep
touching him.
“Is that your boyfriend?” The guy I forgot was next to me asks, and I
shoot him an annoyed look. “Doesn’t look like it.” He actually laughs a
little, and when the sound prompts me to look back at Liam, I see why.
Only it’s not funny. The guy behind him has a hand under his very tight
shirt, exposing more skin than I’d have thought Liam would be okay with
showing a room full of people. He just seemed more reserved, not shy, but
not especially outgoing either.
 I frown. I don’t know him, not really. I know that he has zero
motivation when it comes to physical fitness and he prefers to take things
slow in bed, but I don’t know anything real about him. Maybe he’s more
outgoing when he’s not around me. Maybe he likes when older men with––
what are probably––wrinkly hands touch his abs in public.
I don’t know why the fuck I came here.
“Are you just going to let that happen?”
“Fuck off,” I snap, finally giving this prick the attention he clearly
craves and turning my body towards him. His eyes are glassy, hair matted
with sweat, and even in the poor lighting, I can tell that his face is flushed.
Shitfaced.
“I’m just saying. If that were my boy––”
“Mind your own business, and fuck off.” I’m not in the mood to deal
with drunk people. Especially someone I don’t know. I hate people on a
good day, and this is turning out to be a shitty day, so I sure as hell am not
going to let this guy run his mouth.
The teasing smile slips off his face as he stares at me, wide-eyed with
his lips parted. “Sorry, man. I was just… hey, maybe you should help him
out.” He points, tucking his hand in close to his chest as he extends a finger
out and I’m once again looking for Liam.
It takes me a second to find him again, my eyes just barely catching the
back of his broad shoulders before he walks backward, his arm extended
before him and in Old Guy’s hand. He doesn’t look so willing to enjoy the
contact this time around. Maybe. I can’t see his face, but he looks like he’s
pulling away.
Or maybe I just want him to be pulling away.
It’s not until he actually stumbles a bit, very clearly jerking his arm in
an attempt to pull it out of the guy’s grasp, that I stand up and start moving.
He’s not a small guy. He can take care of himself. I should let him take care
of himself, but as I get closer and hear the bullshit this guy is saying to
Liam, those thoughts wither away and die.
“No thanks!”
If I weren’t on a mission, I’d roll my eyes. No thanks. I was wrong.
Liam cannot handle this situation.
“Come on, baby! Nobody likes a tease.”
I reach a hand out to grip this fucker’s wrist hard enough that he finally
releases Liam’s arm. He cries out, his free hand curling over the one I have
on him.
“Relax!” he has the audacity to yell, standing on his tiptoes as he starts
to panic. I get it. I’m not huge, but I have a few inches on him, definitely
more muscle. Liam does too, actually. There’s no fucking reason he
couldn’t get rid of this guy himself, except he just wouldn’t. He’s too soft.
This prick wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Liam figured he’d try no
thanks.
I have no clue why that makes me so angry. Has a fire burning behind
my eyes and my jaw clenching as I try to stay calm. I haven’t felt like this
in a long time, and in a setting like this, it’s best not to let myself go.
Not in front of Liam.
It’s stupid. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me, but the idea of him
seeing me like that makes me feel kind of sick.
“He’s not interested.” I have to lean in to make sure that he hears me
now that I’m closer to the crowd. I let go and watch as he yanks his arm
back and pathetically cradles it to his chest. He wants to say something. I
know he does, but he’s not as stupid as he looks because instead of opening
his mouth, he keeps it shut. He shoots Liam a glance behind me that has me
stepping further into his space, and suddenly, he can’t get away fast enough.
God. I fucking hate people.
I turn around, facing Liam, and let my eyes sweep over him to make
sure he’s okay. He should not be dressed like that. That shirt is beyond
slutty. Way too tight. Even with it being black and there being nothing but
low, colored lights all over the place, I can see his peaked nipples beneath
the fabric. I have to fight the urge to tell him to cover up, his tee still
bunched up a bit and allowing a few inches of his stomach to show, his V
peeking out.
“Are you okay?”
He blinks, then takes in a deep breath like my voice just woke him up
or knocked him out of a stupor. He takes a step and ends up practically
falling into me, his forehead hitting my collarbone in a way that I’m sure
hurt.
“It’s not fair,” he mumbles loudly, his mouth hot and wet against the
lining of my collar.
“What?” I steady the both of us when his heavy frame starts to slump.
“Liam.” My hand tightens on his waist, feeling the warmth of his exposed
skin. And then I remember that I wanted him to cover himself up and take
advantage of our close proximity to pull his shirt down for him.
“Why are you so fucking hot?” he slurs, head still tucked into my neck,
and I immediately try to take a step back to put space between us. He’s
drunk. No way would he be saying this, doing any of this if he weren’t.
“No,” he whines, arms wrapping around me to keep me from separating us.
“Liam,” I say between gritted teeth. I have to let go of him, keep my
hands off of him as best as I can. I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t
like dealing with drunk people, and he’s obviously a sloppy drunk. Smashed
and handsy. I don’t think a sober Liam would be doing this. He didn’t even
want to look at me at the gym, obviously feeling jaded after how I left
things.
“Why are you here?” He leans back too quickly, and I have to steady
him again. I’m annoyed for a number of reasons––all of them having to do
with him––and that question only makes matters worse.
“Where are your friends?” I ask, avoiding the question, and when he
stares at me like I just started speaking a different language or something, I
ask again. “The ones you came here with. Where are they?” People suck,
but I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt at the moment. He’s inebriated
and clearly unable to get himself home, so I’d like to hope they didn’t just
leave him here. A guy who looks like he does, dressed like that and all alone
and wasted and surrounded by too many horny guys to count. It’s not a
good mix.
“I don’t know. They––I had to pee!” His eyes widen a split second
before he starts smiling, small and sheepish. “I forgot to pee.”
“You forgot to pee.” God, I do not want to have to be the one to take
care of him right now. Although maybe it’s not the worst thing. Might kill
some of this attraction I have for him.
“I didn’t know where the bathroom was. I asked someone, but he just
grabbed me and started dancing.” He scoffs. “Do you know how many
times I’ve been asked if I want to go to detention? Someone just walked up
to me and said I look like I’ve been a bad boy,” he scrunches up his nose
and shakes his head.
I don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. I’d find it harder to believe if
he’d said nobody propositioned him. It’s why him being here alone is
pissing me off so much. The more I hear his voice, his words slurring and
his body wobbling the slightest bit, the more annoyed I feel.
 “Liam,” I grip his jaw, forcing him to focus on me, but it backfires as he
melts into the touch. He just goes utterly soft, sinking into me and
reminding me that he’s too fucking close to me, his arms still loosely
wrapped around my torso. “Where are your friends?” I ask, voice more
stern in the hopes that it makes him fucking listen, as I jerk my hand out
from under his chin, moving it to his shoulder to hold him back.
He straightens up and blinks at me, slowly pulling his arms back. “Um.
I don’t know, Bash––Sebastian,” he huffs, roughly rubbing at the back of
his neck. “I’ll find them.” He starts to turn and walk away from me, but my
hand reaches out and grips his bicep before he even manages a single step.
“Let me help you.”
He cocks his head at me, his face taking on the physical embodiment of
befuddled before he slowly pulls his arm out of my grasp. “Why do you
care, Sebastian?”
My jaw tenses. “I don’t,” I shrug, a little surprised that it’s so easy to do
with as rigid as the muscles in my shoulders feel.
I don’t. I do not give one fuck about this guy. I don’t care that he called
me Sebastian, or that he’s beyond smashed, or that his shirt is way too slutty
for a guy who doesn’t seem to want any guys––unless that guy is me––to
touch him. He’s pulling away now, but just seconds ago, he was all over
me, in my space, and practically on top of me. But whatever. I don’t care.
I watch him, an open book turning page after page, as he circles through
a handful of emotions. Pissed and confused to hurt and annoyed and back to
pissed all over again. “Whatever. I have to pee.” He starts to walk away
once more, leaving me just standing there and feeling like an idiot because,
for the millionth time since arriving, I’m wondering just why the hell I
came here.
I shoot a glance over my shoulder, where I know the bathrooms are, and
in the opposite direction to where Liam is going, then groan.
It’s not his fault that I’m running so hot and cold. That I wasn’t all that
nice to him, took advantage of his stupid crush on me and got real nice to
him, and then reverted back to my usual dickish ways immediately after. All
of that’s on me. The way he just shut down on me, fought his instincts to be
who he is, soft and sweet and sensitive, just because he thinks I’m not
interested…
“Liam,” I call out for him as I barrel through a few people. He hears
me. I only know he does because he stops walking, just stands there stiff as
a board with people grinding all over each other around him. “The
bathrooms are this way,” I tell him, my lips close to his ear as I try to turn
him around. He refuses to move, though. He just leans his head back on my
shoulder, showing me his face as he closes his eyes and leans into me.
“Bash?”
My hand tightens on his hip as I turn my head, pressing my nose into
his neck and inhaling. He smells good, like cardamom and citrus. Real
fucking good. “Come on.” I pull away, lead him to the bathrooms, and have
to look behind me repeatedly just to make sure he’s actually following me. I
laugh a little when he doesn’t know which one to go in. He’s never been
here then.
“It doesn’t really matter, they’re the same inside. Do you not bottom
usually?” I can’t help but ask, even though it’s none of my business.
“No.” He laughs. We’re standing in front of the doors labeled Tops and
Bottoms, and he’s just cackling away at some joke I’m not in on. “I don’t
usually fuck guys, Bash.”
“What?”
“I––” he stops laughing, looks away from me, and looks at the doors
like they’re hurting him. “Yeah. You were my first. First guy.”
“What?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he glares at me. “Don’t be weird.” He slaps a hand
on the door that says Bottoms and disappears behind it.
It’s not a big deal. I try to convince myself that he’s right, but the words
you were my first are swirling around in my head and doing a much better
job of convincing me that he’s wrong. It is a big deal.
He tried to tell me. He said that there was something I needed to know,
and I shut him up, not interested in hearing what he had to say. This isn’t
the first time I’ve felt guilty about the way I’ve treated Liam, and it’s
starting to get tiresome. He’s not the first guy I’ve fucked and shut down on
afterward, and I don’t remember feeling bad about any of those times.
But then he steps out of the bathroom and gives me a wry smile––if you
can even call a simple pursing of lips a smile––and all I want to do is touch
him. Apologize. I should have done better by him.
“Liam, I––”
“Have you been drinking?”
I stare at him and decide that he doesn’t deserve this, me making
excuses I don’t have a right to even make. He doesn’t want an apology. He
doesn’t seem to want to talk about it at all. And he’s too drunk for that, even
if he did want to. “No.”
“Can you take me home? I don’t have—my friends are somewhere,” he
trails off with a wave of his hand toward the crowd. His eyes are hooded,
his body slumping, and when he takes a step closer to me, he ends up
falling on me. Lays his head on my shoulder and places his hands on either
side of my ribcage. “I’m tired.”
“You should really tell them you’re leaving,” I say, frowning as I finally
give in to the urges I’ve been fighting and slip my arms under his to hold
him.
“I don’t know where they are.” His voice is a little whiny now, his body
getting heavier against me. “Baby has my phone.”
“Who the fuck is––is that his name?” What a stupid name. Nickname,
whatever.
He doesn’t answer me, just huffs a little laugh out across the column of
my throat, and I sigh. Unlike him, I do have my phone, so I pull it out to
text Jax. I send him twenty dollars through the Messages app and tell him
he’s got to order a ride home and remind him not to drink too much. I
debate going and looking for him to make sure he’s okay when I get a
picture in response. It’s a selfie of him and some guy, both of them flipping
the camera off. It’s a relief, makes me feel better about leaving.
And I do, taking Liam with me.

OceanofPDF.com
 Seven
Bash

T
his is awkward, and out of the two of us, I can’t tell whose fault it is.
I watch in silence as he rubs at his chest, moving the dark blue
fabric of the shirt I let him borrow when he woke up this morning. He
can have it. I should tell him that, but I doubt there’s a point in doing so. I
can already see him avoiding me after this.
He feels jilted. I know he does, and I don’t even blame him. I was the
first guy he’s ever fucked, and I wasn’t all that nice about it afterward. He
was happy pretending I no longer existed before last night.
I brought him to my place when it became apparent that drunk Liam
sucks at giving directions. He was muttering words I could barely
understand as he was passing out in the passenger seat of my car, and after
twenty minutes, I gave up. I just went home and dragged him upstairs,
where I had to dump him in bed.
Well, I didn’t have to dump him in my bed. I’m not all that sure why I
took the couch and let him take up residency on my mattress, but that’s
what I did. Then, I didn’t fall asleep until the sun started to rise. I had to
keep getting up to check on him, and make sure that he was okay and not
choking on his own vomit or something.
I’ve spent way too many hours in my lifetime looking after drunk
people for my body to have allowed me a peaceful night’s sleep.
I should have just taken him home this morning. He’d tried to slip out
of the apartment quietly, but he ended up having to come back upstairs
because, with no car and no phone, he had no way home. He was still in his
clothes from last night: dark blue jeans and that stupidly tight black T-shirt.
I hate that fucking shirt. I hate it so much that I actually asked him if he
wanted to borrow a shirt just so I didn’t have to keep looking at him
wearing it. And then I made him come here. With me. I made him. He had
no choice. No phone, no car.
The waitress finally comes over with our food and finds that Liam has
downed both his water and his coffee, so she grabs those cups to bring him
refills.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” he mutters before taking a big bite of the biscuits and
gravy he ordered, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. “God. I needed this.” He
takes another bite, and when the waitress brings his drinks back and asks if
everything is okay with my plate, I’m reminded that I should be eating too.
I don’t think I’ve ever eaten breakfast with someone I wasn’t related to.
Or sort of related to. I have no idea what possessed me to ask him to come
here. Actually, I didn’t even ask him, not really. I told him I was hungry and
then veered my car into the parking lot. I basically kidnapped him.
“I’ve never seen someone look so mad eating French toast. It’s covered
in powdered sugar and strawberries. You should be happy.” He licks some
white gravy off his lip as he stares at my plate, and I have to look away.
The food in front of me does look pretty good, but I’m not all that
hungry. Mostly, I’m just tired and wishing I took him to his place so that I
could go home and go back to sleep.
“But you’re kind of always pissed, huh? At least a little bit.” He
straightens his spine when I look at him again. “It’s not just me, right?”
I sigh. He’s not the first person to ask me something like this. Lots of
people make assumptions about why I am the way I am, blame themselves,
and get insecure. But why do people care what I think of them? Truthfully, I
don’t even think about them at all. Well, usually. It’s a little different with
the guy sitting across from me, who I do think about. Sometimes.
“I’m just… like this.” I shrug. He hums, nodding his head as he chews
for fucking ever.
“So, you, like, don’t hate me?”
I sigh again. “No, Liam. I don’t hate you.”
“Hm. Yeah, but see, you say that like maybe you do. A little. And I did
get super wasted and pass out in your bed. And I puked in your bathtub.”
“You what?”
“I cleaned it up!”
Gross.
“I don’t hate you,” I tell him again, shifting uncomfortably in the
padded seat. If I did, we wouldn’t be here sitting in a quiet diner and eating
breakfast together. If I hated him, I would just tell him. I’ve hated very few
people in my life because mostly I don’t have any big feelings for anyone at
all, but the two people I did have those big feelings for… I’m done talking
about this. “Why didn’t you tell me I was your first?”
He blushes. His chiseled cheeks go pink, and I kind of want to punch
him or something. What the fuck is that? “Uh,” he laughs, just a little, and
definitely just because he’s nervous. “You didn’t let me.”
“You could have tried harder.”
He rolls his eyes, but I’m right. He could have tried harder to tell me.
“If I had, would you have stopped? Sent me home?” When I don’t answer
him right away, he nods his head. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t let me
say it then.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I guess maybe I’m not all that unhappy
about it, either. But it is irritating. No wonder he was acting like that, so
endearingly soft. Almost like a virgin. “So, you’re bi?” God, I don’t know
how I’d handle it if I was his first time at all.
I kind of hate that I almost want him to say that I was.
“I––” he scrunches his face up like that question actually hurts him. It
makes him uncomfortable, for sure.
“Dude!”
Liam jumps in his seat and places a hand over his collarbone like he’s
clutching pearls or something. “Cade,” he breathes. “Why are you here?”
“I work here, fuckhead.” He slaps the back of Liam’s head, making him
wince. That probably felt great with the hangover he’s sporting. “Why are
you here? Me and Baby were freaking the fuck out last night. You just
disappeared!” He shoots me a look, glaring at me, but I don’t take offense. I
get it. I’d have been worried too. “Y’know, you didn’t have to go with some
random ass dude just because we took you to a gay bar.”
“I––that’s not what––” He breathes, takes in a deep breath to gather
himself. He’s not blushing now. He looks pale, like all that blood that had
rushed to his cheeks is just gone. Vanished. “This is Sebastian. He was my
trainer. When, well, you remember.”
“I know who he is, Liam. We go to the same gym.” His friend looks at
me, and I vaguely recall him asking me what my name was one time. “And
you went home with him?”
“No!” Liam says, being louder than necessary. I look around, but
luckily, the place is pretty empty. “I mean, yes, but not for…”
 “He was plastered. He said he couldn’t find you guys and was on the
verge of passing out on the club floor. I took him to my place to sleep it
off.”
Liam puffs his cheeks out as he forces a loud breath between his lips.
Relieved if I had to guess. The idea of his friend thinking we hooked up
worries him. A lot.
“Hm.” His friend is still pissed, eyeing the both of us like he can’t
decide which one of us he wants to hit. “Baby put your phone in your
room.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, barely able to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Cade’s shoulders slump as he shakes his head. “It’s fine. Glad you
weren’t, like, kidnapped and murdered, I guess.”
“Jesus.”
“Well! You could have been.”
“I wasn’t.” He’s blushing again. Like, the idea of being murdered is a
little embarrassing or something, but the idea of Cade thinking I took him to
my house because he wanted to go with me, wanted me, that’s cause for
distress?
“Cade! You’re late,” our waitress calls out for him behind the front
counter, and Cade tells her he’ll be right there. Liam ends up asking him if
he can borrow his car and drive it home, promising he’ll be here to pick him
up after work, and I’m more relieved about it than I would have been before
I saw Liam go all repressed and shit when his friend showed up.
“You’re not out,” I say as soon as we’re alone again. It’s not a question.
It’s clear from the way he was acting.
“Not out?”
“You’re in the closet.”
“I’m not gay.” He rolls his eyes before I have a chance to roll my own.
“I mean, fuck. I don’t know what I am. I’ve never, you’re the only––”
“You don’t have to explain shit to me.”
“You’re mad.”
I am. I am mad but I don’t really have a right to be, so I don’t say
anything. It bothers me, though. We had sex. He had sex with me, a gay
man, and he can’t even admit to being bi?
What’s worse is that this new development should have immediately
killed this stupid urge to just have him, to want him. The idea of him should
just piss me off at this point. I shouldn’t want some delusional baby-bi who
has no issues being with me in private but can hardly stand to look at me
around his friends. I have no desire to fuck around with a guy in the closet.
And if he’s in the closet, why was he even at Class? He has gay friends.
They don’t seem like the homophobic type, so why the secrets?
“Bash, I’m not––”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m not… in the closet. I just don’t know what… I just don’t know,
okay? I don’t know what I am. I’ve only ever been attracted to girls, and…
I’m just trying to figure stuff out, okay?”
“Whatever.” What he’s saying makes sense. Kind of. I mean, when I
realized I was gay, I was like ten. And shit just made sense. There was
nothing for me to figure out. If you’re a guy who likes guys, likes fucking
guys, then you’re not straight. I don’t understand his confusion, and I don’t
want to deal with it.
I grab my wallet and toss some cash on the table, then get up to leave.
He has a ride home now, so I’m free to go back to bed.
“Wait––”
“I’ll see you around,” I tell him, not looking back as I leave the
restaurant. His friend is tying an apron around his waist when I pass the
hostess podium, and I ignore it when he gives me a dirty look.

∞∞∞

“I
know you’re home!” Anna continues to pound on the door, the
banging only getting louder and quicker the longer I take to open it.
“Alright already! Fuck,” I rub my eyes as I finally pull it open.
“Were you sleeping? It’s three in the afternoon.” She doesn’t wait for
me to move aside before she shoves her bony self through the doorway and
practically runs to my bathroom. Little sisters are the worst.
I move to my espresso machine as soon as I shut the door, knowing that
if I don’t start it, she’s going to try, and she always does it wrong. My eyes
flit around the open space, white walls so boring and clean. White counters.
White cabinets. My furniture is black: a black leather couch with the square
black coffee table my neighbor gifted me when I moved in––also black. My
room is more of the same, with maybe a few shades of gray.
When I was younger, I remember wishing for a house like the one my
mom used to keep. One with color and photos everywhere. I don’t have any
pictures out, definitely none on the walls. I’m not even sure why. I don't
think I even own any photos.
“Why are you here?” I ask when Anna steps out of the bathroom. She
rarely comes over anymore, too busy living the college life up.
“I just missed my big brother.” She laughs when I give her a dead stare.
“Yeah, okay. I wanted to remind you that Dad’s birthday is this weekend. I
was hoping you’d drive me.”
I grunt, pouring her espresso shot into a cup I grabbed from the cabinets
and setting it in front of her so she can do whatever she wants with it.
“You have to go, Seb.”
I don’t have to, actually, but I don’t bother voicing that. Walter is a cool
dude. He and his wife adopted the pair of us eleven years ago when I was
fifteen, and Anna was barely ten. Actually, they adopted her alone at first. It
wasn’t until she got depressed and cried about missing me to the point of
annoying them that they looked at options for taking me in, too. I was older.
Rude and moody, and by then, I already had a handful of tattoos and
piercings. I get why they didn’t want me.
But they took me in despite all that, and I’ve been annoyed ever since. I
just don’t know how to navigate something like that. I’m grateful, but how
do you say thanks to the people who took you in when they didn’t even
want to?
I have thanked them for all they’ve done for Anna, though. I can’t even
imagine where she’d have ended up if they’d never wanted her. Our parents
were the definition of shit. Fucked up. She’d probably be the same exact
way if we’d never made it out.
I don’t think that I would have been. I hated them. I hated everything
about them, and I had plans to make it out of there just to spite them. Not
Anna, though. She loved them and gave them a million chances they didn’t
deserve just to be parents.
So, yeah, I thanked Walter and Nadine Thompson for taking care of her.
They loved her when before then nobody but me ever had. They gave her a
home when I couldn’t. They paid her college tuition, put her through
therapy, and were just there for her. She needed all of that.
 They tried with me. I know they did. Walter was so excited to tell me
about the bank account he set up for me, about the money he put in there for
me so I could go to college too. But I didn’t take it, refused to touch it. I put
myself through college because I was tired of thinking about all of the
things I owed them, and I didn’t want more money added to the list.
“Come on. Just say yes.”
“I don’t think I’m going. Why not have your boyfriend take you?” The
last time she was here, she wouldn’t shut up about her new boyfriend.
Honestly, I was shocked. I’d never slut shame my little sister––or anyone––
but she doesn’t exactly seem like the girlfriend type. She’s more into
playing the field, as far as I know.
“Oh,” she starts, pouring milk into her cup and moving to the freezer to
grab ice. “He was a dick.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was just using me, I guess.”
“What the fuck do you mean? Who is this guy?” I search my brain for a
name and come up blank.
“Relax, big brother. It’s not a big deal. It happened months ago; I’m
over it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask again, needing an explanation.
“I don’t know. It seemed great. He was nice and all, but then he just
dumped me,” she shrugs, staring at her cup as she stirs it. “Over text.”
I can tell that she’s more bothered by this than she’s letting on. “Did he
say why?”
“No!” She sets her cup down, finally joining me at the kitchen table.
“He said nothing. I asked, and he ignored me.”
“What a dick.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Like, at least give me a reason. Closure or
some shit, y’know?”
“Want me to––”
“No! Geez, Sebastian. You don’t have to fight everyone who’s mean to
me. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, sounds like he needs his ass kicked.”
“Not by you!”
I smile, but then I start thinking about all of the fights I used to get in,
how pissed I was in our home town and how much I just hated. I liked to
say that I never started any of the fights I got into when I was younger, but
that’s not true. I was quick to anger, to overreact. I’d go from calm and still
to just wailing on whoever the fuck managed to piss me off––with zero
warning. Then I’d get pulled away, not even remembering the fight. I’d just
come to and be surrounded by madness, blood, and people with busted
noses and missing teeth. Other teens, sometimes grown-ass men. I threw
fists at anyone.
It was like I’d blink, and in the span it took to open my eyes again, utter
chaos had exploded.
I never saw red. People say that, that they see red when they’re mad,
but for me, I just saw… nothing. Not even that.
“Yeah, okay.” It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten in a fight over
her, though. But we’re older now. Adults. I’ve calmed way down, and I get
why she’s against it. It used to scare her, and I’d never admit it, but it used
to scare me, too. “I guess I can drive you to the Thompson’s house next
week.”
“You could be a Thompson, too, y’know?”
I ignore that. Changing my last name doesn’t change who I am or where
I came from. I haven’t felt like a Crawford in a very long time, long before
the Thompsons adopted us, and I mean, it might be nice not to be one, but
I’m not one of them. My last name had been a stain on my entire existence
as a kid. In the small town we grew up in, everyone knew what it meant and
who that name was attached to. People, adults, would look at my sister and
me like we were disgusting and not to be trusted, even though we were just
kids.
So, yeah. I could be a Thompson. They asked me twice, but I’m just
not. And really, they never wanted that. They didn’t want me in their home.
They’re just too nice to have left me where I was.
“I don’t know why you hate them so much. They kind of saved our
lives.”
I narrow my eyes before I can stop it, but I manage to keep my thoughts
to myself. I don’t hate them. They’re great people, very kind, and it’s
obvious they love my little sister. She deserves them. Loving parents. I love
that she’s not a Crawford, that she doesn’t have that name dragging her
down anymore. Because she would have let it. I can handle the weight of it,
but she never could. They did save her life, and they did it when I couldn’t.
I’ve thanked them for that.
But it’s only because of Anna that they took me in.
OceanofPDF.com
 Eight
Liam

“F
uck,” I pant, my chest rising hard with every harsh breath I take.
Why is that so fucking good? It’s a wonder. Seriously. My prostate.
It’s like the Great Barrier Reef of my body. The Grand Canyon. The
Great Wall of China. Better than any of the however many wonders of the
world because these orgasms? Fuck.
How many orgasms can I have in one week before it becomes too
many? I’m gonna have to look that up because I swear I’m getting close to
that threshold. I have to be. But it can’t be helped. Even now, I had every
intention of pulling off of this toy, the newest one I bought after class today,
but as I slid up the length of it and it lit me right the hell up, all I ended up
doing was pushing my ass back onto it.
I don’t even know what time it is. Cade could be here any minute and
end up traumatized as he’s forced to listen to me moaning through the
bathroom door as I repeatedly fuck myself on this pink dildo suction
cupped to the shower wall. I had no clue. Absolutely zero clue that
something, that anything, could feel this good.
The only thing that would make it better is if I was in bed, just lying
down and taking it. Being fucked.
I moan, the sound deep and guttural as it climbs its mangled self up my
throat. I hate Sebastian. I fucking hate him. Why did he do this to me?
Seriously.
I can’t even start my day these days without coming, and I can’t do that
without stuffing my asshole full of silicone. It’s a bummer that I’m dead set
on quitting baseball because my wrist is on its way to becoming bionic with
the amount of work it’s getting. It’s why I had to get this toy, one with a
suction cup, so that I could just ride it. Give my poor wrist a break.
 The base of my spine starts to sizzle, my balls aching as my orgasm
begins to crest. Its right fucking there, so good, so––
“Shit!”
It hits me in a burst of sensations, too many to count or differentiate,
static filling my head as my body twitches through it. The difference
between coming how I used to and coming like this is insane. This is a full-
body orgasm. My blood feels like it’s been replaced with a McDonald’s
Sprite, carbonated and syrupy, as it runs through my veins and lightly
tickles my skin. I have to touch myself, run my palms over my torso to
soothe the impact and end up squeezing my pecs when my hands there end
up feeling too nice. My vision is blurry, and I can’t help but laugh. This is
beyond ridiculous.
I look down, both a little sad and very relieved to see my limp dick
hanging there. The tiny puddle of cum on the shower floor is mocking me,
though. I shoot way less coming like this, hands-free, than I do when I jerk
off. I haven’t even bothered doing the latter for who knows how long now. I
shouldn’t like the feeling of being full so much, but even knowing that,
even feeling a little ashamed about it, I never really manage to pull the toy
out right away after I’ve come. It’s part of my come-down routine. I just
like laying there––well, this time, I’m standing––with it all the way in, just
for a little while. It’s relaxing. My very own version of aftercare.
The water going from hot to lukewarm is what finally triggers me to
push myself off the fake cock. I turn around to pull it off the wall and don’t
give myself any time to look too hard at it. It’s the biggest one I’ve bought
so far. It’s sort of embarrassing. Plus, it’s a bright-ass hot pink color, so no. I
don’t want to examine it. I stared at it at the store for way too long. They
had two that had suction cups on them, and the other one was blue, and I
should have gotten that one. I should have, I know it, but it was small. Too
short and skinny, so even though this pink one kind of scared me, I know
myself and my hole enough to know that slightly too big is way better than
way too small.
I make quick work of washing it and my ass off before I get out and
then shove the toy and my lube in the shower bag I have stashed under the
sink, having a little trouble zipping it up. Cade would never snoop in my
things, so I’m comfortable leaving it there with a few of the other ones I’ve
collected over the past two weeks. When I get out of the bathroom, I’m
relieved to find that I still have some time before Cade gets home.
 He texted me earlier and asked if I’d go to the gym with him, and while
I’d wanted nothing more than to say no, I ended up sending him a faux
enthusiastic hell yeah. I’m not going to let Sebastian keep me away from
the gym. As much as I wish it wasn’t, working out has been a big part of my
life pretty much my whole life. It feels weird––maybe only the teensiest bit
relieving, too––to not go there regularly.
And he specifically told me he missed me. He seemed annoyed as he
said it, but I knew that he was feeling hurt. Maybe it’s weird, our mild
codependency, but it’s been this way for years. And even when we do spend
time together, I spend a good chunk of that time fixated on the secret I’m
keeping from him, and it makes things feel odd. That sucks. I don’t want
that to be a thing, me inadvertently avoiding Cade because of some guy.
So, some asshole sorta-kinda rejecting me just because I have no clue
how to label myself after some unexpected sexual awakening isn’t going to
stop me from hanging out with my best friend.
“Did you shower?” Cade asks as soon as he enters the bedroom door
about ten minutes later and spots me on my bed. I’m wearing a pair of
joggers and socks and have yet to throw a shirt on because my hair is still
wet.
“Yeah,” I shrug.
“But we’re going to go work out. You’re gonna get all gross and
sweaty.”
“My sweat isn’t gross, thank you very much. And so? I’ll just take
another quick shower at the gym. No biggie.” I keep scrolling on my phone,
avoiding his eyes because I’m a shit liar, and it feels like I’m lying. I didn’t
consider that it might look weird to shower before going to the gym.
But then he moves to his dresser and tosses his work clothes on the
ground as he changes, and everything is okay again. I sit up then, grabbing
the shirt I’d pulled out of the closet, and throw it on just as Cade bends over
to remove his work slacks. I make sure to look away, and for a split second,
I consider turning my head and looking back at him.
Shouldn’t I want to? I mean, if I like guys now… he’s got a similar-ish
build to Sebastian, just on a smaller scale. And he’s not an ugly guy. My
mom used to joke that we could be related when we were younger, but
those comments stopped the older we got. We have more differences than
just the color of our eyes now. He actually tans where I just burn and end up
pale again when I don’t use enough sunscreen. He has a divot in his chin
that popped up when he lost the baby fat. He complains about it all the time,
but it looks good. He also has to shave his face more than I do, something
he refuses to let me forget.
But I’m not attracted to my best friend. Or Baby. Or Logan. Or any of
my teammates who I’ve been naked around in locker rooms for years. They
don’t make my dick hard. And they definitely don’t make me want to play
with my hole.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” I tell him as I tug my shoes on and grab my gym bag. When we
make our way into the living room, he heads for the fridge and grabs two of
his gross pre-workout shakes, and I seriously debate telling him I’d rather
eat shit than drink it, but I just take it with a quiet ‘thanks’ and chug it
before we head to the gym.
“There’s your bestie. Aren’t you gonna say ‘hi’?” he elbows me as soon
as we get there. I don’t have to look to know who he’s talking about. He
was oddly fixated on Sebastian after he saw us together at the diner four
days ago, and no matter how many questions I answered about him, he only
seemed to have more. It feeds my paranoia every time he brings him up.
“He’s not my bestie. You are.” I give him an exaggerated smile, stuffing
a few of my things in one of the lockers they have lined against the check-in
wall. It placates him enough that he drops the subject, and then we make
our way to the equipment he wants to use. We settle into a familiar groove
after a quick warm-up, spotting each other and chatting about nothing
important.
We’ve been here about forty minutes when I realize that I haven’t even
looked at the only guy who’s ever been inside me. Not even once, not even
when Cade was teasing me about him. And once I realize it, it’s like the
thought switches my brain into manual. It wasn’t a conscious choice to
ignore him, but now that I’m aware that I was…
I look over and meet his stare head-on. I didn’t even have to put in any
effort to look for him, like my body just knew where he was. I expect him
to look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes on me have me thinking about that
stupid pink dildo. It’s bigger than he is––than his dick is, I mean. But sadly,
I remember all too well––even though I managed to come twice earlier––
that what he’s packing is better.
I’m blushing. I can feel it. My neck is burning, and my hand is itching
to touch it, but I can’t because I’m supposed to be spotting Cade. But I’m
blushing and caught in a creepy stare-off with Sebastian. Why won’t he
look away? Does he expect me to? Doesn’t he know that I can’t? It’s got to
be him.
But he doesn’t look away. He just keeps frowning at me, and just when
I’m about to do something stupid, like smile at him, he gives me a little
upnod. What the fuck does that mean? The question flashes on my face, and
that’s when he decides to turn his head.
I don’t know what he wants from me. For me to come out? I could do
that. I’m not all that sure what that even means, why I even need a label, but
I could do that. If it means he’ll give me a chance, I could definitely do that
for him.
“Liam!”
“What? Oh, sorry.” I take a half step back and help Cade lift the bar up
enough to mount it.
“What were you––oh. I see,” Cade gives me his back when he sits up
and grabs his water bottle as he takes a few deep breaths before he starts
drinking. I don’t bother defending myself. That would mean talking about
this little situation, and I don’t want to do that. “I think I’m good to cool
down if you are.”
We haven’t been here as long as he usually likes to be, but something
about his tone has me reluctant to tell him that. So, I just nod and follow
him.
“I’m actually going to hit the showers, that way, I’ll be good to go when
you’re done,” I tell him just as we get to the treadmills. He doesn’t say
anything so I just keep walking. I’ve showered here before, but he’s always
refused. I get it, but it’s convenient, and they keep it pretty clean. I think
years of playing baseball have gotten me pretty used to using locker rooms.
I try not to think about how different things have felt between Cade and
me in the past… well, I don’t even know how long. It’s been weeks. Over a
month, maybe. I know the cause, but I don’t understand the why. We have
friends outside of each other, and while I wouldn’t call Sebastian a friend,
that is what Cade calls him.
My friend. My bestie.
He’s not my anything, though. I think he was open to being my
something. That’s why he took me to his house and made sure I was okay.
Let me sleep in his bed. His very comfortable bed that smells so fucking
good. Smells like him. The very same bed I let him have my ass in.
 I move to a shower stall and start undressing after taking my shoes off
and pulling out the slides I use as shower shoes. I set my bag in front of the
stall door and ignore the way my dick is starting to thicken. This is not the
time nor the place for that, and really, how slutty can that thing be? I
shouldn’t be horny anymore, not after my earlier escapades.
It’s his fault. He gave me something and then took it away, and now my
dick and my asshole just don’t know how to act.
“Liam?”
I freeze with my hand extended where I was placing my clothes on the
hook behind the door. “Yeah?” It’s him. He followed me.
“Oh, sorry.” Silence.
I wait, stand there naked and a little cold behind the closed door as he
just, what? I wonder if he’s still there, and when I open the stall door
enough that I can hide behind it and still see outside, I see that he is still
there. “Hey,” I say dumbly, caught off guard.
“I didn’t expect you to already be in the shower. I thought if I hurried, I
could catch you before you got in.”
“Did you need something?” My heartbeat starts to quicken, a little
flurry of excitement swelling in my guts at the notion that he wants
something from me.
“I can just wait.” He starts to walk away, and I panic.
“Wait!” I cover my junk with both hands when the stall door opens
wider and hope that nobody else is in here. He looks back, and while his
eyes do very briefly flick over my body, he makes sure to avoid looking a
second time and keeps his eyes on my face as he grits his teeth and glares at
me. I don’t take it personally, though. That’s just his face. “What if I came
out?”
An influx of doubt and unease starts to bubble up in my chest. Gets to
the point of boiling as I try to hide just how much that idea scares me. What
would I even come out as? There are so many labels, and none of them feel
like they fit. I don’t know that I’ve ever really liked the girls I’ve been with,
at least not sexually. In fact, most of the time, once we did sleep together, I
kind of disliked them. Rarely have I ever been excited for sex. It was just
something I did. Like it was expected of me.
This? This is so far out of my expectations, and I have no clue what it
means. I don’t want to be a closet case. I don’t want to be that guy you hear
about, those jocks who are too afraid to be who they are. I’m not afraid to
be who I am. I swear I’m not.
I just don’t know who I am.
But if he wants me to define what this is to me, then I will. I’ll try.

OceanofPDF.com
 Nine
Liam

“W
hat?”

“I mean, well, I don’t exactly know what I mean, but I know

that I want…” I swear he starts to glare harder, those little hoops on the side
of his nose twitching as his nostrils flare. I had no idea that I was going to
say all of that, but I know how that sentence ends. “You. I want you, and
you don’t like guys in the closet––I’m guessing––so, maybe if I came out,
though I have literally zero clue what I’d come out as, because like I told
you, or tried to tell you, I’ve never really liked any other guy before. But I
guess I could tell people that I’m bisexual, right? That fits well enough, I
think. So, yeah. I could just start telling people that I’m bi, and then we
could––”
“We could what? I don’t want you to come out, Liam. Not for me. I
didn’t say any of that.”
“Well, no. I know that. But that is why you left the diner all pissed off,
right? Because you think I’m in the closet?”
“Liam, you wanting me does not mean that I want you.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slump, and I have to look down so that he can’t see
it when my face reflects how much that fucking hurt me. I’m not even
surprised. I mean, I didn’t see it coming, but yeah. Makes sense that he
doesn’t want me. Nobody really does and that’s something I’m aware of, so
why does this bother me? There are so many reasons for him to not want
me.
“Because I’m not your type?” My voice is small as I ask him, and I hate
it. I fucking hate it, but I have to know why.
“I don’t have a type, Liam. I just don’t want you.”
 “Is it because I was too boring?”
“Boring?”
“Like, because I told you to take it easy on me?” I look up and, for
once, see him looking at me without a scowl etched onto his stupidly
handsome face. “It was just because it was my first time, y’know? I
wouldn’t always need it to be so… gentle. I know that, well I’m sure it
wasn’t all that great for you, but,” he starts walking towards me, and I
swallow. He kind of looks like he’s going to hit me, but I keep talking
anyway because I need to say this shit. “I had fun, but I'm sorry if I wasn’t
good enough.” I shrug, feeling awkward the closer he’s getting, and it isn’t
until he’s in reaching distance that I remember I’m naked.
“Shut up.”
“What? I was just––”
“Liam, shut the fuck up.” His big hand––his big tattooed hand––grips
my chin, and I almost move my hands to remove it. But I can’t because
they’re hiding my bare dick at the moment, and he looks seriously mad. I
just don’t think being exposed to this dude is a good idea at the moment.
“You’re not boring. I never said fucking you was boring. That’s stupid.
What about how I acted made you think that you weren’t good enough?”
“You didn’t say it, but I’ve been told that before.” I move backward,
trying to put some space between us, but he follows me, keeping his hand
on me.
“Who the fuck said that?” He seems genuinely mad, but I have no clue
why.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But I’m also pretty sure it’s why my ex
cheated on me.” I don’t know why I bother telling him that, but it is the
truth.
He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for fucking girls.”
That makes me smile despite the odd position he has me in, despite how
nervous I am. Nervous and naked. “I don’t know. They’re not all bad. They
self-lubricate. That’s kind of nice. I wish I could do that.” Rambling. I’m
rambling and saying dumb things.
He gives me a look like I’m stupid and I’m about to defend myself,
explain how much of a hardship it is to have to prep myself every time I’m
horny and that I spend so much money on lube now when he starts
laughing. His mouth breaks out in a smile that has dimples popping out on
both of his cheeks this time, his perfectly straight teeth flashing, and I swear
my heart stops beating for a second. He is so hot. So goddamn sexy. No
wonder he’s got me all fucked up, wanting dick all of a sudden.
He called me beautiful, but I’m basically a blobfish compared to him
because he’s a total stunner.
It blows my mind that I ever thought anyone before him was attractive.
Nobody compares.
He walks me backward, further into the shower stall, until he’s
crowding me against the cold wall, stepping close enough into my space
that he can place his forehead on my shoulder. Still laughing, and I have to
talk. Say words because I’m at a loss and feeling awkward, and the
silence––save for his deep, flippant laugh––is making it worse.
“Well, it is convenient. They’re just, like, open and wet.”
“Liam,” he chuckles, and with his mouth so close to my skin, it tickles
enough that I shiver. “Just shut up.”
“Kiss me.” I know that it’s a risk, saying that, demanding that from him
when he just told me that he doesn’t want me, and when everything he’s
done before this moment has only proved that he doesn’t unless I count the
time we had sex. But I’m currently naked and in a shower, and he’s all over
me and in my space, so it doesn’t seem completely out of the realm of
possibility. Plus, I just really want his lips on mine. I want it so badly that
I’m shaking, the cock I’m still hiding behind my hands now fully erect and
annoyed that it’s being squeezed so hard.
I expect some sort of pushback, some hesitancy, but there is none of
that as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth. I groan instantly, my arms
snaking around him in an attempt to pull him closer, and when all that does
is press my needy dick against him, I moan. Loudly.
“Shh.”
I’m a little appalled that he had to shush me at all, but I’m too busy to
really care. I thread my fingers through his hair, roll my hips into his, and
throw my head back with a hiss as my balls pull up in a tight hug against
the base of my dick. “Fuck.”
“We can’t do this here.” Only he must not mean it because now that my
mouth is off of his, all he does is move it to my throat, teeth grazing and
lips brushing everywhere they can. “I could lose my job.”
“Hands,” I grunt, reach for them, and try to place them on my skin. I
don’t care where he puts those fucking hands as long as they’re on me.
 He grips my cock, and I have to look. Need to see it. And, fuck. Those
fingers wrapped around me like that, I knew they’d look good, but god.
This is better than I’d imagined. I wish I could take a picture, keep it
forever. I want to remember it exactly like this. I want to be able to pull this
image out and look at it when he’s done with me, no longer willing to touch
me.
Mostly, I want him to just never be done with me. To always want to
touch me. To flash his horribly adorable dimples at me every chance he can.
I want… I just want.
He circles the pad of his thumb over my slit, smearing the bit of precum
there around the tip, and I hiss, jerking my hips in his hold. I can’t even
remember the last time I came just by stroking myself, can hardly even
imagine doing it now. I definitely don’t want to.
“Finger me.” I shake my head when he looks at me like I’m crazy, like
what I just said makes no sense, but it makes all the sense. He’ll see. I’ll
show him. “Do it.”
“We’re in a public shower,” he shoots a look over his shoulder, and he’s
right, but I don’t care all that much at the moment. So, I kick the door shut,
and when I realize that having my leg hiked up there means that he’ll have
more room to work with, I leave my foot flat against the door. “I don’t have
lube.”
I grab his hand, grateful that he lets me do it, and take one of his fingers
into my mouth, with every intention to just coat it with as much spit as
possible, but his hands. I’m obsessed. I know some people like feet, and
that’s a kink, but I’m pretty sure I have a hand kink. It’s a thing. It’s got to
be, and if it’s not, it is now.
I close my eyes, moan, and end up swirling my tongue around the width
of his finger.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, sounding awed, and when I pry my eyes open, I
find his pupils blown, that icy blue that haunts my daydreams barely
visible. Nobody has ever looked at me quite like that. Like I’m sexy.
Looked at me in a way that makes it impossible to not feel needed, wanted.
He’s such a liar. He does want me, I know it. I can see it. Even more
than that, I feel it, but that’s fine. I’ll let him keep denying it, just as long as
he gives in right now.
“Please,” I move his hand, lower it until he gets the hint, and he doesn’t
deny me anymore. He cups my balls in his palm and slides his finger up the
length of my taint until his finger is right there, right where I want it. My
hips roll as he circles my rim, all the while watching me as I pant in his
face. He just barely breaches my hole when he stops moving.
A smile slowly creeps over his face before he leans in. “What’s this?”
His finger sinks in and rubs at my insides, and I mentally curse through the
bliss at how easy it is. He breathes a quiet laugh against my chin, and I have
to shut my eyes, so mortified I can’t even move. “You’re so loose for me,
sweetheart. I slid right in. Is this what you meant? You’re even a little wet
for me.”
I whimper, my muscles aching with the effort it’s taking to not move, to
not fuck myself on his hand. “I forgot.” My voice is so whiny, I don’t even
recognize it. It sounds nothing like me.
“You forgot what? How open and wet you left your hole for me? Just
like a good little cunt should be, huh?”
“I––” I lean my head back again, ignoring how it hurts a bit with the
force I hit the wall and moan. I fucking moan when he pulls out just to sink
two fingers back inside my already-fucked hole, and this time, I couldn’t
have stopped my hips from rolling if I tried. “More.” There’s barely enough
lube but I know that I know I can take it, that I need it.
It burns when he gives it to me, adds another finger and stretches me
out the slightest bit. But I hardly feel it as he hits my prostate with that
skilled precision of his, making sure that I lose all sense.
It’s so right, his fingers and all those tattoos inside me. So fucking
right.
My back arches as waves of pleasure start to spread out, crawling up
my spine and down my legs. Building in crescendos of pure ecstasy until it
finally peaks, and I’m unable to control my pelvis as it jerks through the
feeling, riding those waves.
I’m vaguely aware of my leg falling, of him holding it up with an arm
linked under my knee for me as I bask in the orgasmic relief flooding my
nervous system.
“You were right.”
I have to blink hard just to see his face clearly through all the blur and
end up finding him smiling at me. He’s going to have to stop doing that.
Between the orgasm and his fingers inside me and his stupid dimples, I just
can’t stand it.
 “I don’t––” I shake my head, still not thinking clearly. My skin is
tingling, my spine literally vibrating in a steady wave of aftershocks,
making it impossible to think straight.
Honestly, I haven’t had a single straight thought since I laid eyes on
him.
“It is convenient, being able to just slide in like that. Finding you so
warm and wet for me. Open,” he grins, and, ugh, it’s so disgusting.
“I was just––”
“Playing with yourself?” He’s teasing me, soothing the burn of shame a
bit because I can tell that he likes it. “Isn’t that right? Getting this pretty
pussy ready for me.”
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe through my nose, biting my lip so I shut up. I
know he’s making fun of me for the bullshit I said a few minutes ago, but I
don’t know why I’m so willing to roll with it. I might even be enjoying it,
just a little. He’s definitely enjoying it. He likes the idea of me stuffing my
hole, but knowing that doesn’t fully get rid of the humiliation.
“Shh, it’s okay. I fucking love that. Were you thinking of me, princess?”
His fingers are still inside me, stroking that magic button, and already I’m
back on the edge. I didn’t think multiple orgasms were possible for dudes
before I met him, but I just cannot stop them. My hips are grinding, slowly
rolling over and over. I need it again. I came too fast; it can’t be over. I need
more.
I always need more.
“I’m gonna come. Fuck. Fucking fuck, I’m––no!” My eyes open wide
with the muffled word I just let out against the palm he has pressed hard
over my mouth. My hand immediately reaches for the one he just removed
from my ass.
“Shh.” He reaches behind him with the fingers that were just in me and
holds the loose shower stall door shut.
It takes me a moment to hear it, someone moving in the room.
Shit. What the hell am I doing? We’re at the gym. The gym I frequent
with my best friend, who is out there right now, waiting for me on the
treadmills. At least, I hope he is. I hear a shower turn on somewhere along
the wall and at least a few doors down from us.
“Wait,” he whispers, and when he starts to pull the door open, I grab his
forearm. “It’s fine,” mutters, not looking at me as he checks that the coast is
clear. “Come on.”
 “What?”
“Come to my place.” He looks at me, at my body, and my hands twitch
with the urge to cover my not-completely-flaccid dick. “Get dressed.”
“I can’t.” Except I can. I absolutely can and definitely should. “Or––
yeah, okay. I have to tell Cade, though. He’s waiting for me.” I look at my
clothes sitting on the dry shower floor and remember that I’m supposed to
be wet. “Will you? Wait for me, I mean? I don’t have my car here.”
I can’t stand how hopeful I sound and how small my voice is. All the
lust that had been plaguing my body has burnt out, now just a light ember,
and I sort of hate it. Chasing orgasms makes it easier to stand in front of
him, to talk to him. This moody guy who only smiles at me when I say
stupid shit and who’s only nice to me when I’m drunk or naked.
“Dude.” I have to cover myself. Cup my hands over my junk because
he’s staring, and it’s just going to get hard again with his blue gaze touching
it like that. And it does feel like a touch, like a soft skimming of skin on
skin.
It’s because his eyes are blue. Blue eyes are so weird. Pretty but also
creepy.
“Okay. I’ll be outside.” And then he turns to leave, and I rush through a
swift shower, barely drying off as I pull on the extra set of clothes I keep in
my gym bag.
Cade is still on the treadmill when I get out there, and as I walk up to
him, I start to get nervous. I get very nervous because what do I even tell
him?
“Hey.”
His face is blank as he looks at me, nothing on it that says I know what
you were doing in there, and I’ve decided we can’t be friends anymore. I
don’t think him finding out I like guys––a guy––would ever lead to him
dropping me, but I also don’t know for sure. Maybe he’d be mad that I’ve
hidden it. That I’m a lying liar who fucking lies. But even thinking about it,
being afraid of it, doesn’t have me rushing to remedy it. I can’t tell him. Or
anyone, for that matter. Not yet. Not until I figure it out.
“I’m going to go hang out with Bash.” He says nothing, but his brows
fall. “Just for a little while.”
He scoffs, and I have no idea how to take that, but my body tenses like
it’s ready to jump on defense. “Thought he wasn’t your bestie.”
 “He’s not,” I laugh, the sound weak and unsure. I don’t know why he’s
so mad. “We’re just friends.” We’ve always been very close, Cade and I,
but we do have friends outside of each other. He hangs out with people I
never would, don’t even know, so I should be able to make new friends, too.
Except we’re not friends. Bash doesn’t even like me enough for a basic
friendship.
But I’m determined. I’m going to wear him down. I know it.
“Yeah, whatever. I wish you had told me before you took a shower.”
There’s a bite in his voice that I don’t understand; I don’t even know where
to begin in trying to understand it. We’ve had fights over the many years
we’ve known each other, and that’s what this feels like. A fight. “I could
have left already instead of waiting for you.”
He’s pissed. Seems to be getting madder the longer we talk about this,
and I just don’t know why. I know I should ask. The unease I feel is telling
me to work this out, but there’s also a sliver of fear telling me to just let it
go. To not bring it up. Avoid the topic.
So that’s what I do. I apologize, trying not to let my voice fall too
much, and then I tell him I’ll see him later and just leave. And I feel like
shit as I’m walking out of the gym. Guilty.
But then I see Sebastian standing against his Jeep, and I feel better.
Excited. Fucking giddy as I give him a little smile––that he does not
return––and then we’re getting in his car, and he’s taking me to his place.

OceanofPDF.com
 Ten
Bash

H
e snores. All night, he snored.
I wanted to wake him up and tell him to leave so many times, but
I couldn’t. I’m not even sure how it got to the point of him sleeping
over. We didn’t even discuss it. He just fell asleep, and I didn’t wake him
up.
I’m blaming the sex. Sex with Liam makes me stupid. Turns me into
someone else. The way he looks, the way he acts. It irritates me that he was
able to fall asleep at all, let alone so quickly. It took me a long time. Hours
of just being fascinated at how he makes me act, how he very clearly
doesn’t like it when I’m rough, and the word harder never leaves his mouth
when I’m inside him. I didn’t realize how common that word is during sex
until I wasn’t hearing it.
Harder. Guys like that shit. Not necessarily rough, though I’ve been
with a few guys who like that, too, but definitely hard regardless. Their
bodies crave that, but not his. He looks like he’d like it that way, with
punishing thrusts and a little manhandling. His body is solid and sculpted,
and he looks like he could take it, but if I started to lose myself, he made it
known that it wasn’t what he wanted.
Back at the gym, he told me that he wouldn’t always need it gentle, but
I don’t think he meant that. He likes things a certain way and responds
much better when I stay moving easily. Sex with Liam is slow. Sensual.
Soft and sticky-sweet. He takes long, languid strokes like he’s starved for
them.
He wasn’t as reserved or unsure of himself last night as he had been the
first time. His first time. He was a little bossier and knew what worked for
him. He was louder and more eager. Hooded eyes and tight muscles, peaked
nipples that he couldn’t keep his hands off of, head thrown back and back
bowed.
Right now, he looks nothing like that. I have no clue why he’s still here.
His lips are barely parted, his face so relaxed and peaceful. He almost has
freckles. They’re so light that it took me a while to even notice them but
now I can’t help but stare at them even in the low early morning light. And
he also has a few that are more noticeable. Darker. Beauty marks. There are
twelve of them on his face, most of them on the left side. One right under
the corner of his eye, a few on his forehead above his brow bone.
He’s so fucking pretty.
Except he snores, and it’s annoying. The more sleep-deprived I felt as
the night went on and on, the more I kind of wanted to smother him with
the pillow he has under his head. It’s my pillow. It’s my favorite pillow, and
he just took it. Rubbed his face all over it. I’m pretty sure the little wet spot
I see there is from him drooling on it.
I should have made him leave last night. I shouldn’t have followed him
into the shower room. That was stupid. It’s where the showers are. Where
people get all naked and soaped up. I knew what I was doing going in there
after him.
He mumbles something incoherent, still asleep, and rolls over onto his
side. His face burrows into my pillow before settling again with the smallest
smile on his lips. And when his face relaxes again, his lips separating the
slightest bit, he fucking snores.
My hand reaches out before I even realize I’m doing anything, and I
brush a few strands of hair off of his forehead before balling my hand into a
fist and pulling it back.
I move until I’m lying flat on the bed, determined to close my eyes for
just a little while. It really shouldn’t be this hard. I grew up sleeping on a
couch with random people coming in and out of the house at all hours and
then spent almost a year in a group home with a dozen other teenage boys. I
can handle an hour of sleeping next to one guy.
I have my head lying on the mattress, being stubborn and refusing to
use the other pillow on my bed because I never use that pillow, and I’m
feeling bitter about not having the one I do always use available. It’s early,
and it’s the weekend. I’d usually have more time to be lazy, to sleep in and
relax, but I told Anna I’d take her to the Thompson’s house for Walter’s
birthday, and we have to leave by one.
 “Are you awake?”
Shit.
He places a hand on my chest, right over the dagger I have tattooed on
my sternum, and flexes his fingers, and my body tenses as it fights a tremor.
“You’re cold.”
“I wonder why.” I hear more than see as he sits up a little, looking down
at himself all wrapped up in my blanket like the blanket hog he is.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry, his morning voice lightly tempered in
a lazy smile I can hear without having to look at him. But then I do see it.
I’m forced to look at him and his sleep-addled features barely visible in the
early morning light coming through my sheer curtains, his full lips tilted in
a crooked grin as he leans over me and stretches before promptly laying his
head on my bare chest, covering the both of us in my blanket and settling as
deeply into my rib cage as he can manage.
He gets comfortable with a heavy arm draped over my stomach while I
just lay there, not knowing why my heart is pounding and my fists are so
tightly clenched. I have to make myself unfold them, but then they’re just
lying there, and I’m too aware of them, my brain focused on them and what
they’re doing: not touching him.
“Bash.”
“Hm?” I grunt, and he huffs a quiet laugh.
“Don’t make this weird. Just go back to sleep.”
I don’t say anything, don’t tell him that I can’t because he fucking
snores, and it’s not cute. At all. I don’t bother mentioning how warm he is
and how neither of us has a pillow under our heads now. And I certainly
don’t ask him if he’s ready to go home.
He sighs, then starts touching me. He grabs my arms and puts my hands
on him, and I just let him. He moves my limbs until he’s got a bicep under
his head and my other arm over his middle, and it’s such a relief that it stuns
me.
He took the decision away from me and wrapped himself up in my
arms, and it feels like it’s easier to breathe all of a sudden. Like the tension
in my body is no more.
I give in and squeeze, just for a split second, and then melt into the
mattress plastered against him, and when he releases a sleepy, happy-
sounding sigh, I close my eyes.
 ∞∞∞

R
eaching an arm out and expecting to find Liam only to come up empty
is what wakes me up. I don’t know what time it is, but the sun is
finally out.
I didn’t want him here, but his leaving without saying anything irritates
me. I’m not a morning person at all. Waking up pissed off isn’t out of the
ordinary for me, but this feels different. More annoying.
But then my bed dips behind me, and I flinch.
“Morning.” He shuffles closer, fitting his body to my back and pressing
his cold nose into my neck, not even hiding it when he inhales deeply like a
freak. “You smell good.”
I don’t know what to say to that, my brain still lagging after the heavy
sleep. Honestly, I doubt I would know how to respond even if I hadn’t just
woken up.
“Are you pretending to be asleep? I saw your eyes open.”
I turn around, having to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight. “What
time is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
I should expect it when he simply moves back into my space, basically
gluing his body to mine chest to chest, but I don’t. And I definitely don’t
know how to react to it. Well, I don’t know how I should react, but it does
seem that sleep has made me more willing to deal with him. More unwilling
to pretend I don’t want to touch him, most likely.
I slip a leg between his, bending it so that my thigh is pressed between
his legs, and let a hand settle on the curve of his ass. I’m still tired and
sleepy, and I blame that for the way my lips immediately find his skin.
My mouth works its way down his throat before moving across his
collarbone, and I spot one of those beauty marks on his throat and just have
to taste it, lick and suck at it and simultaneously slip my hand under the
band of his briefs to palm the bare skin of his perky ass. His moans are
encouraging, and the way he’s grinding his half-hard cock against my thigh
is even more so. It spurs me on and has me moving until I’m over him and
pushing at the fabric between us until it becomes clear that he has to help
me. He kicks his underwear off and then drags me back onto him, pulling
me until I’m between those legs that always seem so eager to spread for me.
He wordlessly directs me to keep kissing his skin with a hand fisted in
my hair and another clutching my ass until I’m pressed against him. I don’t
even realize how hard I am until our erections meet, and he gasps.
“Fuck.” Our foreheads touch as I roll my hips into his, and he reaches
down to shove my sweats lower, so I sit up to do it for him. He misses the
contact enough that he lets out a needy little whine, immediately reaching
for me. I don’t let him grab me, though. Instead, I move off the bed, getting
my pants off all the way, and start lazily stroking myself as I watch him.
“Touch yourself.”
“I––no. You do it,” he tells me, his voice quiet as he watches my hand
slide up and down my length.
I kind of expected that, but I laugh all the same. I was only teasing
when I called him a princess last night, but it fits. He is one, and I’m
obsessed with that part of him. I’ve been with bossy guys, power bottoms
that top from the bottom and demand what they want, but Liam only kind of
fits that bill. He’s demanding. He tells me what he wants, but he’s so
delicate with the way he says things.
I’ve never told a man that I want to fuck his needy little cunt, that I
want his pussy squeezing my dick until I come inside him. I’ve never
considered a guy who’s too lazy to touch himself, especially one as big as
he is, to be a cute pillow princess, but here we are.
“You only want me touching you, is that right, princess?”
“Yes.” His breath hitches as, despite his assurance that he only wants
my hands on him, he palms his pecs––his tits, as I’d called them last
night––lightly swiveling his hips as I move between them once again.
“What do you want? Tell me.” But he doesn’t speak as he moves my
head down, and I know I’d be pissed if anyone else did this to me, but I let
him. I let him slowly move me until I’m at eye level with his dick, and then
I don’t even take a second to breathe before my mouth is on him. I taste,
suck the bead of precum off his tip, and then sink down until he’s in my
throat and swallow.
“Yes,” he pants, and it’s just the first of many that leave his mouth as I
work him over, bobbing my head up and down, rolling my tongue over the
head on each pass and savoring every one of those little yeses he feeds me.
 It’s minutes of this before I remember my own dick, hard and leaking.
Fucking desperate for release, but I’m too focused on him and the way he
only barely rocks his hips, being polite with the way he’s using my mouth
to do anything about it. I fucking adore that. Him, his personality, and the
way he showcases it when we fuck. Like he trusts me to take care if him, to
give him what he needs because no way is he going to just take it.
“I’m gonna come!” he calls out as his back arches, pushing himself into
the opening of my throat once more, unable to help himself as his orgasm
rolls its way down his body. I don’t pull off, more than ready for it, but
when his cock finally swells and his balls unload down my throat, I do not
at all expect that much to flood my mouth. It surprises me how much I have
to swallow.
He comes untouched a lot, almost exclusively, and when that’s the case,
there’s barely any cum at all.
“God,” he pants when I finally pull off of him, and I can’t help but
notice how quickly his body relaxes. He doesn’t stay hard, urge me to keep
going, and he doesn’t rub his hands all over himself like he’s prolonging the
sensations wracking his body. There are a lot of differences, and I pay
attention to all of them.
I kind of miss the show he usually gives me as he’s coming, miss all the
moaning and quiet whimpering, the way he pinches his nipples and can’t
stay still even long after he’s stopped spilling. I’m stroking myself between
his legs, just thinking about all of that when he finally opens his eyes.
“I want to… I’ve never done it, but you can show me. Teach me how to
make you come, Bash. Please?”
I hate when he looks at me like that. Like I make him feel insecure and
unsure of himself. His eyes look so much better when I’m making him feel
good.
I’m pretty sure the only time I manage that is when we’re having sex,
and that’s––I don’t even know why that bothers me so much.
“You don’t have to do that.” I stop touching myself, my thoughts on
their way to killing my mood.
“But I want to.” He sits up and crawls, moving to his knees on the floor
at the side of the bed and looking up at me with a plea in those dark brown
eyes of his that I can’t ignore. “You just have to tell me how to make it
good for you. I don’t––I doubt I can deepthroat,” he blushes as he places his
hands flat on my sheet, and my jaw tenses at the sight. “I won’t be as good
as you are at it, but I mean… a blowjob’s a blowjob, right?”
“You’ll be perfect.” I sound a little more gruff than I mean to as I say it,
but I’m positive I’m right. “I’ll like whatever you do, Liam.”
And I do. Seeing this boy on his knees for me is heady, the sight alone
enough to have my balls pulling tight. The tentative way he grips me and
the way his eyes flutter closed at that first kittenish lick, making his long
lashes fan his cheekbones as he moans quietly at the taste. God, all of it has
me sitting rigid as I try and force myself to stay still. When he finally takes
me in his mouth, lets me stretch his pouty lips wide, and flattens his tongue
along the underside of my dick, I moan. He looks up at me, seemingly
pleased at the sound, and I have to touch him. I palm his cheeks and relish
the look in his eyes.
Nobody has ever looked at me like that, like making me feel good is his
sole purpose for existing in this moment. My pretty little pillow princess
taking the time and care to make me feel good is everything.
He bobs his head up and down, taking me a little deeper each time, and
I’m content to just let him be. I keep my hands where they are, touching
him but not leading him. He’s moving slowly enough that the little bit of
teeth that grazes me every so often actually feels good, has my thighs
shaking.
“Suck,” I tell him, and he listens, hollows his cheeks for me, and moans
as he does exactly what I want him to. “Oh, fuck,” I hiss, leaning back a bit
and flexing my hips to stop myself from fucking his mouth. “Just like that,
sweetheart.”
He lets out a little whine, shuffling on his knees as he moves closer and
ends up gagging on me a bit. It embarrasses him and has him pulling off
and apologizing, but doesn’t he see how fucking good he’s making me feel?
I should tell him, but I can’t. Instead, I lean down and kiss his swollen lips
before shaking my head. I tell him to keep a grip around the base to stop
him from going too low and then wait for him as he gets back into a steady
rhythm of sucking and licking me.
All too soon, I’m on the brink of falling apart, breathing heavily and
fighting the urge to throw my head back because as good as it feels and as
much as I want to focus on that, I have to see him. My fingers slip through
his soft hair, and he loves it. God, he loves it, my hands on him. I know he
does. I see it in the way he responds every single time I touch him.
 He’s so fucking beautiful like this, mouth full of cock and eyes full of
tears.
“I’m close,” I warn him, trying to gently push him off of me, but he
shakes his head the slightest bit and just continues what he’s doing,
moaning around me and moving faster, letting his hand follow his lips and
stroking me with every bob of his head. I grab his head in a firm hold when
I start to come, my muscles tightening and eyes rolling back into my head at
the way he keeps stroking what he can, even as his mouth stays sucking at
just the tip, his tongue pointed as it digs into my slit. He swallows every bit,
moaning louder than I am as he does it.
I’m oversensitive almost instantly. I make sure to carefully pull him off
of me and then cradle his face as I lean down, sweeping my tongue against
his and mixing the taste of us right in his mouth.
“Perfect,” I speak the word against his lips and hope that he knows I
mean it, that he believes it because he was perfect. He is perfect.
I lean back, intending to give him room to get up, but all he does is lay
his head in my lap, still breathing heavily as he lets his eyes close. When
my fingers find their way into his hair once again, lightly scratching at his
scalp, he moves his arms until they’re around me, buries his nose in my
groin, and very unsubtly inhales. Deeply.
My chest swells at the sight. This is weird. He’s fucking weird. He
doesn’t act like a guy who was straight before meeting me. At least not
when we’re alone.
“Come on.”
He sits up, his eyes still a touch unfocused as he looks at my soft cock. I
barely have time to appreciate the way his face looks after being fucked
when he leans back in so quickly before standing up that I can’t be sure, but
I think… “Did you just kiss my dick?”
“Just a little,” he says defensively, putting his hands straight up in the
air as he stretches out. I’m speechless. What do I even say to that? “Any
plans today?”
“Yeah, I have shit to do.” It was a reflex, something I said without
thinking and in a tone that has him once again staring at me like I make him
feel small. I do have things to do, a long drive, and an awkward birthday
dinner to sit through, but I didn’t have to say it like that.
“Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll go.” He looks at me, just for a second or two,
but it feels endless. It feels like he’s giving me all the time in the world to
fix this, to tell him that he can stay or apologize or say anything at all to
assure him that I, at the very least, don’t hate him. “Will I see you again?”
I watch him, see it when my silence convinces him that I don’t want
that, but––even though I have no clue why I want to keep seeing this baby
bi––I do. I do want to see him again. And again. I don’t even want him to
leave right now, but I have to shower, get dressed, and then go pick Anna
up.
“Yeah,” I tell him, biting my tongue so I don’t say too much. I run a
heavy hand through my hair when he immediately smiles, finding it
ridiculous how quickly that look eases the pressure in my chest.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eleven
Liam

“I
s there such a thing as a hand fetish?”
“What do you mean?” Baby asks, sitting on the floor in front of
the couch I’m currently sprawled out on.
“Exactly what I said,” I tell him, looking at him like he’s the one saying
weird shit.
“Okay… well, probably. Some people are into being pissed on, so I’m
guessing, yeah. There are probably some people who really like hands.”
“Wait. What?”
“There are all kinds of kinks, Liam,” he sighs, just glossing over that
little bomb he dropped and pointing the remote at the TV when Netflix asks
if we’re still watching. “Is––do you like… hands?”
“Better than him liking feet,” Logan pops up, wearing nothing but a
towel around his waist. I didn’t even know that he was here. He hardly ever
is.
“Of course, you’d be a kink-shamer.” Baby only spares him a swift
glance before quickly going back to looking at the TV.
I purse my lips, thinking about it. “Is it a kink if I only like one person’s
hands?”
“What’s so great about her hands? Girls have small hands.” He holds
his out in front of him, examining them, and I frown. Yeah, I’ve never been
too enamored with any girl’s hands before. I’m not even really sure what it
is about Bash’s hands that do it for me. They just look nice. Strong, with
tattoos and veins.
I bite my lip, thinking about them, about how good it’d feel just to have
him hold me again. Touch me. He did not like me sleeping in his bed with
him. At all, but when I basically climbed on top of him and put his arms
around me, he didn’t fight it. He just squeezed me. He held me and let his
thumbs rub gentle patterns on my skin for so long that those little areas of
flesh started to feel numb.
What would my roommates think if I told them it was a guy’s hands I
was kink-level obsessed with?
“I’m not a kink-shamer. I have kinks. I like––”
“I don’t care what you like, Logan. Go away.” He flicks his hand,
dismissing him without even looking over at him. “And there are rules
about being naked in the common areas for a reason!”
“Wait!” I call out just as Logan starts to wordlessly walk down the hall.
“What do you like?” I’m curious, but also, I don’t believe that Baby isn’t.
“I like tying people up,” he shrugs. “Impact play. Edging.”
“Oh.” None of those are anything I’m interested in. “I hate edging. I
can’t do it.” I can’t. I remember trying it in the hopes I’d be able to prolong
my jerk-off sessions, but I always end up rushing to the big finish anyway.
“Oh, I could edge you, Liam.” He smiles, and I involuntarily tense at
the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Tie you up and tease you. Bring you to the
edge over and over again for hours, wait until you’re crying and begging for
it, and still deny you.” His voice reminds me of Bash’s right now, deep and
husky. Sultry in a way that has me aware of every square inch of my skin.
“You’d end up coming without my say-so, and then I’d have to spank you
for being such a bad boy.” And then he winks and turns to walk away.
“Oh.” Has he always been so… I don’t think I’d like being spanked.
Not even if Bash did it. And I really doubt he could edge me, at least not if
my ass was involved. That thing has a hair-trigger, otherwise known as the
most sensitive male g-spot in existence. My prostate does not mess around.
Just call me Doc Holliday because I shoot fast. “Does he like guys?” I don’t
think he does. He was just teasing.
“No,” Baby scoffs, and I look down to see him glaring at the hallway,
his cheeks flushed and fists balled tightly on top of his thighs. “God. I hate
him.”
I’m about to ask why he hates him so much when someone knocks on
the front door.
“You get it,” he says, standing up and immediately heading towards his
room even though we were watching something together.
I don’t usually have visitors, not the kind that show up out of the blue,
so I doubt it’s for me, but I get up and answer it anyway.
 “Dad.” He’s the last person I expected to open the door and see, but I’m
happy he’s here. Sort of. Maybe. It depends on why he’s here, and as I think
of some possible reasons that he’d just show up like this, I start to get
nervous.
When he starts complaining about the number thirteen on our door
being painted pink, I do my best to ignore it. It’s literally just a fucking
color, but according to him, a house full of guys doesn’t need a door with
any bit of pink on it.
“You going to let me in?” He’s smiling, so obviously in a good mood.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I had some free time and figured it’s been a while.” That’s true. I
haven’t seen him since the baseball season ended. Since before I decided I
wasn’t going to play anymore. Or started fucking a guy. “We could hit the
mall. You could probably use some new school clothes. Oh, and they just
opened that new sporting goods store there. We could check it out, maybe
get you some new gear.”
I need to tell him that I’m quitting. No way can I let him spend a bunch
of money on stuff I won’t even be needing anymore. “Uh, I kind of wanted
to talk to you, actually.” I clear my throat when he looks at his smart watch
and starts typing on it, still standing in front of the door he just closed.
“About what?” He still doesn’t look at me, and I can’t decide if that’s a
good thing or not.
“Baseball.”
Now he looks at me, his dark brown brows furrowed low over his eyes.
I look like a good mix of both of my parents, but I do get my eyes from my
dad. Dark brown and narrow. I wonder if I manage to look as unhappy as he
does all the time.
“What about it?”
“Uh,” I palm the back of my neck, rubbing lightly before I remember
how much he hates when I fidget and put my arm down. “Well, I kind of
want to…” Fuck. This is hard. He cocks his head, getting impatient, and I
know that the best course of action here is to just say it. Rip the bandaid off.
“I’m going to quit.” My body stills, my eyes widening as I let the weight of
what I just said hold me down. It stops me from cringing, from looking
away.
“That’s ridiculous.” He smiles, and I know that he doesn’t believe me.
What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense to him.
 “I want to quit. I am quitting, I mean.”
“No.”
“No?” But I expected this, and when he looks at me like he’s getting
ready to scream, I keep going. “I don’t want to play anymore, Dad. It’s
not––It’s not my future. I want to focus on my classes and––”
“Are you kidding me, Liam?” he booms, and I flinch. “Do you have
any fucking clue how much time and money I’ve spent on you and
baseball? You’re not quitting. You’re not throwing away my money like
that!” He goes on and on.
And on, raising his voice loud enough that I know Baby and Logan can
hear him. It has my face heating and the back of my neck itching.
I doubt we’re going to the mall now.
“I am quitting!” I tell him, having to raise my voice a little and feel
proud of myself and how I manage to do it.
He starts to say that I better not, but then he goes silent. It’s eery. Has
my skin tingling in anticipation.
“I won’t pay your tuition if you do,” he finally says.
“What? Dad, that’s insane.”
“Try me, son.”
“Mom will––”
“You think your mother makes that kind of money?” He laughs coldly,
the sound ugly and hateful. And directed towards my mom, who’s never
been anything but a lovely, wonderful parent to me. He never deserved her,
not once in the fourteen years they were married. “Even if she does have
that kind of money, you’d do that to her? Make her pay your bills all on her
own? You need to think hard about this, Liam. I won’t be paying for
anything. I won’t let you mooch off of me when you’ve proven how
ungrateful you are.”
I stay quiet. There’s no talking to him like this, and when he realizes
that I have nothing else to say, he just blames me for ruining his one day off
this week, thanks me for it and everything before slamming the door he just
walked through not even ten minutes ago.
I knew he’d be pissed, but I did not see him cutting me off because of it.
It’s just a sport. The chances of me making it to the MLB were always low.
And he knows that! He didn’t even make it, and he talks about how much
better than me at pitching he was all the time. So if someone so great didn’t
make it to the big leagues, I shouldn’t expect to. His baseball career ended
when he was my age, but because of his parents, he finished college and
ended up okay. I didn’t expect him to be so cavalier about my education.
Maybe I should just tough it out. I only have one more year of playing
before I graduate.
But I don’t want to! I’ve done that for years. I’ve toughed it out for over
half my life just because I had hoped he’d be proud of me. Even just give a
shit about me. If anything, this proves how stupid that was because clearly
he doesn’t.
Cutting me off completely? I just did not see that coming. How would I
even pay my rent?
I need to call my mom. Not panic. She’s always told me that baseball
wasn’t everything, and I know she’d be understanding. I should have told
her first.
“You good?”
I turn around to see Logan standing in the hallway in front of the
bathroom door, still dry and holding that towel around his waist. I smile but
don’t feel it. But I mean, I’m fine. It’ll be okay. He’s just mad right now.
I tell him I’m fine, and he nods his head, happy to just mind his own
business before going back into the bathroom.
I know I shouldn’t, I know that I’ll regret it, but I’m in the kitchen
before I can even let those thoughts fully form. Food is another thing my
dad has made sure I don’t really enjoy, but not having to worry about
baseball or workouts for the past couple of weeks has really shown me just
how much I actually fucking love food.
Junk food specifically. All the shit I’m not allowed to have, the things
that were never on the diet plans my dad curated for me when I was in
middle school and made sure I stuck to. Cereal, candy, pastries. Bread. I
swear I’ve eaten an entire loaf of bread myself in the past two days, and
when I realize that's not even an exaggeration, my hand freezes on the box
of PopTarts I was in the middle of pulling out of the cupboard.
There’s a reason I was on all those diets, why he’s preached about it so
much. I used to go insane in high school. I’d literally hide snacks in my
room and hoard them and refuse to touch them until I just snapped. And
then I’d end up eating the entire stash and feel so sick and gross that I’d
have to fight the urge to puke. I’d feel guilty afterward. I’d push myself
beyond my limits in gym class, and log extra hours working out before and
after school.
 High school me would flip at the weight I’ve gained in just the past
however many weeks. It’s not a lot, but the extra few pounds are there, and
it’s just going to get worse if I keep doing this shit.
I need to stop. I don’t need to obsess over it, but I shouldn’t not think
about it at all, either. So, I close the cupboard and just stand there, going
over the amount of carbs I’ve eaten today and cringing. It’s a lot. A lot.
So, what’s another seventy-two? my spineless mind hedges, and I’m
going back in for a pack of those sinfully good pastries––whose nutrition
label I have memorized––despite all the mental math I just went through.
I eat them without toasting them and then go to my room and grab my
phone––quickly so I don’t think too hard about the food I just ate––and
send my mom a quick text telling her to call when she can because I know
Sundays are the day she gets together with her friends. And then I just sit
there, sort of at a loss.
I’m never one to overreact or even just react, really. Things happen, and
then I work through them. It’ll be okay. I don’t really believe him anyway,
so I’m not stressing about school or money.
The part that sucks is that his reaction kind of confirms what I’ve
always known but hoped wasn’t true. My entire value to him rests in my
ability to play the sport he loves.
I sigh, not wanting to dwell on it, and think about messaging Cade. He’s
who I go to when I need to get my mind off things and when I need
comfort. He’s good at distracting me, making me laugh. But he’s working,
and even if he wasn’t, things have been a little weird between us lately.
Like it has a mind of its own, my thumb swipes until I find Bash’s
number. He hasn’t messaged me, but I also haven’t messaged him. I wanted
to pretty much the second we swapped numbers, but I didn’t want to seem
too eager. I just saw him two days ago.
But fuck it. I am eager, and being yourself is important. So, I shoot off a
text asking him what he’s doing, keeping it simple and hopefully vague
enough that he just assumes I’m horny. He only really seems to be
interested in me when I am.
Bash being inside me would for sure get me out of the weird mood my
dad put me in. Everyone needs a little dick therapy now and then. Or
something like that.
I stare at my phone for a solid minute before the little delivered icon
changes to read, and then I hold my breath and wait for the typing bubbles
to pop up. They don’t come, though. He just reads my message and ignores
me, leaving me to wallow in my own misery on my bed.
Well. That’s embarrassing.
But it’s not all that surprising. I’m not naked and in front of him, so of
course, he’s not interested. I should be more embarrassed. I should cut my
losses, grow a spine. It’s been proven that I’m not exactly something people
want, and all he seems to tolerate from me is sex.
If all he wants me for is the sex and I’m not even good at that, then
what’s the point?
But he does want something from me. I see it, can feel it. I am all sorts
of hopeful about it and feel silly for it, but I’m not completely delusional. I
know that I’m not.
He’s so annoying. I can’t even imagine having the kind of self-control it
must take to just not go for what his dick so clearly wants.
I’m planting myself in his life, though. Like those fungi that my biology
teacher gets all kinds of intense about. Just gonna release spores all over his
existence until I’m taking up so much space he just can’t ignore me
anymore. But that’s going to take some time, and I need those stupid feel-
good endorphins now. Right now. Even more so now that the owner of my
favorite dick is hellbent on ignoring me.
Artificial dick therapy it is.
I should probably feel weird. My dad made me a little sad, and Bash
made me a little sadder, and I’m in sudden need of the endorphins and
oxytocin that only being filled can give me. It didn’t used to be like this, but
I don’t dwell on it. There’s no point.
Things have changed. They just have. I want it all the time. Crave it.
Even when I can’t have it how I want it. Warm and throbbing and attached
to the biggest piece of pure, raw sex I’ve ever met.
So, I fill the tub with hot water, foregoing any of the usual bubbles and
bath salts I usually use, grab my thinnest dildo––a long, smooth blue toy
that gradually thickens towards the end––and my almost empty bottle of
silicone-based lube, and get in. I’m not in the mood to prep myself, or I’d
have grabbed something bigger. The pink one that kind of scared me when I
saw it on the shelves at my favorite sex shop. It’d feel better being stretched
wide, my insides being forced open around the thick, textured silicone cock.
It’d be almost exactly what I need.
Just missing those fucking hands.
 And maybe some of the dirty talk. I don’t understand why I like him
calling my hole my… cunt or pussy. Ugh. My cheeks are flushed even just
thinking about it now. But I mean, do I hate it? Evidently, no. I’m suddenly
a little more eager to get this toy inside me and that much more bummed
that he’s denying me the real thing.
But this is okay. For now. I still moan as it slips inside me, skinnier than
I usually like but long enough that it reaches where I want it. Deep. I can
feel my walls squeezing it, clenching around it. It’s indulgent. It has me
going boneless in the hot water, my mind and body feeling so blessedly at
peace that I don’t even bother fucking myself. I just leave it there and cross
my legs so it stays where I want it.
I don’t know how long it’s been, but by the time Cade comes home, the
water is no longer steaming, and I’ve done nothing but sit there. I may have
even dozed off a bit.
“Use the hallway bathroom!” I yell when he knocks a second time.
“This is my bathroom, too, dickhead.”
“I’m naked!”
I hear him mutter something about baths and being too old for them, but
I ignore it. Baths are the shit. I do kind of hate having to wash myself off
afterward, though.
I stand up and freeze when the dildo I forgot was shoved up my ass
starts to slip out, then pull it the rest of the way out with a quiet groan. I
kind of regret not doing more, but with Cade here, it’s not happening.
I wash the toy I’m officially naming my Emotional Support Dildo off
and then put it back in its hiding space under the sink as the tub starts to
drain, and then turn the shower on and wait for it to warm up.
The bath did what I wanted it to as far as relieving me of the stress my
dad’s visit brought on, but I still just want to see Bash. I want to hang out
with him, just be around him but it really does seem like he’s only
interested in me if sex is on the table.
That doesn’t exactly give me warm, fluffy feelings. If anything, I
actually feel kind of like shit as I continue thinking about it. But I’m
desperate enough that I can’t even pretend that I’m not willing to give it to
him just in the hopes that I get to be near him.
My eyes unhelpfully––or rather helpfully––sink to the cabinet door
once again.
OceanofPDF.com
 Twelve
Bash

“W
ho the hell is that? Your only friend is already here.”
I flip Jax off as I get up to answer the door. He’s kind of
right, though. I don’t have a lot of visitors and thats obviously
not Anna’s knock. But somehow, I’m not surprised when I open the door
and see Liam standing on my doormat. He messaged me earlier, but Jax had
just gotten here, so I ignored it. Guess I should have been clearer.
“What are you doing here?”
He has the decency to look a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his
neck as he gives me a shy smile. “Well, you never messaged me back, and I
figured I’d just… can I come in?”
“Who is it?” Jax, never one to go unnoticed, walks up behind me,
putting his hand on my shoulder. “Oh. Hello there.” His teasing voice, the
way he’s looking at Liam, and the way Liam’s eyes are focused on his hand
on my shoulder all have me wanting to shove him away, but I manage to
just grit my teeth and bear it. “I’m Jax.”
I look at him, at the smile on his face and the way he’s clearly gearing
up to flirt with Liam, because of course he is, and finally roll my shoulder
so his hand falls off of me.
“I didn’t realize.” Liam isn’t smiling anymore. “I guess I’ll just… bye.”
He turns to leave, but I have stuff to say to him. He can’t just show up
uninvited to my place whenever I ignore a text.
I step outside and shut the door in Jax’s face. “Liam.” He turns briefly
but keeps walking down the hallway.
“Sorry, Sebastian. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Wait.” I have to walk faster to close the distance between us and grab
his arm. He pulls his arm out of my hand slowly, reluctantly turning his
body toward me. “Why did you?”
“I don’t know. I just thought that we could––” he shrugs, but I don’t
need him to finish the sentence. He was hoping we’d have sex. He’s here
because he’s horny, but I already knew that. “I didn’t realize you were busy.
Sorry.” He turns away again, and I huff, growing increasingly annoyed at
this boy.
“Jax is just a friend, Liam.” I don’t owe him an explanation, but I do
want him to know this. His being jealous of Jax isn’t necessary. “I’ve
known him for years.” Since I was Liam's age, and though we did meet
through a one-night stand, it never happened again. He’s just a friend. My
best friend.
“So… I can come in?”
I sigh. I was supposed to be out here setting boundaries. Telling this guy
that he’s not my boyfriend and doesn’t need to act like he is. But he bites
his cherry-red lip, and I fold just like that.
“Why, sweetheart?” I put my hands on his hips and smile at the way his
breath hitches. “Need me to fill this pretty pussy?” I squeeze the firm
globes of his ass as I say it, pressing him against the wall and kissing that
beauty mark on his throat when he lets out a soft moan.
“Well,” he begins, trying to speak through a shaky breath. “After your
friend leaves. Right?”
I shouldn’t even want them in the same room. Jax is going to be
relentless. He’s a lot to deal with and annoying when you’re not used to it.
Annoying even when you are used to it.
“Why?” I lean back, grinning. “Not into threesomes?”
“I––no.” His face falls, obviously not appreciating the teasing.
“Relax, princess.” I step back, giving us both some room to think more
clearly. “Me either.” And then, because I’m an idiot, I tell him to come
inside.
“Okay. Cool.” He smiles again, all teeth, and then walks past me and
opens my door like he has a right to. Like he does it all the time.
I walk in after him and glare at Jax when he waggles his eyebrows at
me.
“So,” Jax smiles widely, and immediately it pisses me off. “How on
earth did the two of you meet?”
Liam looks at me, and maybe I should feel bad about it, but I stay
silent. “We met at the gym.”
 “Ah,” Jax nods slowly, and when he lets his eyes slide down Liam’s
body, I kind of want to grab him and toss his skinny ass out the door. “That
makes sense. You look like someone who spends a lot of time at the gym.”
Liam blushes, and I hate that Jax’s flirting is having any sort of effect
on him, let alone that effect. Jax looks nothing like me. Blonde with hazel
eyes. Skinny. Very long and scrawny. Liam has said that he’s never been
interested in guys, but he’s clearly interested in me. And I am a guy. So, I
imagine he probably likes other dudes, too. Maybe even dudes who look
like Jax. Tall twinks who know how to flirt.
I don’t think I’ve ever flirted with anyone.
“When are you leaving?”
Both Liam and Jax look at me, weirdly in sync, and even that has my
jaw ticking.
“Seb,” he sucks his teeth and shakes his head at me with a smile,
teasing me. “Don’t be rude. He just got here.”
I roll my eyes. “Jax, fuck off.”
But he refuses. He sits there on my couch with Liam next to him, and
we all end up watching one of Jax’s favorite shows with him saying Liam’s
name literally every chance he can now that he knows it. I know Liam is
hot, and I know Jax knows that. But I also know that Jax isn’t interested.
Not like that, anyway. He’s only hanging around because he knows that I
am, and he thinks being a cockblock is funny or something.
At least I know Liam isn’t falling for his shit. He’s uncomfortable
sitting between the two of us, constantly fidgeting. I should feel bad, but
mostly, I’m just glad he’s not responding all that much to Jax. Jax grows on
people. I’m not even all that sure how we ended up so close. I just fucked
him one day, and he never left.
Liam gets up to go to the bathroom after a while, and I take that
opportunity to tell Jax to leave.
“Why? You don’t think I have a chance?”
“No. You’re ugly.”
“Hm. I don’t think your cute friend agrees with you.”
He’s not ugly. He’s actually, like… well, I had sex with him for a
reason. But that was before I got to know him. And Liam just doesn’t seem
into him. He came here for me. “He doesn’t want you. Fuck off already.”
“So, you can fuck him? He’s a bottom, huh?” He lets his bottom lip jut
out in a fake pout, and I just stare at him until he rolls his eyes, and I feel
like I have to shrug. I don’t know what Liam is, but he clearly has no
problem bottoming for me. “Well, he must be if he’s fucking you.”
“I don’t know, Jax. Leave.”
We both hear it when Liam exits the bathroom, and if I thought the
prick sitting on my couch was going to drop the topic, I clearly don’t know
him very well.
“Liam, do you only bottom?”
“Uh,” Liam’s eyes flash to mine in a panic and I tense. I don’t know
what I’m supposed to do here, what my role is. He’s just some guy I’m
having sex with, and yeah, Jax is irritating, but he’s just teasing. “I guess?”
“Well, don’t ask me, Liam. What did you do before Seb? Top, are you
vers… are you bi?”
“Jesus, Jax. How many times do I need to tell you to fuck off?”
“I will. As soon as he answers the question. It’s not very often I get to
meet one of Seb’s little friends.” Jax smiles at him, all soft and shit like him
explaining his poor behavior somehow excuses it––which it doesn’t. “So.
Bisexual?”
“I guess,” Liam shrugs, his face twisted in discomfort as he palms the
back of his neck. His face kind of reminds me of how he acted when his
friend saw us at the diner. He doesn’t like talking about his sexuality, which
is fair, but I don’t like the way it eats at me. I’m gay. I have a dick. He’s
here to use that dick, so the least he could do is fucking admit he likes said
dick.
I don’t even need him to admit to liking me specifically. I just don’t
want to be someone caught up with one of those guys. Straight guys who
only occasionally like cock, so it’s not important enough to just say that
they do. Those guys fucking suck.
“You guess?”
“I––well, shit, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m bi or whatever else.”
My jaw tenses, and I’m just about to kick both of them out when he
keeps talking.
“I don’t know if I’m, like, strictly a bottom.” He clears his throat, the
skin there starting to flush as he talks about it. “The only guy I’ve ever been
with is Bash––Sebastian! Shit. Sorry. I just mean, I’ve never liked guys,
really. Never wanted them like that, but I like him… and… the things we
do. A lot. So, yeah. I’m whatever that makes me.”
 His eyes flick over to me too quickly for me to wipe the smile off my
face, and when his cheeks blush furiously, the reddest I’ve ever seen them,
before averting his gaze, I’m only that much more eager to get Jax out of
here.
“Huh. So, wait. Bash was your fir––”
I cut him off, grab his arm, and drag him up off the couch as he
complains about being manhandled, and then shove him out the door. I shut
it and lock it with him on the other side.
“Sorry about him.”
He huffs a laugh, still red-faced and unable to look at me. “It’s okay,”
he tells me, still standing in the opening of the hallway. A quiet knock
sounds on the door, and I throw my head back and groan. “He didn’t have
any shoes on. And I think that’s his phone.”
“Fuck. Okay. Well, will you just wait for me in my room?” I start
wrangling up Jax’s things, including the car keys I spot on the coffee table. I
don’t want to give him any reason to come back inside. I open the door
quickly, press his things against his bony chest, and shut the door again
before he can say anything. If he’s missing anything else, oh well. I can
hear Jax laugh through the door and listen for a few more beats just to make
sure he leaves.
When I get to my room, I end up pausing in the doorway. Liam is
sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes closed as he slowly rolls his hips, just
barely moving. His lips part as he releases a quiet breath and I tilt my head.
“What are you doing?”
He jumps, slapping a hand to his chest. “Fuck,” he pants, his eyes
widening as much as their narrow shape allows.
“What’s going on down there?”
He spreads his legs slowly, softly hissing as he lays back on the bed. “I
have a plug in––” he grunts, trying and failing to get comfortable on his
back. “I didn’t expect to have it in this long.”
“You’ve had it in this whole time?” I think back to him squirming on
the couch and can’t help but laugh a little. He shuts me up, though, when he
slides his hand over the bulge behind his zipper and moans.
“Yes.”
I fucking love the way that word sounds on his lips. It just slips right off
of his tongue and slithers its way around me, pulling me towards him like a
silky lasso until I’m standing between his legs. The ones always spread for
me.
“Let me see it, princess,” I hum when he gives me another one of those
little yeses I’m beginning to covet, sinking to my knees as I undo his jeans.
I pull the fabrics hiding what I want down his legs, taking the extra step to
remove his socks, too, wanting him completely naked before we get started.
His thighs open for me the second his jeans are off, finally revealing the
plug in his hole. “Oh, fuck.” I have to stop, press my forehead against his
thigh, and take a breath. I don’t know what I expected to see, but a little
light pink heart-shaped jewel definitely wasn’t it.
“Pull it out.” He jerks his hips lightly, clenching around the plug and
getting more breathless the longer I don’t do as he says. “Bash. Please.
Please take it out.”
“Why, princess? It looks so cute where it is, shoved up this pretty
pussy.” My hands rub up and down the insides of his smooth thighs, feeling
them quake under my touch. He’s not a feminine man, too buff to be
considered that, but, fuck, am I obsessed with his little cunt. “You just can’t
leave this hole alone, can you? You love playing with yourself, sweetheart.”
It’s not a question; he’s been prepped and ready for me ever since that first
time. I can’t help but wonder just how often he fucks himself. It has my
dick aching in my jeans, the idea that my pillow princess gets so horny
when he’s not with me that he just has to fill his needy hole all by himself. I
run my thumb over the hard jewel, turning the plug until the heart is rotated
in the right position and his legs tense.
“Bash… please just fuck me. I need it.”
I believe him as he says it. The way his legs are shaking, his whole
solid frame just vibrating, tells me just how much he means it. So, I grab
the jewel in my fingertips and begin slowly dragging it out, but the way his
ass tries desperately to suck it back in has me giving in and pushing. I
repeat the movement a few times and fuck him with it until he starts to
writhe in front of me. It’s bigger than I thought it’d be, and as I finally pull
it all the way out, it has his hole gaping a good inch for just a second,
revealing the deep red of his insides.
My thumb smooths over his soft rim, sinking in just a bit before I stand
up, the breathy, almost agonized whine he releases pushing me to move
faster.
 “I want to see those tits, sweetheart.” I toss the plug on the bed and start
undressing as he pulls his shirt off. I’m just about to tell him to touch
himself when he does it, gets his hands on those pecs, and squeezes. He
moves the heels of his feet to the very edge of the bed, and I give his leg a
little tap so he moves back, giving me the room I need to move over him.
He reaches for my face, using both hands to drag my lips to his just as I line
myself up with his shiny hole and begin sinking in. His mouth opens wide,
his bottom lip dragging over mine as he leans his head back, releasing a
deep moan as I slide inside him, only stopping when my hips meet the
meaty flesh of his ass.
“Wait,” he digs his fingertips into my back, holding me in place just as I
start to move. “Just a second,” he whispers quietly, his back arching under
me, eyes closed shut as he releases the softest moan from between those
pouty lips.
“You’re fucking killing me, Liam.” I press my forehead to his and
watch as he pries his dark eyes open and peers up at me before giving me a
nod, swallowing thickly. My hips start to roll, the feel of him wrapped
around me so hot and slick, dragging me into a mindless haze.
“You can––” A whimper has him tensing and briefly clutching at my
hips, sighing and going back to soft and pliant not even a second later. “You
can go harder. I can take it.”
That has me pausing all movements, watching him closely, and
cataloging all the blatant pleasure in his features. He doesn’t want it hard.
“That’s not what my princess wants, is it? You don’t want me rough, Liam.
You want me just like this,” I drag my cock out almost all the way before
slowly slipping back inside and smiling at the groan that builds from deep
within his chest. “Yeah,” I chuckle. “I know what you like.” What he needs.
“It’s not for me,” he says, speaking more clearly as he tries to get me to
listen to him, blinking his hooded eyes to try and clear his head of all the
hedonism plaguing him. “Not just for me. You––I want you to like it, Bash.
You can fuck me hard. You can take me however you want.”
“Liam,” I grab his chin, forcing him to stay looking at me. “You don’t
think I’ll take what I want from you? That I’d even be inside you right now
if I didn’t like this? This little cunt is perfect, sweetheart. Just right. This is
how I want it, just like this.” I grunt as his hole clenches tightly around me,
bringing me closer to that peak.
 “Oh, god,” he breathes forcefully, screwing his eyes shut as I continue
rocking inside of him and slowly pick up the pace over time with every
deep stroke.
“You’re so fucking sweet, Liam.” I press my nose in the bend of his
neck, inhaling as his hands fist my hair and his thick legs wrap around me.
I don’t even know how long it’s been, just endless firm, unhurried
strokes in and out of the most perfect heat that’s ever been wrapped around
me when he starts touching me. His hands start off so tentative like he’s
unsure if it’s allowed, just running them up and down the expanse of my
torso. They stutter here and there, skipping over my skin or curling against
me when the attention on his prostate has him unable to focus. And he is,
focused. His eyes are searing into my skin as he inspects every inch that he
can see. When they finally snake their way up to my face, cradle my cheeks
in their hold, he stares up at me and I’m so stunned I gasp.
I didn’t even know I had been watching his face so intently, as much as
he’d been looking at my body. I want to look away, feel like I should, but he
holds my stare so unflinchingly I just can’t.
“Kiss me,” he rasps, his voice lethargic and tortured. And I do, don’t
even think about it before sweeping my tongue into his mouth. I stay
kissing him, our mouths moving against each other’s so undemanding, yet
all-encompassing, until he’s crying out against my lips.
“Yes!” he moans, rocking his hips up to meet my thrusts and pulling me
into him.
That fucking word. It undoes me and has my body stuttering as I push
through my orgasm––coming before him for once. I start to worry as my
cock begins to feel oversensitive, but he’s close behind, and when his ass
clenches unbearably hard around my length and starts spasming
uncontrollably as he comes, I have to grit my teeth hard to stop from
grunting in pain. I suffer through it, watching him as he falls apart.
“Fuck,” I hiss, grabbing my softening cock as I begin to pull out of him
when the apex of his pleasure finally starts to settle. I lean back on my
knees and stop moving. “Oh, fuck.”
“Hm?” He’s got his eyes closed, a soft smile on his plump lips as he
slowly palms his chest.
“No condom.”
His body stills, eyes shooting open. He stares at me for a beat, and all I
can do is hold my cock inside him, keep it and my cum from spilling out of
him. But I can feel it. Can feel it trying to slide out, pooling on my slit still
tucked inside him.
“Um,” he moves to his elbows, looking between his legs. “My ex
cheated on me, probably with a few guys. So, I got tested a few months ago.
I’m good.”
I don’t bother mentioning the stupidity it’d take to have Liam and cheat
on him, there are other, more important details to focus on at the moment. I
should be fine. It’s been a while since I’ve been tested, but I’ve never not
worn a condom. Never.
“I’ll go to a clinic on Monday.” I can’t help the way my voice drops,
my good mood plummeting.
He scrunches his nose, and I’d like to tell him not to worry, but I can’t
exactly move past how goddamn stupid this was.
“You think… should I go, too?” He’s worried. I can see it on his face,
how uncomfortable he feels, and it’s my fault. He just showed up, his hole
already loose and slick enough for me to just slide in, and so that’s what I
did. I should have been more mindful. I respect him enough to think more
clearly.
“I’m sure I’m negative, Liam. I’ll just go to confirm.” I should
apologize, but the words are stuck in my throat, so I don’t. I just finish
slowly pulling out and watching as a glob of my semen follows my cock.
“Oh,” he clenches, stopping any more from spilling. “It feels––” he lifts
his hips a bit before sighing.
I nod absentmindedly, understanding him even though he doesn’t finish
his thought, and stare at that bit of cream slowly trickling down his crease.
“Let me plug you.”
“What?”
I lean back over him, press my lips onto his, and kiss him. I’m being
crazy, feeling crazy, but I want it. Keep my very being inside him, shove
that cute, jeweled plug back in so that my cum stays right where it is. At
least for a little while. “I’ll be right back. Don’t spill another drop,” I tell
him, using my finger to sweep through my cum so I can push it back in, not
letting myself look at his face to see his reaction.
I haven’t heard any variation of the word no, so I grab the discarded toy
off my bed and walk to the bathroom to wash it off and come back to see
Liam right where I left him, powerful legs still spread and bent, and his hole
clenched tightly just like I wanted.
 I grab the lube I have in my drawer and then settle myself back between
his legs and get it slick before slowly pushing it in. He blows out a harsh
breath when the flared body finally pops through his ring, and I lean down
to kiss the inside of his knee, making sure I spin the heart so that it’s in the
right position.
“Why this plug, Liam?” I very lightly rub a finger over the hard ridges
of the gem, getting fixated on it.
“It came in a pack with different sizes, and I wasn’t sure which size I
needed. In my defense, I didn’t think anybody would be seeing it,” he
smiles, running a hand through his hair. “I––do you like it?”
I look at him and almost roll my eyes. I clearly do. It’s fucking
adorable. That’s a dumb question, but I can see on his face, hear it in his
voice just how much he wants it. For me to tell him that I like it.
“Yeah, I do. It fits you. The perfect accessory for this pretty little cunt.”
His eyelashes flutter as he expels a soft sigh. I think about asking him if
he likes it when I talk about his hole like that, but that, too, is a stupid
question. I know that he does. I’m not sure why I do, but it’s not something
I’m willing to change. It just works.
“Can I stay?”
I nod my head, not even thinking about it, as I go back to staring at his
stuffed hole. “Yeah.”
“Bash,” his voice drops, breathy and soft, and I look at him to see his
chest steadily rising with every breath. Like he’s struggling to breathe but
forcing himself to be quiet about it. He’s hard again, his cock laying against
the wispy hairs of his happy trail.
I don’t know what it is about me that gets him so worked up, why he
looks at me like I’m a god, or his every dirty fantasy personified, but it
sparks an intense sense of self-awareness in me. It puts an unfamiliar
weight on what it is we’re doing. Sex has never been like this. Heavy,
something substantial.
His lips part with a barely audible gasp as I drag the plug back out, and
I manage to pry my gaze off of his face just in time to see his used hole
gaping, a little swollen and still creamy with my release.
“Please be hard,” he whispers, his hands gripping my sheet at his sides,
and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking about my dick. I have to
smile and rise up on my knees again so he can see it rigid and wanting
because, of course, it is. I move until I can comfortably palm his thighs, just
under the back of his knees, and slowly push until he’s on display for me, so
open and inviting.
“Condom?” I ask as I slowly start to run my cock against his groin,
needing a little friction. He seems hesitant when he shakes his head, and I
can’t be sure if it’s because he actually wants one between us or is troubled
that he doesn’t. But I’ve already been inside him, still am inside him, so I
don’t worry about it. I’ll get tested and ease our worries later.
His body heat slowly encasing my length has me leaning my head back,
a long, drawn-out groan filling the room. His fingertips start to claw at my
ribs like he’s struggling to pull me into him, so I lean over him, a lazy smile
filling my face.
“Ugh,” he throws an elbow over his eyes. “I hate your dimples.”
That pulls a laugh from me as I start pumping my hips with a gentle
purpose. He’s open enough that the glide is easy, lets me move faster
without having to press too roughly.
“Liar. Everybody loves them.”
His hand slides over his eyes until he’s peeking through his fingers, and
then he dramatically pulls my pillow over his face. “Don’t look at me like
that!” His voice is muffled, mouth pressed hard against the fabric.
“Okay, princess,” I chuckle. “I just won’t ever smile again,” I tease,
pressing against him and undulating my hips until he shudders. But I’m
lying, still grinning as his hole spasms around me.
He tosses the pillow, looks at me, and rolls his lips between his teeth.
“Fuck you,” he mutters quietly, pulling my face to his as I laugh. He presses
a firm kiss into my mouth, lips meeting my teeth until I can control the urge
to beam and kiss him back. He keeps me there with his hands fisted in my
hair as I fuck him into his second orgasm, filling him up as he moans so
goddamn sweetly for me.

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirteen
Liam

“G
ood morning,” I smile, my head propped up on my hand as Bash
blinks his sleep away. He stretches, throwing an arm over me
before promptly planting his face in my neck. He’s very touchy-
feely when he first wakes up. It’s a problem. Almost as horrible as those
stupid dimples.
Not nearly as bad as his hands, though.
“Were you watching me sleep?”
“I––a little.” Goosebumps break out across my flesh when he huffs a
short laugh against the hollow of my throat. He mumbles something about
me hogging the blanket all night, but I ignore that. What I do in my sleep is
out of my control.
“You still have my cum in your ass, princess?” His hand slips under the
hem of my boxers, grabbing hold of said ass as he kisses at a spot on my
neck.
“No. I––or I don’t know.” I have to bite my lip to hold back a sound––a
moan, a whine, something. I didn’t even know I could make half the sounds
he pulls from my lips, but they’re neverending as long as he’s touching me.
He leans up, his hold on my cheek loosening as he looks at me all
confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well… I couldn’t sleep with the plug in. It felt too…” I have to stop,
roll my face until it’s pressed into his bicep as he feels at my crease, curious
fingers gently poking and prodding at my rim. He didn’t even ask last night
when he put it back inside me a second time, and I let him, no complaints.
But then he fell asleep, and it was just… in me.
It was too good. I couldn’t sleep with a boner all night long, and that
wasn’t going anywhere with his cum all tucked away up there, my prostate
being stimulated every time I moved. I’d have ended up coming all over his
bed. It’s bad enough that I drool. A lot, according to him. So, I took it out
after he passed out, and while I did what I could to make sure I wasn’t
dripping, I guess it’s possible there’s still some left.
“Too what, sweetheart?” He leans over me, a drowsy grin stretching his
full lips. I don’t even remember what I was saying.
“No. It’s too early for those.” I grab his pillow and shove it at him to get
those dimples out of my face.
“You’re going to have to start being nicer to me. You’re gonna kill my
dick’s chances of ever getting hard for you again.” He rolls the opposite
way, getting out of bed.
“Pfft, that’s not possible.” I lay back down, dragging his pillow, the one
he took from me last night, and burrowing my face in it. His entire bed
smells like him. I don’t even know how to describe it. Minty and citrusy
and, ugh. Just nice. He smells so nice. “I’m, like, super sexy.”
He just laughs at me, probably showcasing those little divots in his
cheeks as he digs through his dresser to find clothes to wear. I really need to
start bringing a change of clothes with me. I always end up getting naked
just to have to put dirty jeans and a wrinkled shirt back on the next day.
Well, the two times this has happened anyway. Me being too drunk to
tell him where I live doesn’t count. I wasn’t naked then, and that morning,
he let me borrow a shirt, which I still haven’t returned. I may even sleep in
it sometimes. Just a little.
“What are you doing today?” I don’t look at him in all his barely
clothed glory as I ask. I don’t want to watch him decide he has to dismiss
me again. Or watch as he covers all his tattoos. Most of them are roses, no
color. He has a dagger in the middle of his chest, some small birds on his
arm, and lettering on his long fingers. His abs are mostly clear of any ink,
but he does have a set of leaves that fan out along each sexy v-line.
“Do you have class today?”
“No,” I frown. I don’t even remember telling him that I’m taking any
classes.
“Cool.”
There’s an awkward silence, no longer any sounds coming from him
getting dressed even, and it gets to the point that I have to look at him. But
he’s just staring at me, face slightly marred by one of his perma-scowls. It’s
just a light one this time, though, not very discouraging, and I feel brave
enough to ask him for what I want out of today. “Do you… want to hang
out?” I swear I see him visibly relax. Like he was just waiting for me to say
it, take the decision out of his hands.
“Sure,” he says with a nonchalant shrug––perma-scowl missing all of a
sudden––before he pulls on a black T-shirt, giving me his back as he exits
the room and heads towards the bathroom.
I haven’t told him, but I’ve used every single one of his extra
toothbrushes in the mornings I’ve been here. I didn’t think I’d be coming
back, waking up, and needing to do any sort of morning hygiene routine. So
each time, each morning I’ve found myself here, I’ve just dug around his
cabinets and drawers and gotten a new one before throwing it away.
But this time, I hid it. Put it back in the little package it came in and
placed it in the drawer under the sink. Just in case there is a next time.
Fuck, I hope there’s a next time.
I get up, not really intending to follow him, but not bothering to stop
my feet when it becomes clear that that’s what I’m doing. If he didn’t want
me in there, he should have shut the door. There’s no talking myself out of
it as I step up behind him, wrap my arms around him, and press my
forehead between his shoulder blades. I keep my hold light, not giving in to
the urge to just squeeze, but I can’t help but rub the skin of my forehead
against his shirt.
“I’m kind of doing something here.”
I can hear the amusement in his voice, so I don’t bother moving.
“Sounds like you’re almost done to me.” I know I’m being clingy, literally
pressed against him as he’s standing in front of the toilet because that’s how
fucking much I just want to be near him, and it’s embarrassing, but also, it
just feels right.
And he’s allowing it. Just huffing one of his quiet laughs and being an
enabler and shit. Basically, he’s ruining me. I don’t think I could handle
someone being this way with me––except him, but outside of him? Nope. I
think of the girls I’ve sort of dated, of Anna, and the thought of them
touching me while I’m using the bathroom makes me cringe.
He pulls his sweats up and then reaches a hand behind him to give my
hip a squeeze, having me step out of his space so he can wash his hands.
And breathe, probably.
“Can I borrow something to wear?”
 “Yeah, I can grab you something.” He starts washing his hands, leaving
the sink on afterward so he can brush his teeth. I know I’m being weird, just
watching him. In the bathroom. His eyes flit up to me in the mirror as I lurk
behind him, telling me that I’m being weird, but it’s a hard thing to fight
off. I just want to be around him. Especially when he’s so willing to let me.
A little flutter of excitement skirts down my chest as I remember that I
am going to be around him, potentially all day. Hopefully. I don’t know
what we’re going to do, what hanging out with someone like him looks like,
but it’s happening. It’s. Happening.
And if I’m spending the day with him, “Can I take a shower?” I can feel
some dry cum between my asscheeks. Just a little, but it’s noticeable, and if
I’m hanging out with him for the foreseeable future, I’d rather not be caught
scratching my ass. That’s not the kind of thing you want the guy who fucks
said ass to see.
He turns around to face me and steps up to me until wet hands are on
either side of my waist as he starts to lean in. But he stops. “I have extra
toothbrushes in one of the drawers you can use, too.”
Ah, well. It kind of hurts my feelings he doesn't want to kiss me in fear
of morning breath, but lucky him, I’ve already done some snooping. So, I
close the small bit of distance between us and press my mouth to his. “I
already brushed my teeth, dimples,” I murmur when it becomes clear he’s
not going to kiss me back, not how I want him to as long as he’s hung up on
that little detail. “Kiss me,” I let my hands tug him closer, pressing our
bodies together.
And then he does. He kisses me back, his full lips fitting over mine as
he makes a sound too quiet to be considered a groan. It’s over annoyingly
fast, ends with him stepping back and telling me that he’ll grab me clothes
and a towel. Unfortunately, I fail at convincing him to shower with me, but
I don’t plan on being separated from him for long anyway. I rush through
the shower even when his kickass water pressure has me wanting to soak.
When I finish drying off and start to throw the clothes on that he got for
me, I can’t help but smell them, press them to my nose and just inhale. I’m
going to be walking around all day smelling like him, dressed in his things.
That’s––I don’t even know. I guess I understand why girls like stealing
guys’ hoodies now. He doesn’t know it, but I’m keeping these. Adding it to
my slow-growing collection. Sucks for him, but it makes me faintly giddy
just thinking about it.
 I kind of feel a little like a girlfriend. Because of him. He’s crowned me
as his princess, and I’m sort of here for it. I accepted it the very first time he
said it, and he just hasn’t stopped throwing it out there.
Well, he doesn’t call me his princess. Just flat-out princess. That’s
maybe an important thing to note, make my over-eager self aware of. And
it’s not the worst thing, really. I’m all for casual hookups, so if that’s what
he wants this to stay, fine. Fine-ish.
When it’s over, though, he’s going to own less clothes. For sure.
He asks if I want to get something to eat as I’m digging through his
fridge for something other than water to drink.
“Yeah. Somewhere that has Diet Coke because I’m going to start
feeling the caffeine withdrawal soon.”
“Gross.”
I ignore that. He’s wrong.
“Is it okay if we just go to the diner we went to last time?”
I tilt my head, looking at him carefully as I unscrew the cap off the
bottle of water I grabbed. “Yeah, why not?” My mind does jump to Cade,
but it’s his day off, so no worries.
“You seemed uncomfortable the last time. Your friend––”
“Yeah, well, Cade has been weird. That’s not because of you.” I take a
drink to stop myself from cringing because, actually, I think it might be
because of him.
“Hm. Well, I think it was you who was being weird that time.”
“Because of him!” I say defensively, can’t help but be a little louder
than necessary.
“Okay,” he shrugs, but the way he does it tells me he doesn’t believe
me.
“Pfft, whatever. Are you driving?” I change the subject, my neck getting
hot, because I do not want to dive deep into this particular topic.
“Yeah. You can be my passenger-princess, princess,” he teases, and I
roll my eyes, only slightly blushing as he holds the door open for me.
I use the drive not filled with awkward silence for once to ask him
questions, learn some things about the guy I’m having semi-regular sex
with. Something other than the fact that he’s unbelievably sexy.
He’s five years older than me. He has two degrees: a bachelor’s in
business and an associate’s in sports medicine. He tells me how he worked
at the gym in college and just ended up staying, getting a certificate so he
could take on clients as a personal trainer. He was reluctant to explain how
he ended up so into fitness, but eventually, I dragged it out of him.
His telling me he was a moody-as-hell teenager who got into trouble is
not at all a surprise. He got his first tattoo at age thirteen, pierced his nose
himself, and was in juvie on and off until he turned fifteen, and shit changed
(he wouldn’t elaborate on what changed, though). He was pretty much a
stereotypical bad boy, but him apparently getting mad enough to resort to
actual violence kind of does surprise me. Most of the time, he’s very calm.
Apathetic. And with me, when it’s just us, he’s almost soft. Kind of sweet. A
little. Well, almost.
“And working out obsessively calmed your rage?”
“I guess,” he shrugs. “Definitely stopped punching people as much.”
“I can’t picture you fighting.”
“Most people say the opposite.”
“Why? I mean, you look capable, don’t get me wrong, but you’re so…
gentle.”
“What?” he laughs incredulously. “Nobody has ever accused me of
being gentle, Liam.”
“Well, you are with me.” I know I sound a little smug, but that’s on
him. He basically just admitted to being a total marshmallow for me and me
alone.
He ignores me, focuses on parking his Jeep instead of saying anything.
But that just means he doesn’t deny it, either.
“What’s his name again?” he asks as we step inside the restaurant, and I
follow his gaze to see Cade talking to some customers at a booth.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I don’t want him to know that I didn’t expect Cade to be
here, not when he already thinks I have a problem with him seeing us
together. But, hell, maybe I do have a problem with it. “That’s Cade.”
“And he’s…” he trails his sentence off, asking me what Cade is to me, I
guess.
“A friend. He’s been my best friend for forever. Also, my roommate.”
“He doesn’t like me very much.”
“He doesn’t even know you.” But when I look back over at him, I see
him glaring, looking at Bash like the guy kicked a puppy or something. His
eyes don’t exactly lose their bite when he spots me, either. “He’s just mad at
me.” I blew him off last night, told him I’d be back, and then never showed
back up.
“Hm. Do you want to go somewhere else?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but his voice has me shutting it. It’s not
that I want to hide Bash. I mean, who would? He’s so hot he turned me
gay––or something not exactly straight, anyway. And he doesn’t want
someone to hide him. Someone who hides.
“Nah, it’s fine. He’ll get over it.”
“Okay, good,” he grins. “I didn’t get to eat my French toast the last time
I came here.”
Yeah, that was the right choice, staying. The way his shoulders relax
tells me that.
A girl who is definitely feeling the stress of the morning rush pops up
behind the hostess stand, her hand hovering over the menus. “Table for
two?” I watch as her faint smile goes from tired and polite to almost coy.
“Dimples,” she beams, motioning to her own cheeks like we don’t know
what dimples are and where they typically exist.
“He’s gay.”
Both of them look at me, and I have to breathe slowly so I don’t show
just how baffled I am that I said that shit. Seriously. What the fuck?
I do not look at Bash. I can’t, and when this chick’s smile goes from
tired to coy to fucking amused, I have to force myself to keep looking at
her. And it’s a struggle. My neck is on fire at the moment.
“Noted. I will never look at his dimples ever again.” They both laugh,
the sound of Bash’s right next to me and I shove my elbow at him. “You
guys can follow me this way.”
“That was cute,” he leans in close, his breath skimming my ear, and I
can’t stop myself from rolling my head as goosebumps crawl across my
neck.
“Shut up, dimples.” I look at him. I have to, and when I see them, I put
my hand over his face. “Put those away.”
“You love them.”
“They’re hideous.”
He lets me have the last word as we take our seats, and then he orders
me a Diet Coke without even asking me. I make it a point to pay attention
to the sweet tea he orders. If he remembers what I like to drink, I want to
remember his go-to, too. Maybe one day I’ll be able to order for him. I
doubt his stomach is gonna do the many somersaults mine just did, but still.
Something to look forward to.
It’s evident that Little Miss Flirts-A-Lot sat us in Cade’s section when
he walks over. His glare is gone, but that doesn’t make this any less
awkward. It’s even worse than the public display of jealousy I displayed
moments ago.
And it’s my fault. I’m being weird. Avoiding my best-friend and
keeping things from him. So, he should be mad. He has no idea what’s
going on, just that I’ve been ditching him on and off for a little over a
month to hang out with this big-ass tattooed guy.
“I thought it was your day off.”
“Got called in. You getting the biscuits and gravy or the chicken and
waffles.”
“Waffles.”
He nods his head, and I sink a little lower in my seat as he looks at
Bash. He’s being rude, not asking him what he wants.
“The French toast,” I say, but neither of them looks at me, and I can’t
even be smug that I’m ordering for him. Cade just writes it down in his
little notepad. I vaguely remember how he ordered his eggs the last time
and tell him that, too, but I can’t get over the way he’s treating Bash.
“You’re kind of being a dick.”
He looks at me over his and scoffs. “So are you, Liam.”
“Wha––how? What have I done?” Besides, ignore him. And blow him
off. Repeatedly. Last night, he said something about us catching up on one
of our favorite shows to watch together, and I just said I couldn’t. And then
I left to go see Bash.
Bash’s finger silently drums on the tabletop, and it catches my eyes.
Fuck it.
“Okay, yeah. I guess I––I’m bi.” It feels like my blood just stops
moving in my veins, my poor heart just momentarily giving up before
deciding to pump harder than ever a second later. I keep my eyes on Bash’s
fingers, see them stop moving, and want desperately to look up at him. “Is
that a problem?” I bite my lip, still not looking at either of them, and when
he doesn’t answer me right away, doesn’t assure me that, of course, it isn’t
a problem and I’m still his best friend, my legs start vibrating. I kind of
want to run.
“God, you’re fucking stupid sometimes.”
 “What?” When I finally manage to look at him, he just rolls his eyes.
“I saw you perverts in the gym shower.”
“No.” Both of my hands cover my face, the urge to leave only growing.
“I told you that was a bad idea,” Bash chuckles, and I spread my fingers
to glare at him.
“Whatever, Liam. Just stop avoiding me. We still hung out when you
had a girlfriend; I don’t see why you having a boyfriend has to change shit.”
I puff out a breath, cradling the back of my neck in both palms. “He’s
not my boyfriend.”
But fuck, I wish he was.
“Wow, slutting it up in public for a fuck buddy. Homosexuality has
changed you.” He’s trying. He has a small smile on his tired face, but it
doesn’t reach his eyes, but, fuck, he’s trying. It means a lot.
“Shut up,” I push at his stomach. “Go put our order in.” He rolls his
eyes, still holding that fake smile, and it eases so much tension from my
shoulders it’s a wonder I was even able to move. If he can tease me, almost
joke about it, maybe it’s not such a big deal? I don’t get to ask before he’s
off doing his job. “Well, sorry you had to be here for that. That was
probably one of the most awkward coming out… things ever.”
He just stares at me, his lips just barely tipped on either end, a smile too
small to allow his awful dimples to make another appearance.
“I want to take you on a date.”
“What?” I straighten in my chair, can’t stop the massive grin from
splitting my face. He what?
God, my heart is going through it today.
“Yeah. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing. Wait, no.” I grunt, irritated once I remember my plans. “I said
I’d go see my mom. She lives in San Jose. I won’t be back until Sunday.”
It’s pathetic how sad I sound. That’s three days. But what if he doesn’t want
to wait three days? God, what if––
“That’s fine. I’ll just make plans for when you come back.”
“Oh.” My bottom lip feels chapped as I run my tongue over it. I need to
start carrying lip balm with as much as I’m biting it these days. Especially if
I’m gonna have this guy’s lips available. All the time. “Okay,” I say
dumbly, looking at his hand on the table again to give myself a chance to
fucking relax.
 Shit. I feel kind of dizzy. Off balance, like I’m teetering on the edge of
overwhelming giddiness, which just so happens to come with a mild urge to
puke my guts out. I’m trying to let the moment sink in, but it’s like it’s
stuck on the surface, floating. It’s unsettling yet moderating. Everything I
want, but so new and scary.
This is a big deal. Monumental. And I can’t even fully appreciate the
enormity of the situation in all its glory because I don’t want to embarrass
myself.
He wants to date me.
He wants to date motherfucking me!
I knew he was a big fat liar when he said he didn’t want me.

OceanofPDF.com
 Fourteen
Liam

C
ade says it’s okay, that he’s okay with me craving dick––his words––
and I want to believe him, but he’s still being weird. When I came
home last night, crawled into bed, and looked over at him to find him
lying on his side and scrolling through his phone, he didn’t even look at me.
And that’s, well, it feels like there’s a reason.
It makes my stomach pinch uneasily just thinking about what the reason
could be, what it most likely is. I’m fucking a guy. That’s the only thing
that’s changed about me.
And he doesn’t like Bash. I asked, and all he said was that he was cool,
but it wasn’t said like he meant it. He was placating me. And then we just
went to sleep. It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about any of it, didn’t
feel like fleshing out any of the details.
I want him to like him. I want them to get along, to officially meet and
become friends. Cade is an important part of my life, and I want so
desperately for Bash to be, too. Maybe he already is, and that’s the problem.
It’s part of the reason I’m here, trying to pep talk myself into coming
out to my mom. Or, I was giving myself a pep talk, and then I started
thinking about Cade. After my mom, he’s been my biggest supporter and if
he doesn’t like this new development, maybe there’s a chance she won’t
either.
I’m being ridiculous. My mom is amazing. A progressive woman who
loves me fiercely. She’s going to be okay with it. Totally fine.
So, why is it so fucking hard to just say it? It’s infuriating, this constant
back and forth going on in my mind. It should be simple: I want Bash. I
want him bad, with everything in me. And it didn’t escape my notice that he
asked me on an official date only after I came out to Cade. Like he
rewarding me. He doesn’t want to be a secret, and he doesn’t deserve to be.
“I was thinking of chicken alfredo for dinner. I have those parmesan
bread rolls you like; how does that sound?”
“That sounds great.” I rub a hand over my face, open my mouth to say
more only to end up shutting it just as quickly.
“What’s wrong with you?” she taps my arm as she passes me, throwing
a knowing grin over her shoulder as she moves toward the sink. “Aren’t you
happy to be seeing your poor, lonely mom?”
That has my chest pinching. I know she’s kidding, but is she? Really? “I
should have come sooner. I can start––”
“Liam, relax. Just a joke. I am actually loving the empty nest, thank you
very much. But if you want to come visit me more often, I won’t say no.”
I nod my head but can’t return the smile she gives me, making her sigh.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Liam. I know you far better than you know yourself. Something is
bugging you. Out with it.”
“I––I quit baseball.” My chest pounds, each beat calling me a coward.
She doesn’t give a fuck if I quit baseball.
“Oh. Wow. Does your dad know?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle humourlessly. “He says he’s cutting me off. No
financial help for someone so ungrateful.”
“What?” Her face twists in disgust. “Well, we’ll just see about that,”
she reaches for her phone in her back pocket, and I place a soft hand on her
forearm.
“It’s fine, Mom. He was just mad. I doubt he’s going to not pay for my
college just because––”
“What?! He said that?”
Oh. Okay. Mom-rant fully activated. I can do nothing but listen as she
talks about how wrong this is, how he has no right, and apparently, he
signed court documents saying he would pay for half of my tuition––and
here I thought he was paying for the whole thing––and she’s going to hold
him to it because it was something they discussed. A judge doesn’t usually
allow something like that in a divorce agreement, but they signed their own
contract saying he would. She made sure. She goes on and on talking about
how she can handle my rent because she still doesn’t want me to work but
he just has no choice but to pay for things.
“I’m bisexual,” I say when she’s still in full mom mode, being a weenie
because I know she’s not fully paying attention to me as she slams cabinet
doors and angrily begins her food prep in between her angry ramblings. It
feels better getting it out there like that, even if she’s not wholly listening. It
loosens some of the knots in my stomach just saying it out loud, making it
easier to breathe. “Yup. Dating a dude.”
“What was that?” She turns around with a big empty bowl in one hand.
“What did you just say?”
Oh. Oh, shit. “Uh.” I shrug. I don’t know if she heard me exactly, but
she heard something.
“Liam, are––do you have… a boyfriend?”
“Uh. Sort of?” I don’t know who looks more shocked. There’s got to be
a better way to do this shit.
“Oh.” A smile slowly creeps over her face, and it has me expelling a
shaky breath. “Since when?”
“Since when have I been…” It feels weird to say it again now that she’s
paying so much attention to me.
“Dating this guy. What’s his name? Do I get to meet him? Soon, I
hope.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. It’s loud and maybe a bit crazed, but god, why
was I so worried? I tell her his name and what he looks like, but I avoid the
topic of them potentially meeting because I don’t think Bash is there yet.
It’s too soon. I mean, Anna was my actual girlfriend, and I never even
bothered telling my mom about her. She raises her thin brows at the
mention of all of his tattoos, but she doesn’t say anything judgemental,
which I appreciate. But her eyes do roll when I tell her that he’s a personal
trainer.
“Oh, okay. So that explains all the money you spent at the gym.”
I purse my lips, willing myself not to blush, which just has her laughing
at me. This is what I wanted with Cade, to just be able to have a light-
hearted conversation about Bash. When I started dating Anna, we talked
about it. Quite a bit, actually. I try not to think too hard about it, though.
Now isn’t the time for that.
“So you’re okay with it?” I ask when she finally has the food going, and
she once again rolls her eyes at me.
 “Liam, of course, I’m okay with it. It doesn’t change anything at all.
You’re still my baby,” she wraps her arms around me as I sit, placing a kiss
on the top of my head and making sure I feel the love she has for me. And I
do. It has me blinking rapidly, fighting the burning sensation behind my
eyes. I didn’t realize how much I needed this, this acceptance. “Do you
want me to tell your dad?”
I tense in her arms, and she squeezes me harder, refusing to let go.
“It’s okay. I can tell him whenever you want. He doesn’t need to know
right away.”
She’s not saying it, but we both know he’s not going to be okay with it.
“Um,” I clear my throat. “No, that’s okay. I’ll tell him.” I will. It might take
a while, but I’ll tell him eventually. I’m sure I’ll tell a lot more people
before I manage to grow the spine necessary to actually do it, but it’ll
happen.
“If you’re sure,” her arms slip off of me and she just gets settled back
into the meal, asking me about other things. School, my roommates, Cade.
I don’t tell her my worries about him, not wanting to send her back into
another rant. I know she’d be mad at him. Talk a little smack and
exaggerate the way she always does when she feels I’m being mistreated.
That’s not what this visit is about, though. I just wanted to see her, talk to
her. Get some things off my chest. I’d planned on just telling her what Dad
had said when she finally called me back the other day, but when she asked
if I’d come down for the weekend, I readily agreed. I miss her.
The rest of dinner stays as easy-going as that, just the two of us
catching up and talking. When I finally get to my old room, exactly the
same as it is every time I come back, I’m tired, the long drive having caught
up with me.
I could probably go to sleep, but it’s still pretty early, and now that I
have a moment to myself, all I really feel is that I don’t want to be alone.
Actually, I kind of just want Bash. Which is a given, pretty much a constant
at this point, but now that I’m six hours away and can’t just go knock on his
door and hope he lets me in, I’m feeling it a little extra. So, I text him,
hoping he doesn’t ignore my message this time around.
I fucking squeak when he messages back, like actually squeak. Like a
mouse. Or one of the baby raccoons my mom complains about every year
because, yeah, they can be noisy as hell, and it’s a little annoying even if
they are super cute. Just squeaking all around our trash and trying to sneak
into the garage.
I have no idea what to say back. All I said was hey, which prompted a
rather anticlimactic hey in response. Wanna have phone sex? That’s what I
want to say. I stare at the little FaceTime icon on top of the screen and
groan. It’s mocking me.
I have to set my phone down and take a breather. I shouldn’t have even
messaged him. I just saw him twenty-four hours ago.
But then my phone dings with another message––Bash double-texted
me!––and I pick it up immediately. It’s a good thing he can’t see me. It’d
probably creep him out how overly excited I just got, scrabbling for the
device like the message would just disappear or something if I didn’t get it
in my hands right that very split second.
It’s a little anticlimactic again. He just asks what I’m doing, and I’m
doing absolutely nothing except craving his hands on me––but I can’t say
that.
It’s kind of ridiculous how two little innocent texts manage to spark
such an intense rush of heat through me, making me feel warm and restless
when, moments ago, I was considering going to sleep. That’s not gonna
happen now, though, now that I’m so fucking horny.
So, I mean, I could just say that, right? I’m going to. No need to
overthink it. My thumbs start tapping, and a few seconds later, I’m sending
what could possibly be a rather embarrassing message if he decides that he
just doesn’t care that I’m feeling slutty. Please care, Bash. Please.
Ohmygod. He’s calling me.
“Dimples.” I sound breathless, and when he chuckles in my ear, I have
to hold the phone away to breathe out a forceful breath and hopefully pull
myself together.
“Princess.”
I fight the urge to say something utterly brainless like you’re stupid or
please, fuck me.
“Did you bring a toy with you?”
“Wha––no.” I have no clue why I told him about me doing… that, but
he asked, and he made it sound hot, so I couldn’t help admitting it. That I
fuck myself thinking of him, that it happens almost every day. The only
reason he managed to drag the words out of me was because he was inside
me, fucking my pu––ass real good. “I didn’t tell you that so you’d make fun
of me,” I grumble, grabbing a pillow from behind me and curling an arm
around it in a protective hold.
“I’m not making fun of you, Liam. I just want to know if you brought
one with you.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“You’re telling me that you went on a three-day trip and didn’t bring an
emotional support dildo? Not even one? Come on, princess. You know
better than to lie to me.”
“Oh, god,” I mutter, absolutely melting. His voice is burning me,
slinking through the phone and coiling its searing self around my very
being. “I’m never telling you anything ever again.” But I’m already
reaching for my duffel bag, where I definitely do have a few of my toys
stuffed beneath my clothes, hidden away like a dirty little secret.
“Were you going to fuck yourself, Liam? Let me watch. I want to see
you stuff your pretty pu––”
“Ugh. Shut up and FaceTime me.” I hear the beginnings of his laugh as
I hang up and pull my laptop out of my bag. I open it and set it on the bed,
then dig back in to find the other items I need. My hands are shaking with
nerves as I set those off to the side too. It can’t be helped, and when I
finally hear the sound of an incoming video call, it only gets worse, little
tremors snaking their way down my spine. It’s not just nerves, I realize. It’s
anticipation. Excitement. It’s me just being turned the absolute fuck on.
“Hey, beautiful,” he grins, voice deep and teasing. He’s in bed, shirt off
as he leans against his headboard.
“Why roses?” I ask as my eyes trail the roses on his neck, trying to buy
myself some time to calm down. But also, I do want to know. He has so
many of them all over his body.
“I like roses.” His broad shoulders lift in a shrug, and I decide that he’s
not telling me something. He sees it on my face, opening his mouth before I
can press for the truth. “My mom really liked roses. We had huge rose
bushes when I was really young.”
“Oh.” I can hear the somberness in his tone, muddied up by his attempt
to disguise it. “Is she––”
“Quit stalling and show me those tits, princess.” He moves his phone,
lowers the angle so I get to see his abs like he thinks that’s going to get my
mind off the questions I have. Which, yeah, okay. It works.
 I stand up to undress, getting fully naked before I climb back into bed
and in view of the camera, kneeling and adjusting it so he can see me. He’s
already seen me like this, has been inside me, so I don’t feel too self-
conscious being naked in front of him, my dick already hard and standing at
attention. It’s nice, obviously, full and warm, but the feeling is secondary to
the urgency pulsing in my hole.
“Come on, beautiful. Let’s get that tight pussy filled. Did you bring
your favorite toy?”
“I––” I look at them, three of them, and can’t actually decide which one
is my favorite. The skinniest one is also the longest, and I usually use it
when I want it deep or don’t want prep, which means I use that one a lot,
but the pink one––the biggest––feels so fucking good, and I’m thinking I
want that. I want to be stretched open, filled to the brim. But I’m not sure if
it’s my favorite. “Liam.” The frown in his voice has me looking at him, my
brows pulled low. “We don’t have to do this.”
“What? No. I want to. I mean, I was going to do it anyway,” I shrug,
feeling a little shy about it.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know which one is my favorite.” Wow. That’s got to be the
stupidest first-world problem to ever exist. When his mouth tips in a huge
smile, dimples fully engaged, I cross my arms, my pecs bulging.
“You brought more than one? On a three-day trip, sweetheart?”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but his laugh stops me.
“I fucking love that. Show them to me, let’s pick one out.”
I force out a breath, reaching over for them and the lube before placing
all three of the sex toys I brought in front of my laptop and angling the
camera down so he can see. He’s going to pick one out, and that’s perfect.
He gets to decide what goes inside me, what he gets to watch me fuck
myself with. That’s––god. It’s real fucking nice of him.
“Hm,” he hums, voice going lower like the sight of my dildos turns him
on, and, fuck, I hope it does. “Let’s start with the blue one. That one looks
like the perfect size to work your pussy open for me.” A shaky breath
escapes me as I reach for it, and I’m once again repositioning the camera.
“Get on your back, princess.”
I do as he says, eagerly moving until I’m on my back and lying against
my pillows. But I make sure that he has a good view before I grab the toy
because I know once I get started, the last thing I’m going to worry about is
camera angles.
“God, look at you,” he mumbles, voice dropping, deep and gritty as he
watches me spread my legs for him.
I’m in a hurry all of a sudden. Feeling empty in a way that has a sense
of urgency racing through me. So, I rush through slicking the toy up, slide
lube down its long, slender length––maybe the width of two fingers at its
thickest part––and then have to bend my knees up towards my chest just so
I can reach. When I do manage to notch the toy against my tightly closed
rim, I don’t waste any time teasing either of us. I just slide it in, one long
stroke that has me whimpering, my other hand wrapped around the back of
my thigh to hold me open so he can see it disappear inside me. I bite my lip,
silencing a groan as it slips in, slowly widening until my rim starts to burn
faintly with the stretch around the base.
“So fucking good,” Bash rasps, and I open my eyes to see him staring at
my hole, nostrils flared as he drags in a deep breath. His pupils are dilated,
the blue of his eyes barely visible on my computer screen. “Does that feel
nice, sweetheart? Your little cunt just swallowed it right up. Like it was
desperate to be filled.”
“Bash,” I pant before my voice dissolves into a moan, the toy being
dragged out along the front wall of my hole and eliciting a roll of my hips.
“Oh, fuck.” My back bows as I push it back in, my spine already tingling.
“Just like that, Liam.” He hisses, and it once again has me looking for
him, forcing my eyes to stay open so I can watch him. Lips parted and shiny
with spit, blue eyes hooded, his face being shaded by his messy hair. He’s
so stunning it burns. “You have my cock so fucking hard it hurts.”
I look down but don’t get what I want. “I can’t see,” I whine, my voice
breathless. “Please.” I continue the slow act of fucking myself, breathing
through it as the pleasure starts to build.
He leans back, raising his phone and angling it so that I can see him in
all his glory. Powerful thighs parted with his thick, ramrod-straight cock
standing tall between them. It’s almost worse being able to see it. Like a
tease, leaving me half tempted to lick my computer screen as a bead of
precum rolls onto his slit. His thumb smears it around before he drags his
fist down his length, his muscles tensing with the move.
“Is this what you want, princess? What you’re imagining is inside you
right now?”
 That has me stopping, my thighs aching with the effort it takes to not
just move the toy inside me, but no. This one feels nothing like him. “It’s
too thin,” I whimper, pulling it out slowly, then moving quickly to grab the
next one when my hole spasms around the physical embodiment of
emptiness, but my hand hovers. This one is thicker but still nowhere near as
thick as Bash, and as I watch him, still slowly stroking himself, I decide that
I need to be stretched, need to fuck myself with something I’ll feel.
So, I reach for the hot pink one instead, look around for something
hard, and then get up to grab one of my baseball plaques off the wall. He
asks me what I’m doing when I get back on the bed, but I keep my mouth
shut and make sure he sees everything as I lick the bottom of the suction
cup. When I stick it to the plaque and apply more lube, he groans, the sound
loud and guttural.
“Fuck, you’re perfect. Turn around for me, princess. I want to see. I
want to watch as you stretch your hole out for me.”
I pause with the very tip of the fake cock––realistic if it weren’t for the
bright pink coloring, thick and veiny with a small set of balls on the end just
above the suction cup––pressed against my hole and whimper. It’s on the tip
of my tongue to tell him that I won’t be able to see him, but then I think of
what he’s asking to see, watch as just the thought of him getting to see it has
him stroking himself faster, fist squeezing tighter, and I can’t deny him that.
I move around until my back is to the camera and then line myself up with
the toy once more. With a glance over my shoulder, I make sure that my ass
is in the frame, and then I sink down.
I gasp, my hips stuttering, but as much as it hurts, I make myself keep
going. I’m familiar with this part. It’s one of the downsides to regularly
fucking myself––being too lazy to really prep myself so that it doesn’t hurt.
But it’ll pass. I continue lowering myself, the tendons in my groin strained
and pulled beyond tight as I work myself the slightest bit up and down, up
and down, going lower each time––fake cock deeper––with my knees
parted on either side of the award plaque.
“Easy, Liam. Nice and slow,” he tells me. But I can hear him stroking
himself fast behind me, am forced to listen to the slick sounds of his cock
gliding through his hand as his panting breaths come faster. “Do it like I
would, sweetheart. I’d be so gentle with that little hole, wouldn’t I?” he
moans. “You’re so sexy, Liam––need your tight cunt fucked so sweetly.
Isn’t that right, princess?”
 Another whimper, a small and strangled sound when I finally manage to
sink as low as I possibly can, my entire channel pulsing around the rigid
length inside me. “I wish you were here.” My voice is honeyed, heavy in a
way that has it oozing out of me. My head feels like it’s full of cotton.
Everything feels full. It’s almost too much, my insides roiling in a searing
heat that’s on the verge of being overwhelming.
And then I move, rise up and sink back down, and it lights me the fuck
up. Has pleasure zipping through my lower half like subtle strikes of
electricity. I can vaguely hear him behind me, still panting, his groans much
quieter than my own.
“Shh,” his voice slips through the lusty fog swarming my insides, and I
bite my lip, quieting down because he told me to. “What about those tits,
sweetheart?”
My palms run up to my chest, squeezing and pumping a litany of deep
moans out of me, and my hips start moving easily. No more up and down
but a mellow roll, over and over and over. My fingers rub at my nipple,
rolling the peak between the pads of my thumb and forefinger until just that
alone has my hips jerking.
“Yes!” I gasp, the glide of the dildo inside me coupled with the soft,
biting pleasure under my fingertips bringing me so goddamn close to the
edge.
“There it is,” he moans behind me. “What a pretty hole, such a pretty
fucking boy. Longer strokes, sweetheart. Almost all the way out,” he tells
me, and I do what he says immediately, feeling my inner walls ripple
around the cock inside me as I work it in and out in long, languid
movements until I’m back to unintelligent noises. Drawn out yeses, one
after the other, being carried out of my mouth on whines of ecstasy before I
have to bite my lips. It’s pressure, unrelenting and building in a boiling
amalgamation of sensations, seeping throughout my body and somehow
getting tighter, too. Focused and small, but spread wide and endless.
I fall forward on another gasp, my climax flashing behind my eyes and
quickly settling into an assault of mindless rapture. I hold myself up with
my arms stiff in front of me as my body continues sliding over that
ridiculous pink dildo, meeting resistance as my hole clenches wildly around
it.
I slow, my hips barely jerking as my orgasm starts to gentle its
onslaught, finally uncoiling my muscles enough that I can relax my arms.
I’m breathing heavily as I sink my chest to the bed, reaching a hand behind
me so that the dildo doesn’t slip out completely.
“Fuck.”
“You okay?”
I look over my shoulder to see Bash still staring at my ass, his lips
parted as he breaths through his come down. I didn’t even know he’d come.
I didn’t get to see or hear it. Feel it.
“I––” I grunt as I pull up off the sex toy, shoving it to the side so I can
turn around and face him. “Will I see you on Monday?” I pick the laptop
up, regretfully walking on my knees through the bit of cum I just spilled
and ignoring it. I make sure not to put the laptop on my lap, just holding it
awkwardly in front of my face and ignoring the way I look––face flushed
and lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweat along my hairline and top lip. I
look fucked. I feel fucked. But my stupid dick is still half hard, and I’m not
fucking myself through another one of those, not with Bash already relaxed.
He watches me for a long second, his face annoyingly perceptive.
Maybe he can tell how badly I want that, how desperately I wanted to say
Sunday instead of Monday, because that’s when I get home. But that’s
crazy. It’s clingy and embarrassing.
“You get back Sunday, right?”
I stop moving for a split second, scared that I’m found out, but I recover
quickly and nod.
“Well, come here when you do. Let me fuck that pretty pussy for real as
soon as you get back.” His lips tip up on one end, and I close my eyes. Just
for a second.
“Okay,” I say calmly. “It might be late, though.” My heart pounds,
having never really slowed after our phone sex.
“That’s okay. What do you usually do after stuffing your hole thinking
about me?”
“You’re so annoying,” I roll my eyes.
“Seriously, though. What do you do? Clean up, just pass out, do it all
over again?”
“I––” I groan quietly, his words catching up with me a second later. “I
don’t know. I don’t usually… like, pull it out so soon.”
“You leave it in?” His brows dip, head cocking slightly.
“Yes,” I say defensively. “Is that weird?”
 “No. It’s not weird, sweetheart. You soak your toys in that pretty pussy
of yours, I think it’s cute.”
I purse my lips, my cheeks once again heating and the back of my neck
itching. “So annoying,” I grumble, making him laugh. “This time, I do have
to clean up.” I wish I didn’t. I wish I was in his bed, that he was the one
forced to handle cleanup, but I’m alone. Which blows because “I got cum
all over my bed, and it’s just a full, so unless I want to wallow in it, I’m
going to have to change sheets. Or, just get a new blanket. My mom has a
linen clo––” My eyes widen.
“What?” He raises his eyebrows. “You think she heard you?”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
He bares his teeth in an exaggerated cringe. “Sweetheart… you were
kind of loud. I told you you might want to be quieter a few times, and you
didn’t hear me.”
I scoff. “I am not loud. And you said it once.”
A smile splits his face, condescending and sticky-sweet. “Liam. You’re
a bit of a screamer.”
I scoff again, choking a bit on this one. “I am not!”
But fuck, am I? My mind jumps to Anna, to how she sounded when she
and Sam… Oh.
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“I’m hanging up on you.”
I shut the laptop just as he starts laughing and then palm the nape of my
neck. A fucking screamer. It’s his fault. The dick. His dick. Ugh.
His dumb dick turned me into a screamer.
My phone dings, a message coming through, and I reach for it. I tap it
open and read the screen: just a simple night, princess paired with a stupid
little crown emoji that makes me blush even more.
So annoying.

OceanofPDF.com
 Fifteen
Bash

I
’ve never in my life taken someone on a date. I don’t do that shit, but for
whatever reason, watching Liam as he came out to his dickish friend had
me certain that it was the right move. So, I asked him out. On a date.
A fucking date.
“He looks like the jock-type. Is he?” Jax types quickly on his phone, not
looking at me as he handles two conversations.
“Yeah.” It’s a little weird picturing my princess as a jock, but I mean, he
does look the part. “I mean, I guess. He’s a baseball player, but he said he
was quitting this year.” I can’t help but grin, remembering the baseball
award he took off his childhood bedroom wall last night.
“So… he likes sports. Take him to a baseball game. Or, wait. I think it’s
football season.”
“I––no. He’s quitting because he doesn’t like it. I don’t think he likes
sports.”
“Well, shit, I don’t know. Mini golf?”
I grunt. “You’re so bad at this.”
“Then why did you ask for my help?”
“Because I’m so bad at this!” I huff, falling back against the couch.
He stares at me with lips pursed, and when I realize that he’s fighting a
smile, I roll my eyes. “You are positively adorable right now. I’ve never
seen you like this. It’s honestly blowing my mind.”
I glare at the TV. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. But I really am so
fucking bad at this. I even looked up ‘date ideas’ online because that’s how
useless I am when it comes to this shit.
There’s the sound of the photo being taken, and I tense. “Jax, what the
fuck?”
 “Just for the memories,” he shrugs smiling at his phone, at the picture
he just took of me. “When you guys get married, I’m going to do my best
man speech and show everyone this photo. Take a look, folks. Your favorite
dickhead was so hopelessly in love with Liam, he agonized for days over
where to take him on their first date. And then everyone will let out a
collective––hey!”
I snatch his phone, but by the time it’s in my hand, the device is locked.
“Whatever.” I toss it back in his lap as I get up off the couch and head to the
fridge. “You can fuck off now.”
“Why? Because you’re sexy as fuck baseball player is coming over?
Don’t turn into one of those friends who just disappears because he’s dating
someone, Bash.”
I stare as impassively at him as I can, my jaw tensing. I don’t know why
I let Liam call me that, but I know he’s the only one who can. I don’t say
that, though. And I definitely do not tell him that, no, Liam is not coming
over, but I am going to FaceTime him in a little.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that nickname reserved for Liam and Liam’s pouty
lips only?”
“Jax,” I sigh.
“Okay, okay. I’m leaving. But you know I am going to have to meet
him, right?”
“You already have.”
“Yes, and then you kicked me out so you could plow him before we
even had a chance to get to know each other. Your boyfriend should be
friends with your best friend, Bash.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” And I don’t know about all that, him
being buddies with Liam. Also, we’re not at the boyfriend stage. Maybe one
day, though. Soon.
“Alright, alright. You’re still Seb to me. But if you’re planning on
dating this kid, like for real, then keep me in mind. We can all hang out and
shit. You’re kind of my only friend, y’know?” He shrugs, reaching for
nonchalance and hitting insecure instead. The sight of it has me relenting.
“Jax, he’s not replacing you.” I hold his stare, wait for him to crack a
small smile, and then remind him he needs to go. “But please leave.”
“Jeez, look at you. You are, like… whipped. Gonna have to start calling
you Cool Whip. Or do you prefer Reddi Whip? I think that brand is actually
made with cream, not oil––okay, damn!”
 He stands up just as I take a step towards him, smart enough to not wait
until I can reach him.
“I’m going,” he holds his hands up, moving towards the door, and I get
an idea just before he reaches it.
“Wait. Do you want to go with me to the diner in the morning?”
“The one down the road? Why?”
“For breakfast.” I fight the urge to fidget when all he does is cock his
head at me. “Liam’s friend works there.”
Understanding floods his face, and I roll my eyes. “You want to ask
your boyfriend’s friend for date ideas? Dude,” he tacks on the last word
with a dramatic hand over his chest before cupping his mouth with both
hands. “Whipped like cream,” he whispers.
“Will you go with me or not?”
“I will because I definitely want to see this.”
We agree to meet there tomorrow morning, and then he’s off. I lock the
door behind him because I know him, and it would not at all surprise me if
he came back and interrupted my call with Liam. Maybe even on purpose.
It’s a little after nine, later than it was when we talked last night. But as
I climb onto my bed, I don’t hesitate to call him, going straight for a video
call this time.
“Hi,” his lazy smile fills my screen a few seconds later, his cheeks
flushed and hair damp.
“Are you… taking a bath?”
His eyes roll. “Yes.”
“Hm.” So, this time around, we aren’t immediately jumping to fill his
ass. I feel kind of awkward, unsure. My brain searches for something to say,
and I remember that when we texted earlier, he’d been at the store. “What
did you get at the store?”
His face softens like he can tell that this is weird for me, but he
appreciates it anyway. Or maybe he appreciates it because it’s so fucking
weird for me. He’s so easy to please.
“My mom went kind of crazy. I told her I needed shoelaces and
deodorant, so she bought me two new pairs of shoes and an entire care
package of hygiene products. Plus, clothes.” He shrugs before crinkling his
nose and huffing a laugh. “Ah, she also got me this keychain when I wasn’t
looking that apparently is the bisexual pride flag.” He sounds fond as he
says it.
 “You came out to your mom?” It’s surprising. Coming out to a friend
isn’t the same as telling your mom. And he’d seemed so nervous about the
topic being mentioned at all, not even that long ago.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs, sitting up a little, and I can hear the sound of
water moving around as he does.
“How did she take it?” I ask slowly, unsure if I even should. But I
mean, she got him merch, so how bad could it have been?
“She was great, but that’s not a surprise. She’s the best, the easy
parent.”
“Your dad?”
His face falls, just a touch but enough that it’s noticeable, and really,
that’s answer enough. “He’s just… conservative. So, we’ll see, I guess. He
already doesn’t like me all that much, so I don’t see how it could get much
worse.”
But I can tell that it bothers him. My dad was the worst. An alcoholic
and abusive and just fucking scummy all around. But he never really had
anything to say when he found out I was gay. Then again, he mostly just
didn’t give a fuck about me, period. Not unless he needed something.
“He’s the reason you played baseball, right?” Even though he hates it.
We’ve talked about this, about him being scared to tell him that he wants to
quit.
“Yeah. Oh, I told him I’m quitting,” he shakes his head. “He didn’t take
it well.”
He sounds like a prick. Not as bad as mine, but inattentive with the kind
of love that’s conditional. It makes me feel almost… protective. Just the
idea of him––this man whose name I don’t even know––reacting negatively
to Liam liking guys, liking me, pisses me off.
“You don’t have to come out for me. You do know that, right?” It has to
be said. I don’t want to be blamed if anyone ever doesn’t take it well, and
with something like the topic of homosexuality, chances are that is going to
happen eventually. I mean, I hope not. He doesn’t deserve that shit, but I
can hope all I want. It doesn’t change the fact that people fucking suck.
“I’m––it’s not for you, Bash. It’s for me. If I’m… bi, then my friends
and family should know. It’s not something I want to hide.”
I think about it, happy with his answer, but I can’t help but notice the
way he still looks so uncomfortable when he says it. “Do you not feel bi,
Liam?”
 “I do. Sort of,” he shrugs. “It fits. Mostly. Just, I don’t know. Is being
gay for one guy possible?”
I smile at him, breathe a quiet laugh out of my nose. “If that’s how you
feel, then I guess it is. I... pressured you into labeling yourself. It’s okay to
be figuring things out. You don’t have to settle on one thing, and I’m sorry
if I made you feel like you had to.”
“You were worried I was a closet case. I get it, and I’m glad that I get to
prove you wrong, Bash,” he grins.
He definitely has. I am curious, though. “You’re not attracted to any
other guys? None?”
He mulls it over before shrugging again. “Not really. Maybe my
roommate. But, like, hardly at all.”
My smile drops. “Cade?”
“Ew, no. He’s like a brother.”
“Well, who then? Baby?” I scoff. I knew some guy named fucking
Baby was going to get on my nerves.
He laughs. “No. His name is Logan. He’s our other roommate, the
newest one. He’s kind of… he looks okay. Big. I like his voice.”
“Hm,” I grunt. He sounds stupid.
Liam laughs again, and my jaw tenses. This isn’t really funny. “Don’t
worry. He’s got nothing on you, dimples. Doesn’t even have dimples,
actually. No tattoos. He’s blonde,” he scrunches his nose, and it eases some
of the tension in my neck. “He’s not the reason I have a sex toy inside me
right now.”
My brows raise as he leans back against the wall of the tub. “Which
one?”
“The blue one. That one feels nice, goes deep. But I’m not––I’m just
relaxing right now. Don’t ruin my bath by getting all horny.”
I smile and give him a slow nod. My little cockwarmer. I doubt he even
knows the term, that that’s what he’s doing. Despite him making it clear
he’s not especially in the mood, my own cock does start to stiffen.
But I ignore it, content to just keep talking as arousal simmers beneath
my skin until it’s hardly even noticeable. We chat about any and everything,
mostly him telling me things about himself. I try to make a note of things
that might help me decide where to take him on a date, and eventually, it
does help.
 I don’t even know how long we’ve been talking when he gets up to set
his phone on a small shelf, still letting me see him as he pulls his dildo out
of him and washes up under the shower spray.
It’s all very… domestic is not the right word. But it’s something.
Something personal and cozy. I barely know him, shouldn’t be this
comfortable with him, and yet here I am. Just talking about life while he
soaks his favorite sex toy in his ass.
And the feeling just continues, settling over me like a blanket as he
climbs in bed and snuggles up under his covers. He yawns, and when I ask,
he says he’s not tired, but he’s lying. He just wants to keep talking. I let him
get away with it until his eyes start to look bloodshot, and when I see that
it’s after midnight and that we’ve been talking for three hours, I’m floored.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs, a drowsy smile on his cherry-red lips.
“Night, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

∞∞∞

“S
o, what’s this guy’s name?”
“Cade.” I’m lucky he was working. I made sure I came around
the same time me and Liam came, hoping he always works
mornings, but it still could have been his day off.
“Okay. And why does he hate you?”
“I have no idea.” But it’s pretty clear he does. Or, at least, he definitely
doesn’t like me. “Maybe he’s jealous? Liam says they haven’t been hanging
out as much. Maybe he blames me.” I shrug. It is what it is.
He comes back a few minutes later, sets mine and Jax’s plates in front
of us, and then asks if we need anything else, still being a dick. I regret this.
I can handle assholes, have handled plenty in my life, but this one happens
to be Liam’s best friend. I can’t just beat the fuck out of him because he’s
irritating me.
But I also don’t want to keep letting him disrespect me and my friend.
“You don’t like me very much.” It is definitely not a question. He’s not
being very subtle.
“I don’t know you,” he deadpans with a shrug.
 “Well, if he’s dating your bestie––”
“Dating?” Cade cuts Jax off, which I’m a little grateful for. I didn’t ask
him here to help me––he needs to be a silent supporter, that’s it. “You guys
are fucking. That’s not dating.” He looks at me, his face now fixed in a
subtle glare.
I cock my head, doing my best to keep my face impassive. “That’s your
best friend you’re talking about.” This guy is a problem. I feel it, I just don’t
know why yet––what his reasoning is. “And we are dating.” I want to make
that clear.
“Yeah, okay.” He rolls his eyes, and I almost scoff.
I look at Jax, who is definitely more pissed off than I am. When he
catches me looking at him, I give him a small shake of my head because the
last thing I need is him starting shit with this guy. Liam’s bestie.
“Yup. Their first date is coming up. Any ideas where he should take
him?” Jax smiles at him, trying to goad him, and I have to close my eyes to
breathe so I don’t snap at him. “What? You want your best friend to have a
good time on his date, don’t you?”
I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed and a little confused. Cade just stares
at him, his face briefly going through a few different expressions before he
just sighs and looks at me again. “He really likes Italian food. Have fun.”
“This was stupid,” I say as soon as he walks away.
“It’s not your fault your boyfriend’s bestie wishes he was your
boyfriend’s boyfriend.”
“What?”
“He’s been friendzoned. And is jealous.”
I don’t believe him. He just met him––if that can even be called a
meeting––and I don’t see how he got all of that based on the less than five
minutes of accrued time Cade has been at our table.
“Liam is, like, new to dick-loving, so I’m guessing Cade had no clue he
had a chance. Imagine being in love with your best friend and thinking he’s
straight, and then all of a sudden, he starts dating a guy who isn’t you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“God, you’re clueless,” he waves a hand like he’s dismissing the topic.
“So, our boy really likes Italian. There’s that new place that’s supposed to
be pretty good, Con Amore. Sitdown casual. Oh my gosh,” he laughs
quietly. “Can you imagine yourself in a fancy restaurant? Like, in a suit?”
“No. You think Cade––”
 “Is in love with Liam? I mean… yeah. Maybe you should talk to Liam
about it.”
I roll my eyes because that’s definitely not happening. The topic feels
like it needs someone to discuss it, though. My eyes look for Cade, find him
at another table. Working. He reminds me faintly of Liam, just maybe less
regal. Not as pretty. And nowhere near as sweet.
Liam doesn’t want him, not like that. He said he’s like a brother. And, I
mean, if Jax is right, I suppose I get why Cade is irritated by me. I’d be
pissed if I were watching someone else with Liam, too. And the last thing I
want to do is start any sort of drama with my princess’s friends.
“Alright. I guess I have a good idea for this date thing now.” I take a
bite of my French toast and then tell him where I’d already decided on
taking Liam last night during our phone call.

OceanofPDF.com
 Sixteen
Liam

“W
ould you ever get a tattoo?”
“No,” I answer immediately.
“Never? Not even a little one?”
“Never. They’re super sexy on you, you look great. Ten outta ten. I am
all too aware that tattoos are hot, but I,” I turn my head towards him as we
walk so he knows I mean this. “I’m a total weenie, Bash. I am terrified of
needles. They definitely wouldn’t let me into the Salty Spitoon.”
He laughs behind me––good because I couldn’t handle dating someone
who didn’t watch Spongebob growing up––just as we’re exiting the dome-
shaped theater, the whole reason I’ve wanted to come here for so long. It’s
not like I’m a nut about space and I hope Bash doesn’t think that I am, but
I’d seen videos about this theater and wanted to see it in person. The whole
ceiling is a screen, and you have to lie down in the seats as the film brings
you through space. It lived up to the hype. For me, anyway. I hope Bash
liked it. I look at him, see him smiling at me, and then stop walking.
“Did you like it?” he asks before I can do the same.
“Yeah, it was really cool. Thank you for bringing me.” I lean into him
just a little. “Kiss me.” He hesitates, and it stupidly has me feeling rejected.
I obviously don’t hide it well because he huffs, a frustrated little sound
before he looks quickly at the surrounding areas, and the delicate blush
fanning across his cheeks clues me in on what the problem is. I almost
laugh, but I tamp that down and try again, much softer this time. “Kiss me.”
He does. Slots his mouth over mine as he grabs my chin, and my lips
part for him instantly. It’s only a few seconds before a small group of girls
pass us and start letting out a gaggle of wolf-whistles and catcalls. He pulls
back with a nervous laugh, but my lips follow him. “One more,” I mumble,
pressing into him with a quiet sigh. I keep it chaste, just a very soft suck on
his bottom lip before I push at his chest with the hand I have there to get
him away from me. We’re in public, after all. “They have a photo booth,” I
tell him as I start walking towards it, but when he doesn’t move, I have to
look behind me, and I find him staring at his hand.
The one I’m holding. I try to pull mine away, a little embarrassed––I
didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it––but his hand tightens in mine. A familiar
glare quickly flashes on his face before it’s gone again, and then he’s
walking with me. Holding my hand.
I try not to swoon too fucking hard, but it’s a struggle. I have a feeling
that this is a big deal to him. Like maybe he doesn’t hold hands usually, or
it’s been awhile, or maybe he just doesn’t like it. He doesn’t seem like a
hand-holder. Not at all. But he likes it with me. He’s putting up with it and
trailing behind me, hand in hand.
It reminds me of something.
“I had a dream about you last night.”
“Oh, yeah?” He moves closer to me, all sexily, and I roll my eyes.
“Not that kind of dream. It kind of sucked.” At the questioning look on
his face, I explain. “I was a duck, like a duckling, and I was following you
around everywhere, and you got mad at me. You called me a stupid duck
and tried to kick me, and I tried to tell you that it was me, but you couldn’t
understand me.”
“Because… you were a duck.”
“Well, yeah, but it was still upsetting. I thought about waking you up.”
“To… yell at me?”
I laugh. “No, I don’t know. Just to make sure you wouldn’t try to kick
me if I ever turned into a duck.” I did want to wake him up, though––almost
did. But he looked peaceful, and he touches me a lot when he’s sleeping. He
even drooled on my stomach, but I won’t tell him that. He may not like my
drool, but I don’t mind his.
“I would never kick a duck, Liam.”
I roll my eyes. “Or call me stupid.”
“Just so we’re clear, I did not call you stupid. This was just a dream,
princess.”
“Yeah, well. Let’s keep it that way.” I slide into the photo booth as soon
as the kids who were just in it exit and he comes in after me, looking around
like he’s never been in one before.
 And it turns out he hasn’t. That’s kind of crazy to me, but I walk him
through the process like it’s normal to be an American who has never been
in a single photo booth ever.
“You’re supposed to smile,” I tell him, but he only glares harder,
making me laugh. For the next photo, I kiss him, which just means we end
up staying lip-locked for the rest of them. There’s no hesitancy this time,
now that we’re behind a curtain. His tongue sweeps into my mouth until
I’m panting and reluctant to exit the booth.
I grab the photos in a hurry, still breathing heavily, and hope nobody
watched as they came out. “Shoot.”
“What?” he asks, taking the little line of pictures out of my hand to look
at them.
“Nothing. You’re just sexy. You need to feed me so we can go back to
your place and fuck.”
“I––god, Liam. Be quiet.” Another blush. The sight of his cheeks
flushing pink has me wanting to grab him, kiss the fuck out of him. Who
knew my tatted baddie was so modest?
“Nobody heard me.” I grab his hand and hurry him along, though,
because I’m pretty sure a few people did, in fact, hear me.

∞∞∞

“I
love Italian.” I’ve never been to this place, but Cade and I had
planned on coming. They only opened a few months ago, though,
and we haven’t really been hanging out that much. But now that I’ve
been, I’ll have to bring him. Besides the gym, our shared love for shrimp
and pasta––the kind of food I could only enjoy without my dad knowing––
is something we’ve bonded over.
“I know. I asked Cade.”
“You did?” I look at him, stunned. He doesn’t even realize how sweet
he is or how sweet he can be anyway. To me. He’s kind of, not mean
exactly, just not very tolerant of other people. But to me? A total
marshmallow. Sort of. Just maybe one that’s been cooked over the fire a
second or two too long. “Was he nice?”
 “He was okay.”
That’s not an answer, not a real one. I’ll just have to ask Cade. “Thank
you. For… I don’t know.” I shrug, too nervous to finish the sentence. This
has been the greatest date I’ve ever been on. He’s just so swoony, it’s on the
verge of being sickening. He owns me. Wholly and completely, and he
doesn’t even know it.
There better be more dates after this. God, I’ll probably cry if he
doesn’t ask me out again. I could just ask him, I realize, but I mean, he’s the
undecided one here. I’ve picked him, imprinted on him like a stupid little
duck and everything.
“Bash…” I stop, my brain seizing. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” He looks around, trying to see what I see.
“My dad is walking over.”
We’re both sitting on the same side of the table––because I insisted––
very close together, and it’s Bash who scoots away just as my dad makes it
to our table. My dad is looking at me, brows pitched low over his eyes as a
frown plays on his lips. I know what he sees, why he’s watching me like
this, and weirdly, I kind of want to hide my plate more than I want to hide
the guy I’m on a date with. His eyes fall to my dish, and my fingers twitch,
my blood running cold before he finally looks at Bash.
“You two look like a couple of queers on a date or something. Rebecca
told me to leave you alone because she was sure you were on a date.”
Well, fuck. My father, everyone. I look at Bash, but he’s facing my dad,
his hand on the table balled in a tight fist.
“I––we are on a date.” I breathe out, surprisingly relieved that I was
able to say that. Bash is surprised, too. He turns his head to face me, but I
keep my eyes on my dad, waiting.
“What the fuck?” He sounds okay, but the way his face contorts tells me
he won’t be for long. “Are you––is this why you quit baseball? Turned into
a fa––”
Bash stands up and is just big enough that my dad swallows his words,
taking a step back as Bash gets closer. “Watch your mouth.” He’s the very
definition of the calm before a storm. Seeing him like this has the hair on
my neck standing on end and his deep, warning voice isn’t even directed at
me.
In the background, I can see my stepmom watching with very visible
concern as she slowly makes her way towards us. My dad doesn’t know
how to take Bash, taking a second before he manages to compose himself,
only to end up disappointing me and doubling down.
“I’m his father, I––”
“Then fucking act like it.”
My dad is shaking, he’s so mad. It’s noticeable even in his stunned
silence. Bash is unruffled, spine steeled and solid.
“Are you kidding me?” My dad looks at me, his face turning an
alarming shade of red. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Honestly, I’m
disgusted. I can’t be––”
He doesn’t get to finish before Bash is shoving him. Hard. My dad
almost falls, and if it weren’t for the table behind him, he would have.
“Bash!” I’m on my feet, pulling out my wallet so I can throw some
money on the table. “We need to go.” I reach for him, and he looks at me,
eyes cold. It makes my stomach twist, has insecurity clawing at my skin as I
pull my hand back. I’m my father’s son, but I’m nothing like him. He
knows that. He has to. “Come on.”
He gives me a curt nod before turning and walking towards the exit. I
follow behind him without even glancing at my dad, feeling eyes on us until
we reach the door. I can hear all kinds of hushed murmurs and mentions of
cops, and I can even hear people asking my dad if he’s okay. Which just
kind of adds insult to injury.
He was just pushed. He’s fine. And a bigot. I’m not surprised at the way
he reacted, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
This blows. Fucking bites. Stings. It has me shaking, adrenaline and
fear skating over me. It feels like I did something wrong, and as we climb
into Bash’s Jeep, him being eerily silent, the feeling only grows.
I want to ask him if he’s mad at me, but he’s so… quiet. The leather on
his steering wheel creaks as his fists tighten around it while he pulls out of
the parking lot, and it just doesn’t feel like a good idea to disturb him.
So, I stay silent and agonize, thinking about what this means. If he’s
mad at me, how do I make it better? If he’s mad at me, can I be mad at him
because what the fuck? I didn’t even do anything. It’s not my fault my dad
showed up acting all sorts of dick-ish. But even knowing that doesn’t have
me relaxing. I just stay shaking and pretending I’m not, feeling stupid and
confused and hurt and maybe just a little peeved.
I can’t even be upset about my dad, not really. Yeah, it’s upsetting that
he’s not just okay with me dating a guy, but I didn’t expect him to be cool
with it. And I do think he’ll get over it. Eventually. He doesn’t have a
choice.
He starts to drive towards his place, and I’m almost relieved before I
remember my car being there, the duffle bag I packed for my trip in his
apartment. I have to know what he expects when we get there. If he wants
me just to leave so he can cool off.
“I––are you mad at me?” I don’t mean to sound so weak, my voice
quiet and hollow. I’m a fucking six-foot-one baseball player. Ex-baseball
player. I have muscles and shit. I should not be quaking right now just
because my almost-boyfriend got into what can barely be described as a
tussle and is now angry.
“What?” He looks at me like I’m stupid, and weirdly it has me
breathing easier. “Why the fuck would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, shrugging the slightest bit as I lean against
the seat for the first time since sitting in it. “You sound mad.”
“I am! Not at you, Liam. I’m just––fuck.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m
not sorry.”
I blink. And blink. “Okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t
expect him to be sorry.
“He fucking deserved that. He deserved more than that. He shouldn’t
speak to you like that, and the way he looked at you? Fuck that. Fuck him! I
should have punched him. So, if you want me to be sorry, too fucking bad.”
“I––Bash, I’m not mad. You… were defending me. That’s––thank you.”
It’s problematic. Maybe I should be mad. Bash is twenty-six and resorted to
violence at the very first conflict in this relationship, or what I hope is a
relationship. He shoved my dad.
He most definitely deserved it, though. It may cause problems and lead
to consequences I’m not looking forward to, but I understand why he did it,
and it’s not like it was just me he was insulting. I might even kind of like
that he was so protective of me. That he’s so angry on my behalf.
I reach over and place my hand on his thigh because as much as I
appreciate the concern for me, I don’t want him upset. “Well, I am sorry. I
knew he’d be upset. I should have just lied about the date and told him in
private so he’d leave us alone.”
“No,” he reaches for my hand and envelopes it in his. “No, that was…
that was so good, Liam. You were amazing. I was proud.” He huffs a breath,
giving my hand a squeeze before he releases it to grab ahold of the wheel
again.
“Oh.” I’m smiling, slowly dragging in a quiet, deep breath so I can
process all the feel-good pressure in my chest. His struggle to get through
the words, the way he’s seemingly annoyed with himself for even saying
them, is weirdly endearing. He’s so emotionally stunted. He never really
tells me anything real, doesn’t share how he feels about things or many
details about his life, not even when I ask. But… I made him proud, proud
enough that he told me. And I’m not even naked.
“Liam,” he parks the car and turns his body towards me. “I am sorry.”
He seems… nervous. “I––that was not how I wanted our night to end.”
“It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
He frowns in disbelief.
“It was,” I assure him. “I had fun and, well,” I take a deep breath. “I just
really like you. Dimples,” I add that on, grinning.
“But I pushed your dad.” He’s looking at me like nothing I’m saying is
making any sense, like he just can’t believe I’ve glossed over the situation
so easily. How could I be mad, though? My dad was on his way to saying
some hurtful shit. I disgust him. He almost called me a slur. And even if
Bash’s actions weren’t on my behalf, I still wouldn’t be mad. He was being
offensive not just to me but to gay people in general. Bash is gay, and he
had every right to be mad at the stranger who just waltzed over and shit on
his date.
I huff a soft laugh. “Yeah, but he deserved it.” I don’t mention that it’s
potentially an issue for the future, but that’s tomorrow’s problem anyway.
“And, you know, the night hasn’t exactly ended, Bash.”
His eyes widen. “You still want to fuck, even after I pushed your dad?”
“Ugh,” I toss my head back. “As long as you stop talking about my dad,
yes. We didn’t get to try any of the desserts at Con Amore, so your dick will
just have to do.” I purse my lips, thinking about the food we left and didn’t
get to order. “Although, I do really want to go back so you can try cantucci.
Those are so good.” American biscotti does not count; it doesn’t even
compare to the real thing, and I was excited to watch Bash eat one. The first
time I had them was at a catered event, and I went a little crazy. My dad
forbade sweets but was in a good enough mood to allow me to have one.
Only one turned into too many to count, and I left the event with some even
hidden in my pocket.
 “Your ass needs to be studied,” he shakes his head, dimples engaged,
and the sight of those little divots has my mind relaxing and body tensing.
I’m so fucking gone for him, it’s insane. “Went twenty-one years without a
dick, and now it needs one every day,” he shakes his head––again––with a
little tsk, feigning sympathy.
“My ass?” I tilt my head in confusion before it hits me. “Oh!” I have to
palm my face, embarrassed that I fucking forgot that’s what that thing is
actually called.
“Ah,” Bash––the fucker––laughs. “I meant your pussy, princess. My
bad.” He leans over the center console and goes for a kiss, but I shove at his
face.
“You and your stupid dimples just need to get out of the car.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Seventeen
Liam

“I
got you something,” he mumbles against my mouth, the sound
muffled since I won’t let him pull away enough to even breathe, let
alone speak. I make a questioning sound, sucking on his lip for a
moment before he fists my hair and tugs, forcing our mouths apart. It’s not
rough, but I glare at him all the same. “Well, okay, it’s more for me than
you, but I think you’ll like it. It’s okay if you don’t, I promise. But I hope
you do.”
“What is it?” I ask, interest fully piqued. He walks me to the couch and
then tells me to wait for him, making me a little nervous as I’m forced to do
as he says. Maybe I should have gotten him something. Or, no. He says it’s
more for him anyway. So, a sex toy? I can’t imagine it being anything else.
God, I hope it’s a sex toy.
“You wrapped it?” I smile, reaching for the small pink box adorned
with one of those big lacey ribbons done up in a cute bow. “This is so cute.”
He grunts, literally grunts like a caveman, as he hands it to me. “No,
I––the place I bought it from wrapped it.” He’s embarrassed, I realize.
That’s adorable. I almost want to tell him that he’s blushing, but I get the
sense that this doesn’t happen a lot, and I don’t want to make it worse.
So, I just wordlessly undo the bow as he sits next to me, pressing his
thigh against mine, his hand laying on the middle of my back. He’s
slowly––is it slow, though?––gotten more comfortable with touching me
outside of sex, and I am here for it.
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I definitely did not expect this.
“You don’t have to wear it, obviously.” He leans in closer before telling
me, “But I do think you’d look real fucking good if you did.”
 I shiver and turn my head toward him in search of his mouth, letting out
a quiet sigh as his tongue slips over mine.
“Okay, I’ll put them on.” I stand up and freeze. “But you can’t watch
me.”
“What?” He thinks I’m kidding.
“Close your eyes.”
“Princess, I’ve already seen you naked.”
“Bash!” He stares at me, and I huff. I pull my shirt off and lay it over
his head, covering his eyes. I just can’t handle him focused on me as I’m
doing this. “Don’t peek!” I order, ignoring it when he grumbles
incoherently and leans back against the couch. It doesn’t take me long to get
undressed, and I try to hurry to pull on the silky underwear. It looks like…
lingerie, maybe, but for men. It fits over my dick even with me half-hard,
the very soft, dusty pink fabric rubbing over my sac in a way that has me
wanting to just squeeze myself, so that I can feel it more.
“Can I look now?”
I ignore him, feel at the lacey hemline until I’m cupping my own ass,
and then blush because I didn’t even notice the large slit in the back. “Oh,”
I run my fingers over my crease and then step closer to Bash and grab his
hands so I can put them on me. I guide them to my cheeks and laugh when
he just grabs a handful in each hand before tugging me into his space.
“Fuck,” he kisses my stomach. “Let me see you, Liam. Come on,” he
goes back to mouthing my abs, moving with a soft urgency that doesn’t
quite match the desperation in his voice. I pull my shirt off of his eyes but
immediately kiss him, still a little nervous about him seeing me like this. I
tug his shirt off as I climb into his lap, straddling him and pressing as
closely into him as I can manage. He allows it, both of us losing ourselves
for minutes on end as we lap at each other’s mouths, the endless kisses so
wet and languorous as we share every breath.
“We should go to the bedroom, sweetheart,” he says after long minutes,
his pupils blown, lips so swollen that I can’t help but kiss them again.
“We will,” I assure him, climbing off of his lap and standing between
his spread thighs, having to pry his hands off of me before I can.
“Jesus,” he breathes, his hands going back to my hips in a firm hold.
“You look amazing. You’re perfect, princess. You’re so fucking wet for
me.” He leans in, head dipping until he can suck on the wet spot on the
panties he picked out for me, just over the sensitive head of my dick.
 “Wait,” I grab his face, press my lips to his as I sink to my knees in
front of him. “Let me suck you first.” I’m by no means a dick-sucking pro,
not like he is, and honestly, I’m not even sure that I like doing it.
But I do like the way he looks at me when I’m on my knees for him, the
way he moans when the focus is on him for once. When he tells me that I’m
making him feel good. I fucking love that, so as much as I want to be on my
back, legs spread and pussy filled, that can wait.
He sweeps a delicate hand through my hair as I shuffle closer, lips
pulled in a lazy grin as his hooded eyes douse me in the sweetest, most
sensual fire ever. “You’re so beautiful, Liam. I could look at you all fucking
day.”
I don’t even know what to say to that––how to act when he gets all
sweet on me––so I just let it fill me up as I work his jeans open until I can
pull him free. He grabs himself, leading his wet tip, flushed a shiny almost-
maroon color, right to my parted lips, and I let my tongue lave over the slit
before I roll it around the head. I moan, beating him to it, and decide that
it’s possible I like it more than I realized.
My hand takes over, grabbing the rigid length in my fist so I can pump
more of that faintly salted precum out. I let him stretch my lips slowly,
sinking down unhurriedly as I stroke him, keeping in mind that my hand is
still dry.
“So good, sweetheart.” He cups the base of my skull, just a light touch
as he groans above me, dragging out louder noises from me.
Fuck, I’m hard. It’s impossible not to focus on, and I swear I try, but my
movements are getting sloppier, my mouth leaking spit all down his cock,
until I can see it pooling in the neatly trimmed hair around the base through
teary eyes. My hips are moving, trying and failing to find friction, and I
have to pull off of him to gulp in some much-needed air.
“Fuck, sorry.” I keep stroking him until he grips my wrist, and then I
use my other hand to rub softly over my dick through the lace, just trying to
calm down.
“Is my pillow princess touching himself?”
I whimper, press my forehead to his knee, and stop all movements,
putting my palms on the couch.
“Shh,” he kisses the top of my head. “Wait right here.”
“No,” I start to get up with him, but he kisses me and presses a hand on
my shoulder.
 “I’ll be right back.”
I hold in my complaints, feeling cold as I lay my forehead on the
cushion in front of me. I’m almost annoyed before I hear him come back a
moment later. But I don’t move, not until he’s behind me and telling me to
lean over the couch. “Why?” But I do as he says anyway.
“Your pussy is too tight, sweetheart. I’m just going to open you up,
okay? Be good for me.”
He breaches me with two lubed fingers, shocking me enough that I sit
up, back arching with a gasp.
“Shh,” he presses his lips to my shoulder, just at the bend of my neck.
“Come on, love. You can take it. I’ll be quick.”
“Fuck,” I hiss as his fingers rotate, sliding in and out with ease as he
rushes through stretching me open. “I’m ready now,” I tell him after a few
minutes of this, tired of hearing my own voice as I moan. But he doesn’t
listen, only pulls out so he can slide three inside me, and I fall back over the
edge of the couch. “Bash, please. Please, just fuck me. Now.”
“I can’t do that, sweetheart. I’m supposed to be fucking that pretty face
of yours, remember?”
I whine, agonized that he’s being so fucking mean. I can’t handle being
teased and am about to tell him so when he takes his fingers out. A second
later, something blunt is notched against my rim, and I still.
“What is that?”
“That pink cock your little cunt likes so much.” His hand curls around
my hip, slowly urging me down, and I acquiesce with a loud moan, being
stretched and filled and fucked. “That better, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I lift up, focus on dragging the tip over my spot, and say it again.
I’m vaguely aware of him walking around me, meaning the dildo is stuck to
the ground, and I have to sink even lower and spread my thighs a bit just so
I can.
“I fucking love when you say that. Let’s get this hole filled, too,
princess.” His thumb slips through my lips as he sits back down, and I
moan around it, sucking on it before he hooks it over my teeth and pulls me
towards his dick again. “Open.”
I swallow him down with no finesse, going too fast and gagging. I get
back into it, making sure to hollow my cheeks as I bob my head over him,
all while my hips stay rocking on the fake cock. It’s so good. Has my body
floating and my mind going blissfully empty, my every instinct focused on
just taking it from both ends.
He stands up and starts actually fucking my face when it becomes clear
that I’m unable to do it myself, the ecstasy coursing through me too all-
consuming and making it too hard to do anything but feel.
My mouth tries to open as I start coming, but then I’m choking, the tip
of his dick hitting the back of my throat, and I can’t do anything but allow
it, not even seeing as my body shakes and twitches through the bodily
assault. I can’t stop riding the dildo, even when my orgasm starts to settle,
but I manage to go back to sucking him.
I swear I’m coming again, not even a minute later, my hole pulsing and
squeezing so hard I have no choice but to stop moving. I’m not even aware
that I pulled off of him until he’s groaning, the slick sounds of him stroking
himself being drowned out by all the cum hitting my face. I barely even
flinch, too sated to do much of anything.
“Shit.” That was supposed to be in my mouth.
“Let me,” he pants, chest rising and falling heavily as he stands above
me. I hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten naked. “Fuck, princess. I need to
paint your face more often.”
I don’t even care that I’m covered in his mess. Just nod my head lazily
as my eyes slip closed, my hands fisted and pressed hard on my thighs so I
can stay sitting up. That was a lot. I came hard. So did he.
“Here,” he sits back down, grabs his shirt off of the arm of the couch,
and then starts gently dragging it over my face. “Do you want to shower?”
When he’s done with his shirt, I just lay my head back on his bare thigh.
“In a bit. I’m––I don’t think I can move yet.”
“Did you come in your panties, sweetheart?” His blunt nails lightly
scratch at my nape, and a shiver crawls down my spine at the feel.
My hand moves to check, even though we both know I did. They’re
soaked. “Are they silk? I don’t know how to clean that.” I’ll have to look it
up, google the best way to get cum out of silk.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I smile, sitting up. I believe him, that he’ll take care of it for me.
“Are you showering with me?” I ask, reaching behind me to steady the
dildo as I try to stand up, wincing as I do. Going from full to empty is
always an adjustment, almost as uncomfortable as that first inward thrust.
 Bash stands up to help me, and when I’m finally upright, I lean into
him. I rest my head under his chin, tyring to make myself smaller as his
arms wrap around me. He starts to lead me to the bathroom, telling me that
he’ll clean up our mess in the morning.

∞∞∞

“B
ash?”
“Hm?” He pulls me closer, runs his nose down my neck, and
breathes me in even though he’d insisted it was weird when I’ve
done it before.
“Are you… seeing other people?”
“What?” His hands tighten their hold on me. “No. I––are you?” He
leans back, trying to look at me through the darkness in the room.
“Of course not,” I smooth my hand down his chest. “Just you.” I can’t
even imagine anyone else touching me, taking me on dates, or sleeping in
bed next to me. Honestly, it’s a little hard thinking about sleeping alone
again at all. We haven’t done this much, but sleeping in my childhood bed
without this tatted fucker all over me for three nights sucked. No morning
cuddles, no sleepy grumblings that make zero sense, no catching random
whiffs of mint. I fucking missed him, even in my sleep.
I’m not seeing anyone else, not even thinking of anyone else. He’s all I
want.
“Okay. Okay, good. It’s just you for me.” He settles back against his
pillow, his hands relaxing again now that we’ve cleared that up.
“Okay,” I smile. “Bash?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Princess, go to sleep.”
“I don’t really know a lot about you. I’ve told you lots of things. Like,
about my childhood and my family and my friends. You don’t have to tell
me anything you don’t want to, but… I want to know you.”
He’s silent. If it weren’t for his breathing and his thumb still rubbing
small circles on my hip, I’d think he’d fallen asleep. It’s a long time before
he finally clears his throat. “I had a shitty childhood.”
“You don’t ha––”
 “Just be quiet. It was okay for a while. My mom was amazing. She was
the best. My dad was always a drinker, but it didn’t get bad until after he
lost his job––that’s when he got mean. Not just to my mom, but to me and
my little sister, too.”
I scoot closer, half expecting him to want space when he’s being so
vulnerable, but all he does is run his hand up the knobs of my spine.
“Is that why you don’t drink?” It’s something I’ve noticed. He didn’t
drink at Class and turned down wine earlier, even when I ordered a glass.
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t mind if you do, it’s just… I don’t want to––” he
sighs, struggling to articulate.
“I get it.” I make a mental note to be mindful of my drinking from now
on, for as long as he’s willing to have me. He says he doesn’t care, but I
think he does. “I remember you saying that you don’t like taking care of
drunks.” He said it when I was drunk, and despite saying it, he was, in fact,
taking care of me. He always does.
“I––yeah. I used to have to wash my mom’s hair or try to move her off
the floor. My dad, I just let be. I didn’t care where he ended up, but it was
hard just leaving my mom so…”
My throat squeezes, his words almost closing around me like a fist. I
felt embarrassed that morning after coming here shitfaced, but now I feel
guilty. Why’d he even do it?
“She wasn’t always a drinker. The roses––remember me telling you that
my mom grew roses? She was obsessed with them. She looked after them
as much as she looked after us, y’know? Probably more.” He says it fondly,
voice warm but a little sad, too. “So, when those started dying, I don’t
know. She just wasn’t the same.” His voice drops the more he talks, his
hand still running up and down my back, like he’s comforting me when it
should be me comforting him.
But I don’t know what to do or say to make his past better. I just keep
listening.
“I remember coming home one day and seeing them, all droopy and
sad. Ugly. It scared me. It terrified me seeing them like that, and then I went
inside and saw her… she had started drinking that day and then just didn’t
stop. And with both of them… they started doing other things. Drugs.
That’s how she died. She overdosed. I got up for school to see if I could
actually go to school one day and just take a fucking break and eat
something warm or if I had to stay home and watch my baby sister––
again––and she was just… cold. Want to know what I did?”
“Bash,” I whisper, shuffle closer still until he rolls over on his back, and
I’m left to just lay half on top of him.
“I just went to the park. Got my sister dressed and hung out there for
hours.”
“I’m sorry.” It feels like the most insignificant thing I could have said,
but what else is there to say? I wish I could go back in time and give little
him a hug. I wonder if anybody even did, and immediately know the
answer. He didn’t have anybody.
“Shit got worse. If I ever doubted he loved my mom, once she died, he
proved he did. He was so sad. Fucking useless. Just lifeless ninety percent
of the time, and pissed off and wasted the other ten percent. It never made
any sense to me. He fucking beat her all the time, Liam. He broke her.” He
stops talking for a moment, and I swear I’m going to cry, my throat burns so
bad. But this isn’t about me, so I try to stop it.
“Why couldn’t he have acted like he fucking cared about her while she
was alive?”
He goes silent, prompting me to speak. “I don’t know.”
“Me either,” he sighs, and I somehow press closer, listening to the air
move through his lungs.
“How’d you end up so… great?”
He snorts, but I mean it. You hear stories like this, and more often than
not, those kids just end up like their parents. But he didn’t.
“You are, though. You’re kind of amazing. You know that, right?” I
hope he does, that he sees how insane it is that he isn’t anything like them.
“I made it out, but I wasn’t… I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have.”
“You were a kid, Bash. He––did he hurt…”
“Yeah. I’m okay, though. I’m fine now.” His arms squeeze around me,
once again comforting me and I feel like shit for it.
“Because you’re strong,” my voice is thick but I don’t have it in me to
be embarrassed by it. “You practically raised yourself––and your sister, it
sounds like.”
“No, only for a little while. She was adopted when she was ten, after
my dad went to prison.”
“What about you?” My chest tightens just thinking about it, about what
that could’ve meant for him and all of the adults who failed him. “Where is
she now?”
“I––” he huffs out a breath. “They were cool. They adopted me a year
later.”
“Why a year later, though?”
He snorts again, his hand finally stilling on my back. “They didn’t want
me.”
“What? I’m sure that’s not––”
“It’s fine, Liam. I was a pissed-off teen with tattoos and piercings and a
fucking juvie record. And they’re, like, the most mundane suburban couple
you could imagine. White picket fence and everything.”
“If they didn’t want you, then why––”
“Because of her. Because of Anna. She got depressed, cried about
missing me all the time. They started bringing her for visits, but then they
said that it just made things worse when she had to leave me there––it was a
boys’ group home. They took her to a therapist who recommended slowly
cutting off contact, but they were kind enough not to do that. So, they
looked into adopting me.”
“Were they nice to you?” I fucking hope so. I hope somebody was.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “They’re cool. I still see them sometimes. Anna
never really got to know our bio-parents before all the drugs and shit. So, it
was easy for her to forget them––to move on. She was almost six years
younger than me, and I did what I could, but she was hit too. Not a lot,” he
says, like he feels the need to defend himself and I shake my head and lean
up to kiss at his jawline. “I’m grateful for them, our adoptive parents. I am,
I just never really got on with them. I didn’t get in trouble or anything, not
after I moved in with them, but they never felt like my parents. It’s probably
my fault. They tried, I think.”
“They could have tried harder.”
His arms squeeze me, just for a moment, before he laughs. “No, they
tried. Walter bought me a brand new punching bag, like a nice one, when he
saw how much I liked the one at the public gym. I never hit it. Not once. It
made me feel like he was just waiting for me to go back to fighting people
and was trying to prevent it. Honestly, I think a part of me just stopped
fighting to spite him.”
I shake my head the slightest bit. I can see that. It fits his whole I-don’t-
need-any-help attitude.
 “He offered to teach me how to drive, and I said ‘no thanks.’ He gave
me a bank account with enough money to cover my first year of college,
and I just didn’t use it. Not a single penny.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t really know. They already had Anna, and they loved her so
much. She deserved that, and they just… they didn’t want me, so I tried to
be as small of a problem as I could be.”
“Bash,” I try to sit up, but he holds me tighter, making it impossible.
“You didn’t even give them a chance. That’s crazy.”
His tendency to grump about all over the place definitely makes more
sense. He’s emotionally stunted. I knew that, but now I know the reasons or
some of them at least. I just want to… love him and shit. He won’t make it
easy, I know he won’t, but that’s okay.
“Well, I want you. So, you better let me––”
“Shut up,” his hand covers my mouth as he rolls us until I’m on my
back, his face hovering above mine, his floppy hair skimming my forehead.
“That’s all you’re going to get out of me for a while, so I hope you enjoyed
it.”
I didn’t enjoy it. That’s not what it was about, but he knows that. I’m
just glad he was able to open up, that he wanted to. That he trusted me
enough to do it. Tell me things and let me in. That’s all I wanted, and that’s
what he gave me.
I drag in a deep breath through my nose, feeling blissfully overwhelmed
with his presence, his very being just filling me up as he sweeps a thumb
over a tear that I didn’t even realize had slipped free.
“Kiss me,” I order the second he removes his hand. He does, falls onto
me, chest to chest, with enough force that I expel a breath before his lips
actually meet mine. He kisses me stupid, has me panting and whimpering
until he decides he’s done, rolling off of me just when I start feeling him up
and giving us both room to breathe.
He tells me that he’s okay now, sensing that I need to hear it and I want
to roll my eyes at myself. I know he is, mostly. But there are some things
that do make more sense now that I know all of this.
He’s just so hard. Like he’s got a shell encasing him, protecting him.
That he even feels like he needs to protect himself has me wanting to cry
for real. Nobody has ever done it for him. I want to, though. If he’ll let me.
 I can’t help but smile despite the previously somber mood, my head
fuzzy because I’m going to whether he lets me or not.
“Y’know,” I say after a bit, wanting to change the subject I think. “My
ex-girlfriend’s name was Anna.”
“The cheater?”
“Yeah,” I yawn. But she’s not a Crawford.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eighteen
Bash

“H
oly fuck,” Liam croaks, his morning voice smothered as he yanks
his pillow over his head. “Bash. Make it stop.”
I toss the comforter off of me, annoyed that I’m even awake
right now. It’s too fucking early for all this noise. I know who it is, and I
know she won’t stop until I answer the door, so I force myself out of bed to
walk down the hall.
“God, you sleep like the dead. The building could collapse, and you’d
be the last to know,” Anna barrels past me the second I open the door.
“Why?” I’m too tired, meant to ask why she’s here so early, but sure.
That works––not that she even fucking answers me. She just rushes to the
bathroom because, of course, she does.
I sit at the kitchen table, immediately letting my head rest against the
wall. Hopefully, she doesn’t plan on staying very long. I can’t even imagine
what she’d need before seven in the morning.
“Who’s here?”
I open my eyes––unaware they’d even shut––to see Liam standing in
front of me, dressed in my clothes––an oversized tee and a pair of old grey
gym shorts I usually only wear to sleep in. He should keep them. They’re
his now. I don’t even understand how they look that fucking good on him,
but my hands are on him, tugging him between my legs until he has no
choice but to sit on my lap.
“We’re going to break this chair.” But he doesn’t bother getting up, just
hunches over, making himself fit as my hands settle on his hip. “Who’s
here?” he asks again, his hair tickling my neck.
“My sister.”
 “Oh.” He straightens and tries to get up, but I hold him hostage, forcing
his back against my chest.
“It’s fine.” She’ll be surprised, maybe a little annoying about it, but it’s
okay. She was going to have to meet him anyway.
“Well, I should at least be in my own chair.”
“No.” I press my nose into his neck, wrapping my arms around his
stomach so he gets the hint. He huffs a short laugh but finally relaxes in my
hold, only to tense up a second later as the bathroom door opens. “It’s fine,”
I insist. He’ll just have to see for himself.
“Bash,” his fingers dig into my forearms, and when I don’t let him
remove my arms from him, he turns his body to face me as much as he can.
“Your last name is Crawford.” His eyes are wide, bouncing between mine
as he waits for me to respond, but I don’t get it. Wha––
“Liam? What the hell are you––are you two––wait, wait, wait. What the
fuck?” She has her hands out in front of her, shock overtaking her features.
“Bash,” Liam whispers, still facing me, and when I look at him, I see
how worried he is, but I don’t know what the fuck is going on. “Please
don’t make this a thing. Please.” His eyelashes flutter a few times before he
closes his eyes and just goes still, his hands on my ribcage.
“So, this is why you dumped me. Because you’re fucking gay!”
“Oh, shit.” Anna. The cheater. She’s––understandably––pissed. I’d be
pretty fucking surprised if she started dating one of my hookups, too, but
she’s going to have to calm down.
Liam’s eyes open, his lips parting as he gets ready to defend himself to
me, but he doesn’t need to. This is… it complicates shit, but I’ll handle it.
“No wonder you were so fucking lame in bed. He’s gay!” She laughs
humorlessly to seemingly nobody.
“That is not––” he sputters, his face flushing as he processes what she
said.
“Anna, shut the fuck up.”
“You’re fucking my ex, Sebastian! I’m allowed to be pissed.”
“Anna,” I stand, forcing Liam to get up as well. His face is still red,
eyes not looking at either of us as he cups the back of his neck. “You need
to relax. We––”
“He fucking broke up with me over text for no reason.” Liam scoffs,
which pulls her focus––her unwarranted rage––back on him. We both know
why he broke up with her and, honestly, he’s a better person than me. I
doubt I’d be able to calmly dump him over text if he cheated on me. “Or I
guess there is a reason! He takes it up the ass now, so––”
“Anna!”
She flinches, the sound of her name said like that scaring her into
silence. I rarely raise my voice. I don’t usually have to. I can say shit and
get my point across without yelling, but she’s being crazy––Liam doesn’t
deserve to have anybody, let alone the ex who cheated on him, saying this
bullshit to him. I remember him asking me if I thought he was boring in
bed, how meek he’d been when he said it. It had pissed me off to see him so
insecure, and he’s only just now started accepting his sexuality––came out
to his dad just last night. She doesn’t need to come here and weaponize his
insecurities like this.
She stares at me, stunned and offended that I spoke to her like that, and
I know that I need to explain shit. “Liam, maybe you should go,” I turn to
him and have to watch as his face crumples, the sight making my chest
clench.
“Bash, no. I––”
“I’ll see you later, okay? I just have to talk to her.” I clear my throat,
hoping that I’m not coming off too abrasive. I am abrasive most of the time,
but I don’t want to be. Not with him.
He bites his lip, looks at me with a plea in his eyes that has me wanting
to go to him.
“Bash? You’ll see him later––what the fuck? Seb, what is this?”
I sigh. “Liam, please.”
“Whatever.” His face smooths out into utter impassivity, and it’s
infinitely worse. His keys are next to him on the kitchen table, and he
doesn’t bother going back to the room to grab his things. He just slides on
his shoes by the front door and leaves, not even sparing a look back.
“I cannot believe this. My mind is blown. It’s like I stepped into the
fucking Twilight Zone.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I manage to say rather composedly, but that doesn’t
stop her from gaping at me. “I’m not ending it. He’s––I’m fucking keeping
him.” Just so we’re clear.
She blinks at me, at a complete loss for words, before narrowing her
eyes at me. “What happened to you wanting to kick my ex’s ass? I still have
the texts, big brother. He dumped––”
 “You cheated on him, Anna. Don’t act like a victim. It’s embarrassing.
Honest to god, I am fucking embarrassed for you right now.”
“I did not––he is––how––” She chokes on her own voice, slowly losing
her conviction to continue lying.
I know Liam was telling the truth, and I know my little sister enough to
know it’s something she would do. I don’t think that either of us are
especially good people. She’s not a bad person, she just has a very warped
sense of what love is––what relationships are. I would never try to make
excuses for her, but I know her. I believe Liam.
“How did he know?”
“He showed up on his birthday while you and someone named Sam
fucking Martin were in your room.” I can’t help but smile despite this not
being at all funny. I don’t know who Sam is, but Liam does not like him.
“Well,” she has the decency to blush, looking ashamed now that it’s
clear I know the truth. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. That’s––” Her hand
pauses halfway through her hair as she turns to face the living room. I have
a pretty open floor plan, nothing other than a counter space separating the
kitchen from the living space. “Why is there a dildo stuck to the floor?”
“Oh. Don’t look at that.” I move to block her view, certain that Liam
would not want her seeing his emotional support dildo like that. Leaning
down to pick it up is a mistake. It’s a little awkward when my hand meets
lube, half-dried and crusty but still slick enough that my hand ends up
slipping off of it. “Fuck,” I mutter, grabbing the shirt he left there last night
and wiping it and my hand off before finally pulling it off the hardwood
flooring.
“He’s gay, fucking my brother, and rides giant, hot pink dildos. That’s
just… great.”
“Leave him alone. You need to apologize to him, actually. You were a
bitch.”
“I walked in to find my ex-boyfriend sitting on my brother’s lap, Seb. A
little freak out was definitely warranted!”
“You sounded like a bigot. You’re going to apologize.” I wrap the sex
toy up in the T-shirt before turning around and facing her, acting like it’s not
an unusual thing to have in my hand as I stand in front of my sister.
Her eyes sweep over the wadded-up fabric in my hand, and her lips
tighten. “He’s… a bit of a size queen,” she huffs a laugh as I glare at her.
“Do not tease him about this.”
 She once again gapes at me, stunned at my reaction, but I mean it. He
does not need that. Not from her.
“You’re, like, really serious about him, huh?”
My jaw clenches as I stare at her, a mental hurdle making it difficult to
just say the very obvious answer. “We… are dating.”
“You look constipated.”
I roll my eyes. “I mean it. He’s mine.”
“You’re blushing,” she smiles as I scoff. I don’t blush. That’s stupid. “If
he weren’t someone I’ve had sex with, I’d think this was cute. Your very
first boyfriend,” she juts her bottom lip out in a fake pout.
“Don’t ever say that again.”
“Yes, well, I have had sex wi––”
“Don’t.” I cringe. I don’t want to think about him with anyone else,
period, but my sister? I definitely don’t want to think about that.
“So you do see the problem here?”
“You need to be okay with this, Anna. I… like him.”
She nods her head slowly, searching my face for something, and I make
sure to hold the stare. I mean what I said, and hopefully, she realizes how
big of a deal this is to me without giving me––or Liam––any more grief.
“I will be okay with it––I am okay with it. I was just surprised. And
rightfully so.”
That eases some of––a lot of––my worries. Her struggling with this
wouldn’t have stopped me from seeing him, and nothing will at this point,
but it would have created unnecessary problems. “You need to apologize to
him.”
“Fine! Jesus, overprotective much?” she sneers at me, but it’s mostly
teasing, so I let it go. “Can you, like, do something with that?” She waves at
my hand, and I move it behind my back.
“Why are you even here?” I head towards the room but stop at the
entrance to throw it on my bed. When I come back, I move to the kitchen
table again, sitting down as she takes a seat on the other side.
She tells me that she wanted to trade cars for the day, needing the extra
space in my Jeep to move into a bigger apartment with her roommate, and I
reluctantly agree. When she starts getting annoying, asking questions about
Liam and me, I tell her to leave.
She just ignores me, pressing for more information. How we met, how
long it’s been going on, when the wedding is. It’s annoying how
embarrassed I am just answering questions, how I have to look daggers at
her to try and get her to leave me alone, but the blades are too fucking dull
to have the effect I want. It’s infuriating. She accuses me of being lovesick
and says it so genuinely that it pisses me off, and when I try to change the
subject, she only laughs before continuing.
“You know you hurt his feelings, right? He’s the sensitive type and was
upset when you made him leave. You haven’t really screamed good
boyfriend so far.”
That has my chest and fists tightening. I’m not a good boyfriend. I’ve
never even been a boyfriend. I never thought too much about dating, but I
was sure I was not entirely fit for it. I’m too off-putting. Closed down and
kind of a dick. In the past, I was quick to anger, fought with fists more than
words. That’s settled––a lot––but with who my dad was, it’s hard not to
keep the worry in the back of my mind. I would never hit Liam, I’d fucking
kill anyone that did, but maybe that’s part of my problem––problems.
I’m fiercely protective of those I care about, and as small as the list is, it
has landed me in many fights. Last night was just a mild example. It
could’ve been worse.
I’ll work on it. For now, I just have to focus on… opening up, I guess.
It’s been difficult just to show him the little bit that I have. But I’m going to
keep doing it, show him more. Let him get to know me.
I don’t want to be a bad partner, do things wrong. I just know that I will.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try to be a good boyfriend, though.
“It was your fault,” I insist because it definitely was. She was saying
shit he just did not need to hear, and I wanted him away from her and her
misplaced anger. “That’s why you’re going to tell him that you’re sorry.”
“Oh my god,” she grumbles. “You’re going to be insufferable as a
boyfriend. He’s a big boy, Bash. But, whatever, I will tell your pink-dildo-
riding boyfriend that I am so very sorry.” Her face sobers as I fix my
unimpressed eyes on her. “Sorry,” she grins sheepishly. “I––so you are
lovesick, huh?”
“No.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you are. When you talk about him, you get
the dumbest look on your face. Like, truly, big brother. You were waxing
poetic in your head, I can tell. There were sonnets about him and his pink
dildo playing in there.” She reaches over the table to tap my forehead.
“You can leave now.”
 She does, after fucking with my espresso machine, and my thoughts are
immediately on Liam. I go to my room to find my phone and text him, but
when I do, I find it sitting right next to his.
“Fuck.”
He was upset when he left, so much so that he just left all of his things
here without a thought. I’m going to fix it.

∞∞∞

M
y hand knocks against the door, just under the number thirteen,
which has clearly been painted pink––the paint chipping to reveal
the original gold coloring beneath it. I had to call Anna and ask if
she knew his address. She did, luckily, let me know how to get here and
how to find apartment thirteen.
A skinny guy answers the door wearing a flannel pajama set––pink and
white with a buttoned top and shorts––immediately giving me a look of
appraisal.
“Hello,” he says with a flirty smile. I know from Liam that he’s Baby,
but I’m not going to call him that. It’s such a stupid name––a nickname I
assume. Especially for a grown man. Even for a twink.
“Hi. Is Liam here?”
His head tilts as he once again lets his eyes skim over me, this time
taking me in with a look of recognition. “You’re Sebastian. Huh. No
wonder,” he huffs a short, almost bitter laugh. “No, sorry.” His voice drops,
all hint of the smile he was wearing gone. “He had a class to get to. Do you
have his phone, though? I don’t know why he insists on losing that thing so
much, but he said he left it at your place.”
“Yeah,” I pull it out of my pocket, a little disappointed that I missed
him. Baby reaches for it, but I don’t let him take it. “Will you tell him that I
came by? Actually, just tell him I’ll come back after work tonight.”
His eyes widen a bit, and he slowly takes the phone from me as I hand
it to him. “So, you’re not––are you guys still… together?”
My brow line creases. What the hell does that mean? “Does he think
we’re not?”
 He laughs. “I think he’s confused. He just seemed upset. Actually, he
was ticked off enough to accidentally come out to me.”
I frown. This guy is judging me, clearly on Liam’s side here, which is
good. I guess. They are roommates, after all, friends, I think. I’m still trying
to wrap my head around him thinking I was ending things. Or, shit, maybe
he’s thinking of ending things. That thought has my jaw tightening.
“Apparently, you dismissed him. Have a habit of doing it, in fact,” he
raises an accusing brow at me.
“I didn’t––” I look away for a split second to shove a growl down. “I
just had to talk to my sister. I’ll come by after work. You’ll tell him?” I ask,
not meaning to sound as hopeful as I do.
“I guess,” he sighs, and it just makes me want to shake him. “But you
have to bring me a present.”
“What?” I stare at him, confused and growing more irritated by the
second.
“It’s my birthday, and it sounds like you’re crashing my party. So, bring
a gift.” When all I do is continue glaring at him, he smiles. “Or no
entrance,” he says with a shrug before shutting the door in my face.
Well. What the fuck?

OceanofPDF.com
 Nineteen
Liam

“W
hat’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I sit down on my bed and lay back, arms
sprawled as much as the full-sized mattress allows. Bash has a
king. Coming home to lay in this one feels wrong after spending two nights
in his bed. With him. The idea of sleeping alone tonight pricks at my very
being.
It’s dramatic and has me rolling my eyes at myself, but I can’t help but
feel it. I don’t want to sleep alone, not anymore.
“Is it… Sebastian?”
My head snaps in Cade’s direction at the sound of his indignant voice.
He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, a neutral expression on his face as he
picks at his jeans.
“Do you care?” I feel kind of bad as soon as I say it, but I mean, does
he? My guess is that he doesn’t.
“Well, did he do something?” He actually sounds interested this time,
maybe even looks it. I already told Baby this morning because I had to tell
someone, and chances are it’ll come up. So, I guess I should just get it over
with.
“Remember Anna?” I sit up and face him. When he raises his eyebrows
at me in impatience, I keep going. “She’s his sister.”
“What?”
“Yeah. She’s Bash’s little sister.”
“Oh shit,” he laughs.
“It’s not funny. She was really pissed. She thinks I dumped her because
I’m gay––because I take it up the ass now,” I huff, but then realize what I
said. “Oh. I––” I don’t know how to explain that away, and my face heats as
he gives me a grin that doesn’t exactly meet his eyes. I’d expect
amusement, maybe disgust, not… I have no idea what he’s feeling, actually.
“Did you break up with her because of that?”
“No! I had no idea I was into guys back then. She… cheated on me.” I
don’t know why I never told Cade that. I could have, I guess, but the idea of
anyone knowing just seemed too embarrassing.
And she confirmed that the reason she cheated on me was because I’m
fucking lame in bed. If I’d told people she slept with someone else while
dating me, she would have clapped back with that, and I would have died.
Literally. “With Sam-fucking-Martin,” I add.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me that? Sam… that’s your teammate,
right? He’s the guy who took over pitching.”
“Whatever,” I grumble. “But yeah, that’s why I broke up with her. And
today, she showed up at Bash’s and saw us together and basically freaked
out. And now he’s probably going to dump me.”
He purses his lips, taking a few seconds before responding. “He’s not
going to break up with you just because you used to date his sister. That’s
stupid. If he does, then fuck him.”
If he does, I won’t be able to. And yeah, that sucks. Even thinking about
it has me feeling cast down, but more than that, I’d just miss him. I can
already feel it, the beginnings of inner turmoil and torment. I’m pretty sure I
already do miss him.
“You don’t get it,” I tell him miserably. “They’re close. He, like, raised
her basically. And she was upset.” She was kind of a bitch, actually. But it’s
true. He is close to her, and he spent a good chunk of his fucked up
childhood protecting her. It’s hard to imagine he’s just okay with me being
her ex-boyfriend.
They’ve probably trauma bonded. She went through a lot, and maybe I
should feel bad for judging her, but does her messed up childhood excuse
her wrongdoings? I don’t think so. But maybe Bash does.
“Well, they can't be that close. She never introduced you guys when you
were dating, right?”
“I––oh. Well, still. He told me to leave.”
“He kicked you out?” His face contorts like he’s mad on my behalf, and
even though he did kind of kick me out, I don’t want him mad at Bash.
“No. He just asked me to leave so they could talk.”
“Well, fuck him.”
 I sigh. “You already said that.” I lay back down, curling on my side as I
prepare to wallow in my own misery.
“You… really like him.”
It’s not a question, but I nod my head anyway. I more than like him.
Bash fucks me up. I want him all the time, his dick, his presence, his stupid
dimples. Those hands. His smiles. Ugh. The way he glares at everything––
everything––makes it so that when he does smile, it’s kind of precious.
Feels like I earned something special.
“I left my phone at his place.” I also left some other things, but I can’t
tell Cade about those items.
“Isn’t that your phone?” He points at the small drawer set between our
beds, and I spot my phone sitting right on top.
“Oh.” I reach over to grab the device, further confirming that it is mine.
“I did leave it at his place, though. I haven’t had it all day. He must have
brought it, but… he couldn’t do it while I was here?” I scoff.
“Are you guys even official?”
“Do you have a problem with that, Cade?” I glower, but it’s a façade.
His tone is shitty, judgemental. I don’t want my best friend to have an issue
with this, with me, and the anger is more self-preservation than it is
actuality.
“I––no.” He huffs, running a hand through his hair and then back down
his face.
“So, you’re okay with it?” I ask skeptically. “With me dating a guy?” I
don’t know if we’re official––or were official––but I don’t have to tell Cade
that. I’m not willing to speak my doubts into existence.
“Liam, of course I am,” he affirms, looking hurt that I’d think
otherwise. That I’d even question it. It’s a relief, but I can’t forget the way
he’s been acting lately. “I told him you like Italian.” He’s wearing a small
pout, says it like that somehow proves his approval or acceptance. Maybe it
does.
“Yeah,” I give him a soft smile. “He told me. Thank you.”
He waves a hand, dismissing the gratitude. “He’s really the first guy
you’ve ever been into?”
“I think so,” I say, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. “I don’t know.
It’s possible that I just didn’t let myself be into guys. There have been times
I’ve paid a little too much attention to a boy, but I guess the feelings weren’t
strong enough to manifest into anything else.”
 “Like who?”
“I don’t know. Like Brad Pitt in Troy.” I watched that movie a lot when
I found it in my mom’s DVD case.
He laughs. “I’m pretty sure everyone noticed him in that movie.”
“Mr. Sikes.”
His eyes widen. “Dude, he was old as hell.”
“Maybe I like older guys,” I sniff, refusing to be embarrassed about
this. “Bash is twenty-six.”
“Hm.” He purses his lips. “Do dicks get wrinkles?”
“I… do not know.” Fuck, I hope my dick doesn’t wrinkle. We wear
matching grimaces. This is one I’m not going to look up; I have a feeling
the answer will just make me sad. Sadder.
“Gross.” There’s a comfortable silence before he continues the
conversation, or as comfortable as a silence could be when you’re
imagining dicks aging. “So, wait… you’ve had sex with him? Like, you…
bottom?”
My face heats at the subject change, and I pull my pillow over my face,
which, unfortunately, is an answer in itself.
“Wow.” He doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at me, but that doesn’t
mean he isn’t. “Does it… feel good?”
I flip him off, face still hidden.
“Better than sex with women?” The pillow is ripped out of my grip, and
suddenly, I’m looking up at Cade as he stands next to my bed. “Well?” he
presses for an answer.
“Yes! Leave me alone.” Luckily I have another pillow, and when I once
again hide myself away, he snorts. “Leave me alone,” I repeat, and he sighs,
taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
“It’s Baby’s birthday. I wrapped that candle set you got him, but the
sweaters I just left in the bag. I think he’ll like that.” He’s right. The shop
we got them at had different luxury brands––discounted, of course––and
matching gift bags. And Baby is the luxury brand type, even though I don’t
think he can actually afford them at full price.
“Did someone get him a cake?” I honestly forgot, and Baby isn’t the
kind of guy who would let forgetting his birthday slide.
“Logan did, actually.”
I shove the pillow off my head to look at him in shock.
 “I know.” He holds his hands up. “I don’t understand them.” Nobody
does.
“I hope it’s a good cake,” I sniff, hugging myself as I go back to
moping. Honestly, I could probably use a good session with one of my
ESDs, but with Cade so willing to chat, I don’t see that happening. The
three I use the most are at Bash’s, anyway. So, yeah.
I hope there’s a good birthday cake to stuff my face with.

∞∞∞

“I
’m kind of surprised you’re not doing anything extravagant for your
birthday.”
“Well, it’s a Monday,” he says bitterly. “I’m saving the
extravagance for the weekend. Plus, I don’t know. You guys are… well, you
don’t suck.” He blushes, and the sight has my lips stretching in a smile. I
don’t tease him about it, though. He’s prickly enough as is.
But I do make a mental note to bring it up the next time he bites me or
tells me he can’t stand me. I’ve told Bash about him, about how much he
claims to hate me but that I’m pretty sure he loves me––all of his
roommates. Possibly even Logan. Bash and Baby are kind of alike in that
regard. Not that I think Bash loves me, but––
“Can you stop being sad?”
I twitch, startled at his voice cutting into my thoughts so suddenly. “I’m
not sad.”
“You are and it’s bumming me out. I’ve already told you that you’re
overreacting. Your boyfriend isn’t going to end things just because you
dated his sister first.”
“You don’t know that.” I can’t help the whine in my voice, so I ignore
the contemptuous stare he gives me. He doesn’t get it. “We aren’t even––I
don’t even think he is my boyfriend. He hasn’t messaged me all day and
brought my phone over when I wasn’t here. He’s never said the word
boyfriend. We’re just… dating exclusively.”
Baby rolls his eyes. “Boys are so stupid. Honestly, Liam, you should
just stick to girls. And if you can’t,” he holds up a hand when I open my
mouth. “Then you’re just going to have to get it through your big head, that
guys. Don’t. Communicate. Case in point: you haven’t messaged him all
day, either. Moron.” A knock on the door stops me from responding, and
when he perks up, I assume it’s one of his other friends or something. “Ah!
It’s for you,” he slaps at my arm with a giddiness that’s come out of
nowhere, and I have to grab his hands to get him to stop. “Go answer it!”
“It’s probably for you, birthday boy. You go answer it.”
“No, it’s––”
“I’ll get it,” Logan comes from the hallway to walk past us, and Baby
huffs in annoyance.
“What time did Cade leave?” I ask as I pull my phone out of my pocket.
It’s a bit of a struggle not to check my Messages app, but I’d know if Bash
messaged me. Cade ordered a dinner from Baby’s favorite restaurant, and
I’m starving. We all are. “It’s only like twenty minutes away. He should
already be back.”
“Is that for me?” Baby sings, and I have to look up to see who he’s
talking to.
“Bash.” My spine straightens just as he steps over the threshold. “I––
you got Baby a present.” I cock my head at the wrapped box in his hand,
and he glares at it.
“He made me.” His head nods towards my roommate, and I gape at
him.
“When did––when?” It’s not that I’m surprised Baby conned a stranger
into buying him a gift, but I am surprised he didn’t tell me he’d talked to
him. I’ve been all sorts of morose since I came home sans phone this
morning.
“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” Bash’s adorably angry stare has
my chest tightening, and it takes me a second to realize what he means.
“I wasn’t sure you would.” Baby shrugs innocently before getting up to
close the distance between them and grab the present from my guy’s hand.
“Thank you. You may enter,” he sweeps a hand out towards the room, and
Bash scoffs. But he does walk further into the living space, blue eyes fixed
on me. It makes me a little nervous when he doesn’t smile at me, glare not
softening at all. Then it hits me. We’re in a room with guys he doesn’t
know, and his grumpy ass does not know how to people.
I stand up and grab his hand, my heart pounding a little harder as I start
dragging him down the hallway.
 “Hey! If I’m not having sex on my birthday, nobody is!”
I ignore him and get to my door just in time to hear Logan ask Baby
how long I’ve been gay.
“He’s kind of annoying,” Bash says as soon as I shut the door, and I
laugh.
“He is. Are you––” I blow out a breath, wondering if I should give him
a second to fucking breathe before I start coming at him strong and clingy.
“Princess,” he frowns as he presses against me, and the that hand curls
around my waist points out just how much I’m shaking.
I was worried I wasn’t his princess anymore, that I’d never hear him
call me that ever again. The rush of relief that hits me as he cups my cheek
with his free hand, his thumb running across my bottom lip, is
overwhelming.
“I’m sorry I asked you to leave this morning. It won’t happen again. I
just had to explain things to her.”
“What did you tell her?” My stomach clenches, even though all signs
are pointing in my favor so far. But I need to know what was said.
“Just… that she can’t talk to you like that and that you’re mine.”
My chest is flooded with warmth so instantly that it doesn’t even
register as a choice I make before my mouth slams into his, our teeth
audibly clacking as he releases a surprised grunt. My hand fists in his hair
on the back of his head impatiently. “Kiss me,” I demand, and a puff of air
hits my lips as he laughs before complying.
His movements are uncoordinated as I urge him onto the edge of my
bed, climbing in his lap so I can straddle him and deepen the kiss. He tries
to push at my stomach, push me away, I realize, and I whimper. I feel
almost panicked at the notion.
“Princess, we can’t––fuck.”
“I’m not trying to,” I press my forehead to his, trying to catch my
breath. “I thought you were done with me, I just––”
“You’re fucking crazy.” His hand cups my throat, not hard but not
exactly soft either, and I’m forced to face his hard stare head-on. “Liam, I
meant what I said. You’re mine.”
My eyelashes flutter as I take that in, a wave of calm satisfaction
washing over me. I’m stupid with lust for this guy, absolutely mental. I
should probably find issue with this possessive claim he’s trying to lay on
me, but I just want it. I want him to want me, to fucking own me. I am his.
 It just feels right. It rids me of all the stress I was feeling today and has
my insides purring in contentment.
“Yes,” I rasp, my hips rocking as my dick starts to thicken, and he
groans, hand still firmly on my throat.
“You are the horniest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”
That has me smiling, my hooded eyes opening. “I can’t help it.” He just
doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand the effect he has on me. It’s like Bash was
made for me, an aphrodisiac curated just for my tastes.
I almost ask him if he’s mine, if my belonging to him means that he
belongs to me, but my door opens. Which might be a good thing. He
doesn’t really seem like one to be owned, and it’d fucking crush me, just
demolish me, to hear him say no.
“Liam, you slut. The food is here. You can ride his dick on days I
wasn’t born,” Baby gripes, and I’m about to tell him to fuck off when his
hand is pulling at my hair. “Come on!”
“What the fu––”
“You come too,” he points at Bash, who shakes his head as he stands
up, following Baby’s orders as almost everyone does. If they don’t, he does
shit like this.
“Let go!”
But he doesn’t until we’re halfway down the hall.
“That hurt,” I rub at my scalp, finally able to stand at my full height.
“Well, I told you. No sex on my birthday.”
“That’s sad,” Logan laughs from his place on the couch, earning him
the finger.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fuck guys in my room.”
I stop walking to stare at Cade, feeling Bash walk into me a second
later. “It’s my room, too.” And I’ve literally sat in the living room before so
he could have sex. With girls.
As much as he says he doesn’t have a problem with me liking guys, he
just keeps saying and doing shit like this that proves otherwise.
The moment passes as Chinese food is passed around, and Logan starts
a movie on the PlayStation. I miss the intro as I make sure that Bash grabs a
plate, not even asking if he plans on staying. And when he sits on the
loveseat, I make sure to squeeze myself on it, too. If it weren’t for his
dimples popping as I wiggle into place, I’d worry I was being too clingy,
but I don’t think he minds.
 “Okay, so everyone takes a shot every time David says ‘Michael,’
anytime someone dies, you see fangs, anytime there’s a kiss, or Nanook is
on screen.” Logan pours some sort of flavored vodka into little shot glasses,
and I gnaw on my lip.
“We’ll all die of alcohol poisoning. Nanook is on screen too much. Take
that one away,” Baby orders.
I have no clue what they’re talking about, but I lean forward to whisper
to Bash privately as they argue. “I won’t drink.”
“Liam, you can drink. It’s fine.” When all I do is frown at him, he sighs,
placing his hand on my thigh. “Princess, I don’t mind. Really, it’s your
friend’s birthday, and he wants to drink.”
“What about you?”
He shakes his head. “I have to drive home.”
“Oh.” Of course, he’s not staying. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t
have assumed he would, but it’s still disappointing to hear.
I settle back on the chair, trying to pretend I’m not upset––for no good
reason––and go back to eating and watching this movie that’s definitely
almost twice as old as I am.
I give in to the drinking game, taking a shot when they tell me to and
letting the effects of alcohol make me less moody. I stop after four, though.
I can’t shake Bash’s past out of my head, and I just don’t want to be wasted.
Bash isn’t all that outgoing with my roommates, but he keeps up with
the conversation well enough. It helps that Baby and Logan actually talk to
him, but––no surprise––Cade ignores him. He hardly even looks our way
the entire time, and I’m already a little upset that I’ll be sleeping alone
tonight, so it only adds to my annoyance.
When it’s finally time for Baby to open presents, I disappear to the
kitchen to grab a non-alcoholic drink. I start chugging my water as I watch
through the opening in the wall between the two rooms. Bash finds me
seconds later, and I’m pretty sure he’s just about to tell me he’s leaving.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Despite myself, I press into him as he wraps an arm around
my waist.
“You’ve been moping since the start of the movie.”
“That movie sucked. Their hair was the scariest thing about it.” But
really, it’s a lot of things that have me unnecessarily upset. He’s hardly
touched me. The only time Cade has looked at or acknowledged either of us
is to glare, and Bash is going home as soon as the night is over. Which is
soon.
He rests his forehead against my temple while his hand starts rubbing
my stomach. It makes me a little self-conscious. I’ve for sure gained some
weight since I stopped my obsessive dieting and lessened my workout load.
It’s not noticeable just looking, but when he feels it like that…
I bend a little, moving my abs out of his touch, and his hand moves to
my jaw not even a second later, gripping it in a tight hold before he turns
my head. “What’s. Wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… well, my asshole trainer fucked me and then fired
me. So, I’ve gained a little weight, is all.”
His face falls. He actually looks upset, like what I said wasn’t funny at
all. Honestly, he’s taking it way too seriously. “Liam, I––”
“It’s okay. I was just kidding. Well, I have gained some weight, but it’s
fine.”
“Liam.” He shakes his head, once again pressing his forehead against
me. “You are so fucking sexy. All of you, princess. Can’t you tell how badly
I want you?” He palms my ass, slipping his hand under the hemline of my
shorts and pulling me closer to him.
My hand clutches at his shirt, my head tipping up so I can kiss clumsily
at his jaw. It’s ridiculous, but my mind jumps to my sex toys because I’m
feeling down, and now I’m horny. Some dick therapy is probably exactly
what I need. “Real dick is better.”
“What?” He laughs, and I still.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“What’s going in there, huh?” He kisses my forehead, and it’s so
fucking sweet that I have to hide my face in his neck.
I’m kind of sad, I manage not to say, but with my head lagging, I end up
continuing the rest out loud. “And I’d normally just use sex toys to make
myself feel better, but you do it better.” Except he’s going home. Without
me.
“Yeah? What makes me so much better, sweetheart?”
I sigh against his skin. “You just fuck me so good,” I moan, both of my
hands now fisted in his tee.
“Hm,” he hums as his hand squeezes my ass and forces my half-hard
cock against his hipbone.
“Bash, I––we should go to my room.”
 “We can’t,” he chuckles, rubbing his nose across my forehead as he
shakes his head at me. “Not here, not in Cade’s room.”
I let out a truly pathetic little whine, and he laughs again. “It’s my room,
too.”
“Pretty boy,” he murmurs. “Just come home with me, princess. I’ll fuck
this sweet pussy in my bed, where you belong.”
I moan, rubbing against him as he runs a finger over my boxers right
along my crease. “Yes,” I pant.
“I fucking love when you say that.”
“You guys are turning me on. Get a room!”
Baby’s voice cuts through our horny bubble, and Bash reacts
immediately. He pulls away, putting space between us, as he glares at the
living room with Baby, Logan, and Cade all staring at us.
When I notice a blush on his cheeks, I can’t help but laugh. “I was just
telling him we need to.”
“Not my room,” Cade needlessly adds, and when I realize he’s looking
at Bash, I find it hard to get over.
“Dude, shut the fuck up.”
He scoffs, setting his sights on me this time. “I’m just saying, you––”
“Seriously, shut the fuck up, Cade. We’re leaving.” I turn to face Bash,
telling him I just want to grab something from my room before we go, but
he doesn’t take his eyes off of my best friend. Which is fine. Cade deserves
his angry stare.
As I pass the room that’s gone awkwardly silent after my outburst, I
notice Baby’s shirt: a light pink crop top that says, “This bitch bites!”
“Nice shirt,” I gesture and then continue on my mission to grab a few
things.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty
Bash

“N
ice shirt.” Liam leaves me alone with his roommates, and I fight
the urge to react.
This is fucking awkward. Cade’s just watching as his
supposed best friend walks down the hall, and I kind of want to kick his
teeth in. He’s so irritating. He doesn’t even try to hide his disdain for me.
Not even when he knows how much it bothers Liam. He’s honestly a shitty
friend, and Liam assumes it’s because he’s dating a guy when actually, I
think it’s just because he’s dating anyone at all.
Baby’s head dips as he looks down at the T-shirt I got from the mall as
soon as I left work. It fits. I barely know him, but from what Liam has told
me, I know it suits him.
Cade stands up abruptly, and I instinctively take a step towards him,
towards where Liam disappeared. But I stop myself. It isn’t my place. All
he’s really doing is going to his room. That he fucking shares with Liam.
“It’s kind of the best thing anyone has ever gotten me,” Baby’s hands
smooth down the front of his shirt as he smiles at me, having put it on when
I wasn’t paying attention. I kind of feel bad. It’s his birthday and it’s ending
like this. “Thanks. I––you really didn’t have to,” he says almost shyly, and
if I weren’t worried about whatever the fuck Cade is saying to Liam at this
current moment, I’d laugh. “I was mostly kidding when I said you had to
get me a gift.”
The tall guy sitting next to him snorts, earning him a glare. “You told
him to get you a gift?”
“I was kidding!”
“Yeah, right,” he flicks at a strand of hair on Baby’s head, and Baby
slaps––hard––at his hand.
 “Logan, why are you so annoying?”
“I didn’t even do anything,” Logan grumbles, and my eyes slip over to
Liam’s bedroom door. Closed. “I got you your favorite cake.”
It hits me that this is the guy Liam has said he’s sort of attracted to, and
I can’t help but look at him more closely. He just looks like your average
Cali dude. Blonde with shaggy hair. Possibly a frat fucker. Not as tall as me,
no visible tattoos.
“You did? How did you even––whatever. I’m going to bed.” He stands
up and looks at me. “I’m sorry that Cade’s so…”
“In love with his best friend? It’s fine. I’m sorry about Liam getting
upset.”
Baby cringes as I say it, but he doesn’t deny anything I’ve said. “Well,
goodnight.”
“Is everyone in this apartment gay now?” Logan flops back on the
couch, looking like this new-to-him development truly stuns him.
“Not you,” Baby grouses, and suddenly, their dynamic makes a lot more
sense.
“Well, maybe I should give it a try.”
I watch as Baby’s eyebrows jump to his hairline despite his eyes
closing, looking like he’s almost in pain. “Goodnight.” He turns and rushes
down the hall, as well as his drunk self can manage without sparing Logan
another look.
“So. Are you newly gay?”
I stare blankly at this guy I don’t know and decide that I’m not doing
this. “I’m going to check on Liam.”
But I barely move before the door to his room opens, and he walks out
carrying a big blanket that he didn’t bother to fold and a bag. I don’t tell
him that he already has a bag of his stuff at my place––just take the items
out of his arms and ask if he’s ready.
“Yeah. I just want to grab another piece of cake real quick.”
He doesn’t seem upset, but I watch him closely anyway, smile when he
places a fat piece of cake in a bowl and sniffs it before covering it with a
lid, humming happily as he holds it in both hands.
It really bothered me when he moved away from my touch earlier. He
felt insecure having my hands on him, and that really fucking bothers me. I
know from listening to him that dieting has been ingrained in him since he
was a kid, his dad going as far as writing out menus for him to stick to
when he was as young as ten. I also know he’s been binging since he
emailed his coach that he was done with baseball. He’s developed a sweet
tooth, and as much as I don’t want to be one of those guys, I feel like I
should bring it up––before it causes issues with how he feels about himself.
Or more issues.
We have a nutritionist at the gym who works with the trainers to work
on diet plans. Maybe he’d like talking to him. Maybe. I just don’t want him
to be offended if––when––I bring it up.
“Ready?” I ask as he walks over to me. He smiles, still a little tipsy and
moving sluggishly as he stands on his tiptoes to kiss me, having to lean over
the bag and blanket I have in my arms. Logan is still in the room, which
means my face heats as our lips touch, and as much as my instincts want me
to pull away, I force myself to allow the contact.
Before Liam, I’d never kissed anyone in public. It’s just not something I
wanted to do with an audience, and honestly, I kind of sneered at the
couples who did. People have tried at parties or clubs, but I’ve always
turned them down. Not with Liam, though. It’s a little surprising that my
pretty boy went from believing he was straight to just kissing a guy in front
of any and everybody, but I’m not going to diminish it by being my closed-
off self.
“You have to drive.”
“Obviously.” I don’t fuck around when it comes to drunk driving.
That’s not something I tolerate.
He tells Logan to lock the door, and for a crazy second, I’m glad that
we kissed in front of him and that he got to see it. He’s straight. Liam
doesn’t actually want him, is borderline obsessed with me, but I doubt I’ll
be forgetting his mild attraction to him anytime soon anyway.

∞∞∞

“W
here did you get them?” His voice is soft, tired as he gently rubs
over the fabric covering his stiff cock. I bought more than I
should have without knowing if he’d actually want to wear
them, but it couldn’t be helped. I just knew he’d look so fucking good with
his cock wrapped in lace for me.
This pair is skimpier than the last pair, a deep blue. More lace than
anything. I’ll have to hold the lacey string between his cheeks aside as I
fuck him.
“Do you like them?” My thumb runs over the small wet spot, pressing
into his slit until he releases a moan from deep within his chest. He’s so
tired, on the verge of falling asleep, even straddling my lap. “Do you want
to go to bed, princess?”
He sighs. “No. Will you prep me?”
There’s a familiarity in the way he says it, like he’s comfortable with
me, not at all shy about asking for what he wants. Like he trusts me.
Sometimes, he says or does things that have my chest expanding,
pressure building to the point of me needing to take a deep breath. He just
asked me to finger him, and yet here I am, acting like he just confessed that
he loves me or something. It feels like he does trust me, even if it’s just with
his body, and it’s impossible not to think of it as something substantial.
Trust. It’s just another thing he’s given me that I’ll try my hardest to keep
safe, to earn.
I make sure to keep things moving slowly, stretch him open with lazy
fingers until he’s drowsy with his arousal, unable to keep himself hovered
above me any longer. His head is heavy as it rests on my shoulder, his
moans thick and honeyed.
“You’re falling asleep,” I whisper into his hair as I pull three fingers out
of him.
His head drags sleepily across my collarbone before he lifts it to look at
me. “No, I’m just––just get inside me.”
“Sweetheart,” I start, but he lets out a sigh and lifts his hips, reaching to
grab my cock himself. I have to hold the fabric aside, just like I knew I
would, as he starts lowering himself on me, a blissed-out expression added
to his weary features.
His eyes pinch, maybe in discomfort, just before he settles on my lap.
He looks so gorgeous, his features smoothed out again now that he’s fully
seated. His cheeks are flushed, the color seeping down his neck and fading
almost past his collarbone.
My princess... toned stomach––despite what he thinks––and thick,
muscular thighs, looking every bit like sex in the pretty panties he wears
just for me. It blows my mind that he could feel insecure, that he feels
anything but fucking beautiful.
He gives me a few slow blinks before finally looking at me, his eyes
hooded and pouty lips parted.
“You’re so…” he bites his lips and gives one leisurely roll of his hips
before settling again and pressing his forehead to my shoulder.
“What?” I ask, my grip tightening on his skin with the effort it takes to
not move inside him.
“Beautiful,” he mumbles against my skin, and I stiffen. That doesn’t
make any sense. His head nods a bit as he sits back up and looks at me with
a slight smile, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. “You are,” he insists, a shaky
finger tracing my jawline. “You say I am, but I’ve got nothing on you.” His
lips press on my chin, feathered kisses suddenly being trailed up my cheek
so softly I can barely feel them.
My cock throbs, is in some sort of euphoric hell as this boy does
nothing but kiss my face, giving me no friction whatsoever. When he finally
circles back around to my mouth, my chest now overwhelmingly tight at all
the gentle affection he’s giving me, he sighs.
“I’m tired.”
I almost want to laugh. I knew that, tried to tell him. “Do you want to
go to bed now?” I make myself ask. It’ll kill me to have to pull out of him,
but if he’s ready for bed, I will.
“No,” he shuffles, trying to get closer to me––something he does a lot,
even if he’s already as close as humanly possible. The effect it has on my
dick has me gritting my teeth, trying not to disturb his peace. “You feel so
good, and I’m so full––” he lets out a quiet whimper as he clenches around
me, making my eyes screw shut. “I––do I feel good?”
His words tickle, barely skim over my mouth as he talks. I nod, unable
to speak, and close the small yet infinite space between us to lick at his lips.
“You feel perfect, love. Like mine,” I tell him truthfully, and he smiles with
his mouth still pressed into mine.
He’s literally skirting the lines of consciousness sitting on my dick, so
close to just passing out that he can barely keep his eyes open. “Go to sleep,
Liam.” My hand cards through his hair, and he leans into the touch so
lovingly that I have to stop––take a deep breath because this isn’t even
really sex, and somehow it feels more intimate than anything we’ve done so
far.
 He doesn’t want to go to sleep, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out
why. But then he wiggles in my lap again, like he’s trying to burrow into
my skin, and I understand. He just doesn’t want me to pull out. “You can
just keep me warm, princess. We’ll stay like this.”
That’s what he wanted to hear. He sighs dreamily and clutches at my
ribcage before laying his cheek on my shoulder, now fully ready to settle.
“Talk to me.”
“About what?” Our voices are soft, his hoarse with overuse from the
long day and drinking, and mine just not willing to pierce through the
haziness overtaking him.
“Anything. How was work?”
It feels weird, my words stilted as I start. I don’t recall ever telling
anyone about my day, the mundane things I do at the gym. But as I keep
talking, telling him about my clients and what kind of progress they’re
making, I realize that it’s not exactly something I consider to be
uninteresting. I like my job and even if I’m sure he’s not retaining any of
this, it feels good to say. Like a practice of sorts—for when he is actually
listening.
We never made it to the bedroom, so the blanket he brought with him is
still sitting next to us on the couch, and after a while, I make sure to lay it
over him. I move on to new topics as my hands run up and down the
smooth planes of his back under the cover, only vaguely aware of just how
hard I still am.
Until he moves. He’s not exactly asleep, but he’s not awake either.
Just… relaxing. He’ll sigh and try to press closer, place a random kiss on
my neck, or just clench around me. It drives me crazy. It takes a second to
ignore the desire each time he shifts, the need to thrust or rock my hips or
even just move him on me. But I manage to stay still.
I’m telling him about this annoying dog who’s been running around the
gym the past few days when he laughs suddenly, making me tense up as his
body vibrates around my dick.
“You should name her that.”
“What? I’m not naming her. She’s not mine.”
“She’s a stray, it sounds like. But how cute would a dog named Panini
be?”
“She’s a menace. She stole my panini just to puke it up.”
 He laughs again, sitting up and giving me a heartbreaking view of his
face as his nose scrunches up. “I love dogs. I’ve wanted one my whole life.
What?”
“Hm?”
“Are you in pain?” He adjusts and looks down, starting to pull up off of
me, but I stop him with a grunt, gripping his hips so he can’t move
anymore.
“Liam, you’re killing me,” I throw my head back over the back of the
couch, gritting my teeth so I don’t groan. He’s not even fucking hard.
I am. Unbearably so. I’ve been as still as possible for the past thirty or
so minutes because I thought he was trying to fucking sleep––my dick
aching as I talk to him about work and the happier details of my childhood
and this stupid dog who just won’t leave me alone.
“Oh,” his eyes widen as he sinks back down, kissing my face just
beneath my eye. “Oh.” Another kiss, lower this time. “Thank you.” Kiss.
“Bash, you could have––” Kiss. “Told me.”
I smile when he kisses my cheek, and his tongue flicks against my skin
before he does it again, right over the dimple on that side. He focuses on
them, both of them, placing his lips on my face over and over until he starts
moving, his cock now hard as it presses against my happy trail each time he
lifts up. I’m almost certain my fucking dimples are turning him on.
The moan I let out as he starts riding me is embarrassing, but it can’t be
helped. My thighs are close to cramping with as rigid as I’ve kept them. I
still don’t let myself relax, too worried I’ll do something he won’t like.
He’s moving at a sedate pace, sentencing me to the slowest and most
sensual death anyone has ever suffered.
And then he stops, and my eyes open in a panic. I can’t stop my hips
from flexing as I chase the friction he’s denying me, making his mouth
open in a silent gasp.
“I––it doesn’t feel right.” He climbs off of me, and I fucking stroke. I
have to, can’t help but let out a litany of moans as my fist slides over my
cock.
He gets on his knees, repositions chest down and ass up as he lays along
the length of the couch.
“I need it like this,” he murmurs, a fist curled over the cushion’s edge
and the other holding the string between his cheeks aside, giving me a
perfect view of the slight gape all this cockwarming has led to. “It’s better
when you fuck me.”
“Fuck.” I move quickly until I can push inside him, then slow down and
relish the feel of his hot cunt encasing me, so perfectly fitted to me. Like
two puzzle pieces slotting together, so fucking right and perfect and good.
It’s all I know at this moment, all I need.
He pushes back, burying his face in his blanket and keening as I move
inside him, slipping in and out with ease. “Bash,” he sobs after a while, my
name––the one he’s given me––muffled. “You’re not hitting––” he tries to
look over his shoulder, but I shove at his back, forcing him to arch for me.
“There!” he gasps. “God, yes.”
That fucking word. “Say it again.”
“Yes.”
“Again,” I punctuate my command with a single pump of my hips a
little harder than he’s used to, but he gives it to me. He lifts his head and
soaks my favorite expression in a moan as my hand runs down his back,
fingers circling a few beauty marks until I remember the ones on his face,
and I pull out.
He starts to complain but gets the idea as I push at his skin, forcing him
on his back. I tug his thong off and push his knees to his chest, fucking
myself back into him and watching as his face settles into a look of ecstasy.
“Liam,” I groan. “This pussy…”
“It’s yours.”
A ripple of possession sweeps through me, so heady it has my grip on
his legs tightening into a bruising hold. I push into him as deep as I can and
undulate my hips against his ass until he’s throwing his head back, his cock
releasing untouched, his hole pulsing relentlessly around me.
I fuck him through it, not even considering stopping. My hips stay
moving, body tensing as want and need start climbing to unbearable
heights. I can’t stop, not until my balls are tightening and my cum is
painting his insides.
And he’s somehow coming again, body writhing on my cock.
Something like a sob mixed with a laugh leaves his swollen lips as a few
drops of cum dribble down his cock.
I’ll never get over watching him come, making him come. His orgasms
are full-body and intense, but it’s like his dick is a mere afterthought. The
tiny puddles of cum he releases are kind of endearing.
 I let the pad of my thumb smooth over the seam of his balls before I
circle it around a small pool of his semen just sitting at the base of his
softening dick.
“I’m a mess.” He’s looking at his groin, at his neatly trimmed pubes
sticky with his earlier release.
“You’re perfect,” I tell him, being delicate with the way I lower his
shaky legs. He’s still twitching with little aftershocks as I pull out of him,
and the sight of my cum trickling out of his fucked out cunt has me
sweeping my fingers through it until I can push it back in. I twist them
inside him and watch his face as he moans tiredly, clenching around my
fingers. I press hard against the wall of his hole as I drag them out of him.
My lips part in awe when he writhes on my fingers, moving so they stay
inside.
He reaches for my hand, stuns me as he pulls those digits to his mouth,
and licks them clean, tongue slipping between them as his eyelashes flutter
with a soft moan.
“Jesus,” I mutter quietly. “You’re fucking filthy.”
“I’m what you made me,” he accuses, still breathing heavily, broad
chest moving as his body starts to sink into the couch.
Mine, my entire body sings. I’ve made him mine.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-One
Liam

“M
orning,” I smile against his chest, and when all he does in
response is squeeze my butt, I bite.
“Fuck, princess,” his hand grips my hair to stop me, and the
sound of his rough morning voice has me just accepting the rough
treatment.
“You call him ‘princess?’ That’s fucking adorable.”
Bash sits up like he’s rising from the dead, pulling his blanket over me
and facing Jax head-on. But if he’s trying to intimidate his friend, it’s not
working. He’s just standing there looking all sorts of amused and crunching
away on a bowl of cereal.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“In my defense, I thought you had a strict no-sleepover rule, so I did not
expect to walk in on this. When we fucked, you––”
“You guys have had sex?” I start to sit up, only for Bash’s heavy hand
to push me back down, readjusting the blanket to fully cover me after it’d
started to slip down. The move reminds me that I’m naked, and that thought
has my face flushing.
“Oh, don’t worry, princess,” Jax says, a cheeky grin on his face. “It
happened five years ago.” Some milk dribbles down his chin as he shoves a
big spoonful of cereal in his mouth, and my frown deepens. That does not
make me feel better. How did he even get in here?
“And it was so awful, it never happened again,” Bash deadpans. “Don’t
fucking call him that.”
“Sorry, Bash, no can do. It suits him, I think.” He chews noisily as Bash
lets out a growly little groan. “He’s pretty like a princess.”
 I don’t really mind being teased about Bash’s favorite pet name. I am
pretty like a princess, thank you very much, but I’m not really over the
whole these-two-have-fucked revelation. I don’t… like that.
“When did you get here?”
“Like ten minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“I missed you,” Jax shrugs, and the words prick at my stomach. Just
how close are they? “Didn’t you miss me?”
“No. Get the fuck out.”
A loud banging noise has Jax jumping, the cereal in his bowl sloshing,
and some even spilling.
“Again?” This is so fucked. Bash is cuddly in the mornings, and I can’t
fucking enjoy that if people are going to disrupt our routine every damn
day.
“It’s Anna,” Bash says pretty needlessly. “Go get it.” He’s talking to
Jax, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t argue. “Shut the door.”
Jax ignores that, which means that Bash has to get up to do it, and the
sight of his bare ass as he stalks towards his bedroom door has me glaring.
It’s mere seconds before he shuts it, but all Jax had to do was turn around to
see him in all his naked glory.
“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as he turns around and sees my face.
“So, you guys… fuck.”
“No,” he says slowly. “It was one time years ago, Liam. I told you. I’m
not fucking anyone else.” He climbs back on the bed, hands on my thighs
over the comforter, forcing me to spread them so he can settle between my
legs. “Your pretty pussy is the only one I need, sweetheart.”
He kisses my neck, urging me to lie back, and I melt into his mattress.
I’m a little surprised. I assumed that with his sister and best friend here, I
wouldn’t get any of his tired snuggles or kisses I didn’t have to demand he
give me. He does touch me a lot more than he used to lately, but I usually
initiate the contact. It’s only when he’s just woken up or when we have sex
that he puts his lips on me like this.
His hand palms my dick, very quickly bringing me to full hardness
under his hand.
“Jax and An––nah!” I gasp as he squeezes me. “Oh, fuck.”
“My sister… who you’ve fucked.”
 “What?” I pull my head back as much as the pillow under me allows
and look at him.
“Yeah. Jax, who I’ve screwed, is out there, but so is Anna. So, you’re
jealousy, while adorable, is––”
“Okay, okay.” I close my eyes and swallow as he continues to rub me
off through the blanket. “I get it.”
“Princess,” he tsks. “Did you forget how badly I want you?” He takes
the hand I have fisted in the pillow next to my face and leads it to his dick.
“Oh, god,” I reach for him, pull his face to me with my free hand, and
almost go for his mouth before I remember that I haven’t brushed my teeth
yet and settle for kissing his chin, his cheek. My mouth moves hurriedly,
my teeth skimming over the edge of his stubbled jaw. My lips brush over
his nose, and he laughs, crinkling his nose in a way that reminds me of me.
I press our noses together, only feeling a little ridiculous about it as his
piercings dig into me. My hand wraps around him, giving him a tentative
stroke that, for some reason, has me moaning.
He sits up and moves around until he can expose me, leaning over me
again and taking both of us in his hand so he can stroke us together. With
my hands now free, I move them to my body, selfishly chasing the
sensations he’s not exactly giving me. I rub my nipples and moan, the
combined touches and morning voice making me sound like some kind of
animal, and he laughs.
“You are so loud,” he smiles at me, so much affection in his eyes that I
can’t look away. “I want to get clamps for these tits, sweetheart. I think
you’d like them.”
My hands cup my chest in a protective hold, my eyes momentarily
glazing as I try to think through the pleasure licking at my spine. “Um, no.”
“No? Why not?”
“I don’t––would it hurt?”
He laughs. “It doesn’t have to, not for my pretty boy. You love this,” he
slips his fingers under my hand so he can pinch the peaked bud I’m hiding
and gently pinches, opting for firm, repeated rolls of his hips to give us the
friction we need instead of his fist. “Right?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “So good,” I reach for his face again, this time pushing
him to my chest, and he gives me exactly what I want with another laugh,
immediately flicking his tongue over my nipple before just lapping at the
sensitive nerve endings I never even considered letting anyone else touch
before him.
My chest has always been sensitive, but touching was something I only
ever did when I was alone.
Baby said that Bash triggered a bi-awakening in me, but it’s more than
that. Sex was boring, rarely something I ever got excited about or felt like I
needed, and definitely not something I ever looked forward to sharing with
anyone specific. It’s so much more with him.
It’s just him. How he looks, yes, but just who he is. His voice turns me
on, the way it’s short and monotonous when addressing other people, but
then he talks to me and puts so many different feelings into those words. It’s
how strong he is, even after everything he’s gone through. How brave and
strong-willed he is. How he grabs my thigh while he’s driving and tolerates
my kisses in public even though I know it’s difficult for him.
There are a million little things about him that I adore so much, and
there’s so much I haven’t even discovered. I will forever be amazed and
humbled and grateful for every bit he lets me see.
“Bash, I––” a cry has me unable to finish, my orgasm hitting me out of
nowhere and stunning me silent.
“Tell me,” he says, voice gruff as he grips my hair, forcing my eyes
open.
“I––”
“Hey!” Anna pounds on the bedroom door, both fists relentless. “Big
brother, I should not even have to say this, but—” she pauses, possibly for
dramatic effect. “Whatever you’re in there doing should not be going down
while your sister and his ex are on the other side of the door!”
I roll my eyes just as I hear Jax exclaim something unintelligent, and
both of their voices get quieter as they gossip about the whole thing.
I disagree with her. She was doing all sorts of shit with Sam-fucking-
Martin while I was on the other side of her door when we were together. On
my birthday.
“Let’s get dressed.” He sits up, reaching for my hand and pulling me
until I actually move.
“I don’t want to.”
“Come on,” he insists, and when we get to his dresser, I can’t keep the
dopey-ass grin off my face as I realize he’s grabbing two sets of his
loungewear. Poor sap still doesn’t realize I’m hoarding his belongings.
 There’s a huge mess on me, both of our loads cooling and on the verge
of drying on my skin, and he uses a clean shirt to clean me up. He wipes all
the cum off of me before he pulls another drawer open, and my eyes widen.
“Jesus, Bash. You went crazy.” I run my hand through the many––
many––pairs of panties he’s bought for me, not even knowing how to feel
about it.
I need to get a job. Buy him things, gifts. Even if these are just as much
for his pervy self as they are for me, they feel like gifts.
“Yes, well, you look fucking edible in them, Liam. It’s your fault.
Here,” he sinks to his knees with a pair in his hand and holds them out until
I slip my feet through the correct holes. “I like this color on you,” his thumb
rubs my hip bone as he stands up, staring at the dusty pink fabric.
I do, too, I think, but I don’t bother telling him. I just ignore the way my
heart is pounding and let him continue touching me.
He helps me into a soft graphic tee, maybe one size too big, and a
comfortable pair of joggers, and only then does he get dressed himself.
“I like it when you’re handsy,” I can’t help but say because I do. I love
his hands on me, taking care of me.
It hits me, feels like a mental punch when I remember what I almost
said to him before Anna interrupted us. A multitude of feelings swarm my
senses. Excitement, joy, fear, disappointment.
It’s too fucking soon. I’m too clingy, am going into this whole thing
blind and doing it happily. It’s good that she interrupted us. He would not
have handled it well.
But then he smiles at me, leans over and kisses my cheek before
steering me towards the door, and I decide that it doesn’t matter. I’ll just
keep feeling it, let myself experience it.
I’ll wait for him to catch up.

∞∞∞

I
’m refusing to let the awkwardness get to me as Jax and Anna sit on
Bash’s couch, giggling to themselves like there’s something just so
funny. Jax is okay. I might like him slightly less now that I know Bash has
fucked him––even if it was years ago––but he’s cool.
Anna is… I’m trying really hard not to care, but she is my ex-girlfriend,
and she did cheat on me. I remember being sad about losing a good friend,
and maybe we can get back to that. Eventually. But I’m also worried about
Bash. I’m sure that it’s weird for him, and I don’t want to give her a reason
to make it weirder. She’s not acting like she’s mad anymore––she even
brought Bash and me both some breakfast––but I feel like I’m on the bomb
squad and very clumsily trying to diffuse some jury-rigged explosive. I’m
not exactly doing a good job, either. I’m just ignoring her, really.
“Wha––” My eyes spot a few cans of Diet Coke on the top shelf, and I
know Bash doesn’t drink it. I turn around, spot the rest of the room and
their drinks––bottles of water or coffee––and decide that he must have
bought them for me. He stocked his fridge with my favorite drink. That’s…
he’s just so annoying.
I wouldn’t usually drink one so early, not after just brushing my teeth,
but a part of me wants him to know that I know what he did for me and that
I appreciate it. But as I sit down at the kitchen table, away from the trio on
the couch, he doesn’t even notice me. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or
not. I feel out of place like I don’t fit in here, but I’m also undecided if it’s
best this way.
Inserting myself between all of them, sitting next to him or on his lap
like I want to, might just pull focus to me. So, I sit at the table, fiddling with
my phone and only vaguely listening to their conversation. It makes me feel
small––in a frustrating way because I know that it’s my fault.
“Mom and Dad want to meet him,” Anna says after a while, this being
the sentence that, for some reason, actually catches my attention. I look up
to see her looking at me. Bash just looks confused, his glare soft as he stares
questioningly at his sister.
“Why would you even tell them about him?”
Oh. I try not to look disappointed, knowing that Anna is watching me,
but I definitely am. He doesn’t even consider them his parents, doesn’t talk
to them, or even think about them very often. It shouldn’t bother me that he
doesn’t want me to meet his family because he doesn’t even think of them
as family.
In fact, the two most important people in his life are sitting right here. I
should be over there.
 “They ask about you, Sebastian. They care, even if you don’t.” She
looks sad talking about it, and my chest tightens because I can see how
much she believes it.
Maybe Bash could have had a family and parents who loved him. He’d
never admit it, but he needed that. Desperately. He deserved it and still
does. He just doesn’t know how to accept it.
“I’d like to meet them,” I say. “My mom is excited to meet you, too.”
“You told your mom about him? We dated twice as long as you two
have been together, and you never even mentioned her.”
I give her a dead stare. “Hm.” Good thing, too, I think, just as Jax snorts
at my response. I visibly turn my attention back to Bash, not mentioning
how she didn’t ask me to meet her parents either. She probably didn’t even
tell them we were dating. Ugh, did she tell them that Bash is dating her ex?
“She’s driving up next week. If you’re up to meeting her, I can let her
know. But I can’t promise you that she won’t be… weird.” Overbearing.
Pinch his cheeks or something. Hug him. I smile, picturing my mother
wrapping her arms around Bash’s big frame and squeezing while he just
stands there perfectly still and looking all sorts of adorably awkward with
all his tattoos and grumpy glare.
“I––” he looks uncomfortable like he wants to say no but doesn’t know
how. I could give him an out, but I don’t want him to say no. I want them to
meet, and I want to meet his parents. “Okay.”
“He’s blushing,” Jax whispers loudly, and Bash huffs.
“Fuck off.” He stands up and walks towards me, his cheeks noticeably
flushed. “Okay, princess,” he tells me when he’s close enough that only I
can hear him. “You can tell her.”
“Okay. Okay, cool. She’ll be really happy.” I feel overly warm, feel an
intense urge just to hug him. “I––what about me meeting…”
“Walter and Nadine.” He blows out a breath, and my body stills as I
wait for his answer. I want this so badly, not for me but for him. It’s not up
to me to force him onto them, but I just think he deserves more. “Yeah,
okay. We can––I’ll ask them to come here. It’ll be easier that way.”
I want to say something but don’t know what, so I keep my mouth
closed. Instead, I place my forehead on his stomach––hoping it’s okay to do
while we’re in a room with his people––and hum as his fingers slip through
my hair.
“You have class soon, right?”
 “Yeah,” I sigh. “Are you taking me or just taking me to my car?”
He has to take me to my car because he has work and won’t be able to
pick me up after class. I probably need to change anyway. The clothes I
have here are dirty, and also, if I change in my room, that means that I can
hide this outfit somewhere. Keep it.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Anna says when Bash disappears to grab his things
from his room, and I meet her eyes with mild trepidation.
“For what?”
“For…” She looks over her shoulder at Jax and then, with a grimace,
faces me again. “How things ended,” she clears her throat and moves on
quickly “And also for how I reacted when I found out about you and Bash.
That was not cool. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you don’t––” I swallow my words, deciding that, yeah, I do
deserve an apology. “It’s fine. We’re good.”
Her lips quirk as she watches me. “You know, I’m not even all that
surprised you’re gay,” she starts, and I already know that whatever she’s
about to say is going to either piss me off or embarrass me.
“He's bisexual,” Jax corrects her, but she ignores him.
“You never once went down on me.”
Jax snickers as my jaw tenses. Embarrass me, it is. She’s not lying. I
just didn’t want to do… that. It seemed… I don’t know. Bash says that him
calling me a pillow princess is fitting, and maybe he’s right.
“Do you go down on Bash?” Jax’s voice tells me that he knows the
answer, but I’m reluctant to say it. I do, but I mean, even for him, it doesn’t
feel like something I really like doing, and that’s embarrassing. It feels like
I’m being laughed at.
“What’s wrong?” Bash asks when he reenters the room, looking at me
in concern. “Leave him the fuck alone.”
“Relax. I was just asking your princess––”
“Jax,” Bash warns.
“If he’s explored your dick with all of his holes.”
“Get out. Both of you, just fuck off.”
“Oh, stop. We’re just teasing, and Liam isn’t actually a princess, you
know? He can handle it.”
“Actually, he is a princess,” Jax corrects Anna, and my blush deepens,
has me rolling my neck as the skin there starts to heat. “Bash calls him his
princess.”
 “Oh. Oh, I see.” She’s fucking delighted to hear this. She’s wrong. I
cannot handle this. “Princess Liam. Makes sense after what I saw on the
floor yester––”
“Get out!”
They both jump, and I’m relieved when his voice scares them into
silence. Not that it lasts very long.
“What did you see?”
“There was a pink––”
“No!” I jump up, finally realizing what it is she must have seen.
This is it. The moment I've been waiting for my entire life. The moment
I actually die of embarrassment. My hands cover my face just as Bash is
wrapping an arm around me, and I can’t even enjoy the fact that he’s
touching me in front of other people.
“Okay, sheesh. I won’t tell him.”
“But I want to know!” Jax whines.
“I’ll tell you later,” she barely whispers, and I groan. Bash tells them to
leave again, telling them he has to give me a ride home, and they finally do.
“She saw my dildo.” Who am I? How is that even a thing I can legit
say?
“I––yeah. It was my fault. I should have picked it up before we went to
bed. I’m sorry.” He sounds so sincere that it has me cracking, my lips trying
to break out into a smile behind my hands despite the growing pit in my
stomach.
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t even have one like that.” The size of
Texas and hot pink.
“That’s stupid, Liam. Don’t let her make you feel bad about it. There’s
nothing wrong with owning sex toys.” His hand slips through the joggers
I’m wearing, his whole palm sitting over the pretty underwear, just lightly
kneading. “I love them, watching you use them.”
I love that he loves them, that he even used that word, but yeah. Sex
toys may not be all that taboo, but I did not need to buy that one.
I nod my head anyway, though. I tuck my face into his neck and let his
hold envelop me until the shame lessens because it’s too hard to feel such
an ugly emotion when it’s just me and him.
“Bash?” My fingers pick nervously at his shirt, just over the small of
his back.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
 “Are you––it doesn’t bother you?”
“That you use dildos? No, I told you. I––”
“No, I mean… that I used to date Anna.”
“Nah.” He leans his head back, forcing me to look at him. “I’m kind of
glad she fucked that up so badly. I would have had to steal you from her.”
His dimples pop, and it punches at my guts so hard I can’t look.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Two
Bash

“S
o, how long do you have to wait to have sex?”
“Two weeks,” I mumble, mouth full of chips.
“Is your princess gonna be okay with that? Does he even know
what you were up to today?”
“I––” I look over at Jax, frozen. “Hm.” Should I have told him? I mean,
no. That’s crazy. “I don’t have to tell him what I do with my body.”
“Yeah, but I mean… you did pierce his dick. He’s gonna be going
through withdrawals without––”
“Shut up.” He’s just trying to be funny, he doesn’t actually know our
sexual dynamic. But also, I wasn’t kidding when I told Liam he was the
horniest person I’ve ever met, so he’s not entirely wrong. We fuck nearly
every day I see him, which, lately, is all of the days.
It makes me sort of nervous as I think about it, about how much he just
wants to bone every time I see him. I know he’s not with me just for sex,
but… I mean, do I know that? I can’t even imagine what other reason he’d
have.
He did say he wanted to meet my family, and I don’t think that’s the sort
of thing you do when all you want is dick. But still. He does want it a lot.
He has his collection of sex toys, though, so he’ll be fine. I hope.
Maybe I should buy him some more.
“You should buy him a vibrator.”
My brows dip as I wonder––not for the first time––if Jax can read
minds or some shit, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to talk about
Liam’s sex-toy addiction to someone who has no business even knowing
about it, especially since I know he wouldn’t like that.
 Jax must also sense that with his weird little lizard brain because he
changes the subject. “Are you actually going to introduce him to the
Thompsons?”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“Can I be there?”
“Why?” I don’t understand why he’d even want to be there, especially
when I sure the fuck don’t want to be there. If he could take my place, I’d
let him.
“I don’t know. I’ve known you for five years, and I’ve never met them.
You met my parents.”
“I guess.” It feels like I should say no, like this is something special just
for Liam and me, but the pathetic way he looks right now has me agreeing.
Jax doesn’t really have anybody. Me. He has his shitty parents, who barely
tolerate him and me, so, yeah. He can meet my sort-of parents if he wants
to. “Just behave.”
It’s just a dinner. Liam picked the place, Con Amore again, so I can try
those cookies he’s got a major hard-on for. Maybe with more people there,
it won’t feel so suffocating. It’s hard to enjoy food when you can’t just
relax, and with Walter and Nadine’s judgy eyes on me all night, I don’t see
myself relaxing.
I’ll just be making sure they don’t do anything to upset Liam.
I sigh again, not at all looking forward to it. “Anna is going to be there,
too.”
“Ah, yes. Your sister. Who Liam dated.”
“Shut up.”
He does not shut up. He runs his annoying mouth all the way until I do
a U-turn and start driving to his place, despite telling him he could hang out
at my place for a bit before I have to head to work.
“Nope,” I tell him when he starts apologizing, telling me that he’ll stop.
“You fucked up. Remember this the next time you want to say shit.”
I laugh when I pull away from the curb in front of his place a few
minutes later, his middle finger in my rearview mirror as he stands on the
sidewalk.

∞∞∞
“P
anini,” I growl, being as gentle as possible as I nudge her away
from me with my foot. “Go away!”
She just yaps at me, too fucking small to bark. I ignore her,
refusing to give any attention to this scraggly-looking ten-pound mutt, but
as I start walking to my Jeep, ready to go home, she starts limping beside
me.
“Goddammit,” I mutter. “What’s wrong with you?” Another yap. My
feet start moving again, but I stop with a groan when all she does is trip
over her paws as she hurries to follow after me. It’s because of the panini
she stole. She jumped up in my lap like a stray not at all afraid of humans,
took a bite of my food, and just has not left me alone since.
I reach down slowly, hoping she lets me pick her up, but also hoping
she doesn’t. I’m not an animal person. I just don’t like them, and usually,
they don’t like me. Not her, though. She likes me too much. She lets me
pick her right up––bitch—licks at my wrist like she’s hoping I have some
traces of my lunch on me. I’m sure there’s a vet clinic open somewhere in
the city, but it’ll just be easier to take her in the morning.
I feel a little guilty, but only a little bit, that I didn’t do this sooner.
She’s hungry and dirty and friendly enough that I doubt she’s been on the
streets her whole life. She was either abandoned or ran away.
“Don’t pee,” I tell her, putting her in the passenger seat. As soon as I get
in and shut the door, she’s on me, trying to plant herself in my lap, and it’s
honestly a struggle to get her to stay in her own seat and pull out of the
parking lot at the same time. I give up once I’m on the road, grateful that
she’s tiny enough she doesn’t get in the way of the steering wheel.
When I get home, I pull out my phone before I even get out of my car
to place a delivery for some dog supplies, too lazy to go out myself. And if
I’m a little excited to get upstairs, where I know Liam is waiting for me, so
what? Nobody’s ever going to know.
He’s going to be excited about the dog––and then less excited when I
tell him that I’m not keeping her. He’s also going to be excited about the
stuff I got from Stella’s Little Shop of Horny, which has a name way longer
than a sex shop needs to have.
“Do… something,” I tell the dog when she just stares up at me after I
set her on the ground. I don’t really want to take her inside until she does
her little bathroom thing, but she just keeps staring at me and shaking.
When she starts whining, I cave. I hurry to pick her up and go upstairs
feeling all sorts of pissed off that I’m dealing with this.
Liam asked if he could stop by my work after class to grab the key to
come back here, but I had a spare to let him use, so I’m not surprised when
I open the door and find the TV on. I kind of planned on taking the dog to
the bathroom and setting her in the tub to give her a bath or something, but
clearly, that’s where he is. So, I set her down on the ground. This just means
that she immediately jumps on the couch, getting her dirty dog germs all
over the leather, and I’m just not in the mood to deal with it.
I’d feel weirder about just barging in the bathroom if it weren’t
something Liam did to me all the time. I live alone, so locking doors just
isn’t something I’m used to, and my princess is clingy enough that a closed
door just means it’s one he needs to open.
“Hey.”
He doesn’t move, just continues sitting in the tub with his head leaning
against the shower wall. The bath water is still steaming, cloudy with the
way it’s tempered. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, face utterly relaxed.
I kneel down next to the tub.
“Liam,” I run my hand through his only slightly damp hair, and his eyes
start to blink. He smiles before he even gets them to stay open. “Hey,
beautiful.”
I’m not really sure why I can’t just stick to one pet name, but he is all of
the things I call him. My pretty boy, my princess, my absolute sweetheart.
It’s crazy, blows my mind if I think about it too hard. Who I was when we
first met would be fucking stunned at the way he just makes me something
soft.
Where he’s concerned, anyway.
“Hey.” His voice is hoarse, coming out of what was clearly a nap. “Kiss
me,” he says, and it’s not even funny, the way I just fucking do it. Just like
that. Zero hesitation.
“What are you doing?”
“Just soaking. Is that okay? I didn’t think you’d mind,” he starts to sit
up, but I place a hand on his shoulder to keep him where he is.
“Of course, Liam. It’s fine.” I like coming home to find him just
chilling while he’s all sorts of naked. He’s comfortable here, and I’ve
worried I’d make him uncomfortable more than a few times. So, it’s more
than fine.
 “What’s that? You went to Stella’s?”
I hum, a faint smile tugging at my lips. Of course, he’s familiar with
Stella’s. “I did.”
“For me?” he asks, somehow coming off as shy, even as his eyes light
up. He knows the answer, doesn’t even wait for me to confirm before he
reaches for the bag in my hand. “What is it?”
“Let me wash it first,” I stand up and move to the sink, making quick
work of taking the toy out of its packaging so I can clean it. “Let’s go to bed
so I can use this on you. Play with that pretty pussy until you’re begging for
something real.” And then deny you because I can’t have sex for at least
fourteen days. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be hard.
He stands up, straightens out as the tub starts draining, and then turns
on the shower spray so he can rinse off. I set the new dildo on a towel and
grab another one to hold up for him as he starts to climb out. He’s soaking
wet, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning into me, the fluffy fabric of my
favorite towel between us as he presses his face into my neck.
“I missed you.”
God. How can he just say shit like that so easily? It’s a constant struggle
for me just to not act like a total prick, to not act on instinct and snap at him
for literally no reason sometimes. And he’s just over here saying the
sweetest things to me. He gives them so easily that sometimes I can’t even
be sure if he actually means it.
I hope he does. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t, but it’d fucking
wreck me to have it taken away from me. Nobody has ever said any of the
things he says so freely and actually meant them. My arms tighten around
him, fingers digging into his skin severely as my throat starts to seize.
“Liam,” my voice is rough, shredded. I feel kind of emotional, and that
just pisses me the absolute fuck off. I’m not… this. I’m not someone who
needs to hear nice things, but he’s ruining me. He has ruined me. I’m
already wrecked.
I saw him this morning. Spent last night with him. I listened to him tell
me that I’m the beautiful one, that he thinks it’s endearing when I’m just my
usual grumpy self. That nobody has ever made him feel the way I do. He
said he missed me.
God, he better mean it.
His lips, slightly chapped because he bites them so much, brush against
my pulse point. I have a split second to wonder if he can feel how hard my
heart is pounding, maybe even hear it, before he pulls back. He takes the
towel from my hands and starts drying off, and I can’t even watch.
I turn away, grab the toy, and head into my room. I grab the lube from
my drawer on autopilot, then sit on the edge of my bed and stare at my
hands—at this silly phallic-shaped vibrator. It’s orange. His favorite color.
I’m not even sure when I found that out. I don’t remember cataloging it, but
I know that I’m right.
“Hey.”
I twitch, look up, and find Liam just a foot away. I reach for his cock,
hard and satiny, so warm in my hand.
“What’s wrong?”
The question startles me, has me pulling my hand back.
“Bash, what is it?” He cups my face in his palms, his brows dipping
low and amping up that little frown on his mouth. “You look…” He leans
forward and lets his lips graze my nose, making me huff a short laugh as my
chest fills.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I tell him, my hands moving to his hips, thumbs
caressing the soft V-line of his abs. “Is my little cockwarmer empty?” I pull
him into my lap until he’s straddling me, and when he wiggles into place,
not settling until he’s as close as he can possibly be, I feel the pressure in
my chest start to ease up.
“No.”
That pulls a full laugh out of me. “No? Let’s see,” I slip my fingertips in
between his crease and trail them down until I find what I immediately
know is his heart-shaped plug. I push against it until he grunts.
“Bash,” he breathes. “I just want you,” he reaches for my jeans, and I
have to stop him.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I think you and your cunt are going to like this one.”
As far as I know, he doesn’t own any vibrators. “On your back, come on,” I
pat his hip, leaning back a bit so he can just climb over me. By the time I
turn around, he’s already got his head on my pillow, right where he belongs.
I stay dressed, only kicking my shoes off as I move between his legs.
He reaches for the plug before I have time to, pulling it out with a
pained gasp, clearly in a hurry.
“Don't do that,” I admonish, shake my head a bit. “Be nice to this little
fuckhole.” I circle his rim with a thumb to make sure he’s okay. I feel it
give way easily and ignore it when the tip of my dick starts to burn. His
skin is so pink, his ring flushed and swollen, shiny with lube. A contraction
has the slightest gape winking at me, opening and closing back up with a
hard clench that has him moaning.
I push his legs up until he takes over, holds them to his chest for me,
and then I lean down.
“Bash?”
I lick hard against him, ignore the taste of silicone, and dig in, spurred
on by the endless guttural sounds leaving him. He’s loose enough that I
know I can get pretty deep. But I stay focused on his rim, licking until all I
can taste is him. I knew he’d love this, knew that he’d lose his mind with
my mouth on him, devouring him. Every lash of my tongue and scrape of
my teeth earns their own moans, has his hands fisting my hair.
He’s so loud, much louder than he’d been the first time we hooked up.
It drives me fucking mental listening to him. Knowing that it’s me doing
this to him has me eating him out in a daze until I don’t even know how
long I’ve been going.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, the words garbled and thick. “In me, I need
you––”
I use a finger to stretch him open, hold the skin apart for me so I can
lick inside, and his hips buck so hard I have to pull back.
“Yes!”
“Jesus.” He fucking came. His dick is still jerking, has cum trickling
down its long shaft in a steady stream. I don’t even think I hit his prostate.
“Oh, I can––” he puffs out a breath, still out of it. “More. I need more.”
For a moment, I’m almost positive that it would be okay for me to fuck
him, to slide right in him, but there’s a throbbing focused on the piercing
that tells me I’m wrong. I just grab the vibrator, apply some lube, and am a
little more liberal than necessary as I spread it over the toy’s entirety.
“Bash,” he whines as I push it inside him. The muscles in his legs that
had gone lax are tightening back up. “I––you. Your cock.” He can’t even
form a coherent sentence, but I know what he wants.
“Shh,” I fuck him with it lazily, slowly, not turning it on just yet. It
makes a wet sound, a fucking sloppy, squelching sound, as I twist it out and
push back in.
“Please,” he begs. “Just you. I want you.”
“Princess,” I whisper, my chest getting tight again. He’s not even really
talking about me. He just wants my dick, wants me to fuck him, but the
words… I can’t handle the things he says. It’s like a part of me just refuses
to accept them.
But I want to. I want all the words he says so soundly. To let them in, let
them wash over me like a balm.
I blow out a slow breath and then press the power button. It’s soundless,
but I can feel it, just a faint vibration.
“Wha––” he arches his back and reaches down to wrap a hand around
my wrist.
“Does that feel good, love?” It’s not the first time I’ve called him that,
nowhere near as much as I call him princess or sweetheart, but it feels…
more. Heavier. Not wholly real, not yet, but like a promise. Something I can
almost taste, touch.
He doesn’t answer me, maybe he can’t, but when I press that innocuous
little button again, feel the vibrations get stronger, his mouth opens on a
silent moan. His hand locks hard around my wrist, holding it hostage as he
practically fucks himself on the dildo, rolling his hips onto it as I stay still.
“Oh, god,” he cries just as his cock jumps, his balls pulling tight in a
way that looks painful.
“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it,” I push it up, fighting against his
hold on me until he lets go completely and aim deep like I’m trying to hit
his belly button from the inside. One more press on that little button has the
toy vibrating harder still.
“It’s too much!” He shakes his head, tries to pull the toy out, but I don’t
let him.
“Come one more time for me, Liam.”
“I can’t,” he chokes on a dry sob just as he tries to close his legs.
“Fuck, beautiful. You can.” My cock fucking aches, my balls heavy, and
body beyond stressed because I’m not doing anything to alleviate the brutal
pressure. “Come on,” I rasp. “Come for me, Liam.”
His dick is almost a deeper red than his insides are, angry looking and
so ready to bust.
“Just get inside me. I’m already begging, you said––”
I laugh, can’t help it because he thinks I’m teasing him, denying just
him, but I’m in fucking pain here. Can’t he see? I’m torturing myself. I’m
not making him come, he gets to come. And he will.
I focus on his p-spot, just hold it about where I think it is, and then
stroke him, loving that it didn’t even occur to him to do it himself.
 He comes hard, his hole spasming so much that it pushes against my
hold on the toy enough that it slips out of him. I replace it with my fingers,
pegging his prostate and feeling his hole convulse around them until he’s
actually crying. He has tears streaming down his cheeks and I keep stroking
him until he pushes my hand away. He’s oversensitive, letting out soft little
whines as his body tries to settle.
It takes him a long time to settle, for the muscles in his solid frame to
relax and his cock to fully soften. I’m breathing just as hard as he is, my
hands moving up and down his smooth thighs.
“What the fuck?” he croaks, voice gravelly like it was his throat I just
got done fucking instead of his pretty cunt. He looks up at me, his face full
of wonder. “You didn’t come.”
I shrug, holding off on telling him about the piercing until my brain
comes back online.
“Come here.”
I almost deny him, tell him that I’m okay, but then I realize that he just
wants to touch. He just wants less space between us. I lean over him and
kiss his chest all over, smoothing a thumb over a nipple until he stops me.
“Too sensitive,” he explains. “You know, I thought you were going to
pull nipple clamps out of that bag.”
I lay my head on him, right over his heart, and grin. “They’re still in the
bag,” I tell him, listening to his heartbeat and not even letting myself
wonder why that sound just seems to fill me right up.
His nails scratch at my scalp, and I sigh, nuzzling my face into his skin.
“Why does that not surprise me?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“We’ll try them next time.”
“Maybe.”
I turn my head, plant my forehead directly between his pecs. “Come on,
princess. Your tits will love it.” I cup each one in my hands and motorboat
him, making him laugh as he pulls my hair hard enough that it lifts my
head.
“Let me blow you.”
I snort. “No.”
“Why?” His face falls. “I––because I’m not good––”
“Shh,” I lean up and kiss him. “I love fucking all of your holes, Liam. I
just can’t right now.”
“What does that mean?”
 “I’ll show you.” I force myself back up on my knees and undo my
jeans. I was supposed to take the condom off and clean it when I got home,
but he kind of distracted me.
“What the fuck?”
My eyes jump to his face, confused at the tone of his voice.
“Why the fuck are you wearing a condom?” He sits up like he’s moving
away from me, and my hand is quick to grab his forearm.
“It’s a piercing. Not––Liam.” I want to be mad that he’d even think
that, but I guess I understand it. “It’s just to protect the piercing while it
heals. So it doesn’t catch on anything. Here,” I pull it off, cringing when I
finally free my flaccid dick and a gross glob of precum mixed with blood
strings off the tip. “Mm,” I groan. “I gotta clean it.”
“Wait. Wha––” he stares at dick, and I lift it as best as I can so he can
actually see the slightly curved bar just under the head. A frenum piercing.
“You… did not cheat on me.”
“If I did, I would have at least removed the condom afterward.”
He lifts his head to glare at me.
“Liam,” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a liar, princess. When I tell you that it’s
just you for me, that your ass is the only one I want to be fucking, I mean it.
I’m not my sister.”
“Right,” he ducks his head, embarrassed at the comparison. “I know
that. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I understand it, I do, and his insecurities aren’t prevalent
enough that I anticipate it being a serious problem for us, but I do hope he
really knows.
“Did it hurt?”
“No, not really. It just––”
“Wait… you can’t come? Does that mean, can you even fuck me? You
bought me a vibrator.” He says the last sentence like he’s piecing together a
puzzle, trying to make sense of all the different pieces.
I sigh, climbing off the bed. “Yeah, it’s going to be at least two weeks
before I can sink inside that sweet puss, sweetheart. And condoms for six
weeks after that. Sorry.” We ditched the rubbers as soon as I got tested, so it
feels a little wierd to have to wait two months before I can cum in his ass.
“Two weeks? That’s insane.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, this time meaning it a little more. I don’t want
him to feel like he’s missing out, like there’s no point to even stay here if I
can’t fuck him.
“I’m sorry for you, what the fuck. I’d go crazy. Can you handle that? I
can’t even… I come every single day.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
A shrill, almost-bark sounds, and I roll my eyes, not bothering to look
down at my feet where I can feel Panini scratching at my sock.
“What the hell is that?” He gasps as he looks over the edge of the bed,
and Panini turns towards him, now scratching at my blanket, trying to get to
him. “Oh. My. God! Who is this?”
“That’s that dog I told you about. Panini.” My face twists. God, why did
I say that?
“Oh my god, she’s so cute! She’s tiny, Bash.” He reaches for her, and I
cringe.
“Not on the bed.” And where the fuck did her limp go?
“He said that you were a menace, but you’re not, are you?” he coos, and
I scoff. She absolutely fucking is.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Three
Liam

“W
hat are these?”
“They’re roses. Duh.” I set them on his kitchen table, eyes
already searching for Panini. I frown when I don’t see her
anywhere
“For Nadine?” His face screws up like he just cannot stand that idea.
I snort. “No, they’re for you.” Duh. Although, maybe I should have
gotten his pseudo-mom some flowers too.
“What?”
“Yeah. I saw them and they reminded me of you,” I say, reaching out to
touch a petal. They came in a deep red vase, a dozen long-stemmed roses
arranged with what the florist told me was called baby’s breath. When he
doesn’t say anything, I look back his way to see him frowning at the
flowers. That look can mean anything, but his silence has me worried.
Maybe it was a bad idea. Roses were something special between him
and his mom. His birth mom, who I think he loved a lot more than he’d
ever be willing to say. I almost apologize, but I manage to keep it in, too
worried that bringing it up will make the situation worse.
“It’s probably a little weird to get a guy flowers,” I chuckle nervously.
“But they made me think of you, and…” I shrug lamely.
“Thank you.” His voice goes low, his throat moving as he swallows.
“I’m sorry.” I have to say it because I really do think I messed up. I
shouldn’t have bought them, should have just thought about it a little more.
“No,” he shakes his head. “I really like them, Liam. Thank you.” He
pulls me into him, hands clutching at my back hard enough to hurt. My
arms are under his as I circle them around him. “Thank you,” he says again,
so quietly that it pierces my skin with a needle-like prick directly in my
chest.
“It’s not a big deal,” I mumble. I really didn’t mean for it to be, but it
seems like maybe it is. To him.
“Where’s Panini?” I ask, half just for something to say but also because
I want to know. For the past three days, she’s just been here, getting all
kinds of hype when I walk through the door.
“She’s at the groomer.”
“So grumpy,” I laugh. “She weighs eight pounds. How can you dislike
an eight-pound dog? She’s like the size of a chunky newborn but cries way
less.”
“I didn’t want a fucking dog, Liam.” He says my name like he blames
me for the whole situation, but I’m not the one who brought her home and
claimed she was limping. I see right through that bullshit.
“Well, I have always wanted a dog.”
“Her paperwork says, Panini Crawford. She stays here, chews on my
shoes, and pisses on my floor. She’s not yours.”
“Rude,” I say, even though the way he said it makes it clear that he’s
real bitter about me not being able to take Panini home. “We’re working on
potty training her. And she wishes she was mine.”
He rolls his eyes. It’s not the truth. She’s fucking obsessed with him,
goes bananas just when he leaves the room. I’d bet cold hard cash that he’s
extra sweet with her when I’m not here because she is so in love with him it
honestly has made me jealous. She fucking steals my morning cuddles.
There’s no way he’s shoving her away from him when I’m not here. He’s
got to be giving her some affection.
Or maybe she just appreciates his crotchety ass as much as I do. Finds it
endearing, or some shit because, for whatever reason, I do.
“Hey, is your––do I––hm.”
“What?” I have to laugh. I’ve never seen him stumble over his words
like this. “Why are you being so cute?”
He glares, gettin’ all cuter and shit. “Should you drive?”
“Why? No.” I’ve fully embraced my title as a Princess, and that
includes Passenger Princess.
“You can’t make your mom sit in the back.”
“Why not?”
“Liam.”
 “I––well… she can’t sit up front with you?”
He takes a deep breath through his nose. “I guess.”
“Aw, dimples,” I hide my laugh in his neck, tightening my arms again.
“She doesn’t bite.”
“Does she know that I have tattoos?”
“Yes. And piercings, and that you’re a twenty-six-year-old personal
trainer who is a little taller than me, and that you have blue eyes, and that
you’re kind of a grouch.”
“Does she know I punched your dad?”
“First of all, you pushed him. Big difference. Second of all, no. But she
would be on your side if she knew you were defending me. She’d do a lot
more than push him if she could.” Probably.
“You should tell her, Liam.”
“I will. I’ll tell her he was being a dick and––”
“That I assaulted him.”
“Well, that’s dramatic.”
“Liam, I did. Legally, that’s what I did.” It’s like he’s trying to convince
me that I should have a problem with this whole situation, but he doesn’t
get it.
“In my honor,” I tug his big frame against mine. “He’s always been…
my dad isn’t the worst, okay? That doesn’t mean he’s great or anything.”
He’s not Bash’s dad. He never hit me, and he’s not an alcoholic who goes
on rampages and screams about how much he hates me or wants to die, but
when it comes to me, he’s not really the best either. Still, after everything
Bash has told me about his father, I feel guilty complaining. “My mom has
tried since I was born to defend me where he’s concerned, and she’s not
going to be mad that you did the same.”
He nods slowly, ingesting the information like it’s too big to swallow
and it’s having trouble going down. He’ll see.
“Have you talked to him?”
“No,” I snort. “I quit baseball, and he thinks I’m gay with a six-foot-
four boyfriend who is not afraid to throw hands. He doesn’t want to talk to
me.”
The tip of his nose is cold as he runs it up the length of my throat,
stopping at my jaw to breathe me in. “Am I your boyfriend, princess?”
My body fights a shiver, trying to tense up despite the words being
spoken right against my skin. “Um, I thought you were.” I bite my lip,
refusing to let myself look at his face. “You said I was yours.”
“You are.” His voice is hard, his hand climbing up until it’s cradling the
back of my head in a firm hold.
“Okay then. Don’t ask stupid questions.” I breathe out, my chest able to
expand now that that’s settled.

∞∞∞

“H
ey, Mom,” I wrap an arm around her and move my head out of the
way when she starts patting my cheek. She drove down for the
weekend, excited to meet Bash and more than willing to make the
trip. She also plans on talking to my dad, yelling at him for cutting me off,
so Bash is right. I need to tell her about all of that before my dad gets the
chance.
“And this must be Sebastian!”
I turn my head to look at him and see him standing awkwardly next to
his Jeep, tensing up a bit now that we’re both looking at him. She
remembered not to call him Bash, which I appreciate, but it is weird hearing
someone call him by his full name.
“Hi,” he forces a smile, one that only just barely triggers his dimples,
and then gets real weird as he holds his giant hand out for her to ignore
completely.
She goes in for a hug, her head only coming up to his broad chest, and
he panics a bit. His eyes widen and his movements are choppy as he half-
asses a one-armed hug. I warned him this would happen, but I don’t think
he believed me.
“Wow,” she says dramatically as she pulls away, hands moving to the
outside of his shoulders. “No wonder my son’s gay now!” She actually does
pinch his cheek. She’s not even old. Why does she do that so often?
“Mother.”
“I’m kidding!” She laughs, and when Bash does, too, I join in more
because I’m just happy that this is even happening. “I’m pretty sure it was
Brad Pitt who made him––”
 “Mother!” My face heats, and Bash laughs a little louder, deep voice
rumbling in that way too-sexy baritone of his, making my guts just flip right
on over like a pancake.
She calms down, and when I tell her that she can sit up front while we
drive to the restaurant, she refuses and pushes me towards the door. Maybe
she can sense that Bash is sort of shy––which he definitely is, and that’s not
something I anticipated––because even when he grabs my hand, and she
eyes it with a giddy grin, she keeps her mouth shut.
“Have you guys been to this restaurant before?” she asks when we’re
almost there, and Bash’s hand squeezes mine a little too hard.
“Yeah, actually. Dad ran into us while we were on a date.”
“Oh? Did he behave?” But the careful way she asks makes me think
that she doesn’t actually have much hope for that.
“No. He said that I disgust him.”
“He said what?”
“Yeah, he was pretty upset because Bash told him not to talk to me like
that.”
She gasps, tapping Bash on his shoulder. “Good for you! He deserved
more. Sweetie, I am so sorry he said that to you. I won’t make excuses for
him, but I can promise you it will not happen again.”
“Yeah… not in front of Bash, that’s for sure.” He side-eyes me, looking
all stern about it.
“I pushed him,” he calmly blurts, and my eyes widen. “I shouldn’t have,
I know that, but Liam did not deserve… I’m sorry.”
“You pushed Dean?” I turn around to face her and see her eyes
comically wide. “Did… he fall?” She covers her mouth to smother a laugh,
and I shake my head.
“Mom, it’s not funny.” But now I’m trying to smother a laugh because
what the fuck? I did not expect that reaction. To be honest, I was a little
worried about her getting, not mad exactly, but maybe wary.
“It sounds like he deserved it.”

∞∞∞
“I
didn’t know Anna was coming.”
“Me either,” he shrugs, and I kind of want to pinch him or
something.
“And Jax?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s never met them and asked if he could. I forgot to
mention it.”
I grit my teeth. It’s not that I’m mad, I’m just… nervous. I was nervous
to begin with, but with them here, it’s only amplified. They could say or do
anything, and I go from about fifty percent nerves to a hundred and fifty
percent just seeing them at the table waiting for the three of us.
They could talk about having sex with my boyfriend, talk about how I
used to be her boyfriend, mention my giant pink dildo. There’s really no
telling with them.
The Thompsons are exactly what Bash said they were: a very average,
mundane suburban couple. Blonde hair, blue eyes, polos, and a sweater
vest. Anna is preppy enough and blonde enough that she genuinely looks
like their daughter. Talking with them about such mind-numbingly boring
things––like the weather? Come on, now––what Anna is doing in school,
how Anna is liking her classes, what Anna plans on doing after graduation,
really fucking points out just why Bash felt like he was so unwanted.
Who is meeting who for the first time? Because honestly, it seems like
they don’t even know Bash at all. They took him in and then just didn’t get
to know him. I’m almost certain of it.
It pisses me off, but then I watch as my mom, the sweet little lady she
is, tries to steer the conversation to him, and they barely contain their
squirming. Bash makes them nervous. If I’m at one hundred and fifty
percent, the second my mom starts to ask Bash questions, they way surpass
that.
“No, I graduated three years ago.”
“Oh, okay. And Liam says you have a degree in sports medicine and
business?”
I smile. I know what she’s doing. She’s annoyed that they’re talking
Anna and her teaching degree up, and she wants it known that Bash is
something to be impressed about, too. Which she confirms not even a
second later.
“Well, you both must be so proud of him.”
 “Of course! He’s––yes.” Nadine’s smile is tight, unsure as she struggles
to keep her eyes from going to Bash every other half second. It’s almost like
she’s afraid of saying something he won’t like. “He’s been our easy child
since we… got him.”
“Right.” My mom nods. “ I can see that. He’s the strong silent type,”
she reaches over the table to pat his hand, the one not planted on my thigh
under the table. He barely smiles at the gesture, fisting his hand when she
pulls away. “You adopted him as a teen, right? That’s pretty cool. I work
with a lot of adoption lawyers, and you don’t see a lot of teens adopted
unless it’s by family members.”
“Well, I can see why,” Walter huffs, and instantly, I decide I fucking
hate him. “It was a much harder process getting him in our hands. It took
almost an entire year longer just to get him in our house.” Walter sips his
iced tea, shaking his head. “It was like they didn’t want him out of the
system.”
“Wait, what?” Bash sits up a little taller, turning where I can’t see his
face.
“Oh, yeah. You remember. You stayed in that god-awful group home
while we pleaded our case.”
“But you said… I remember you saying you were adopting Anna.”
“Yeah,” Walter tilts his head, not understanding.
“Just Anna.”
“What? No,” he shakes his head, a swift back-and-forth motion that has
his blonde weatherman hair bouncing.
“We started the adoption process for both of you at the same time, but
Anna’s situation was more critical in their eyes, so we got her sooner.” It’s
Nadine who speaks, again, looking out of place as she talks about Bash to
Bash.
“No way,” Anna leans over the table towards Bash. “You’re so stupid,
dude.”
“What?” Nadine looks between the two of them, almost frantic.
“Nothing,” Bash mutters, but Anna doesn’t let that slide. I take his hand
in mine, and when he looks at me, I smile dopily. He is kind of stupid, my
dimple-having boyfriend. It’s charming in a weird way, but my heart hurts
for him. He was petty for no reason. He could have had a family this whole
entire time or just some fucking support. They’ve always wanted him.
 “He just always thought you guys didn’t want him,” she tells them
point-blank.
“What?” Nadine’s face collapses, just falls like she’s agonized that this
is a reality. “We did, I––that’s why we adopted you,” she tells him, eyes
begging him to believe her.
It’s Walter who changes the subject, tells his wife something quietly,
and then starts asking me questions before moving on to Jax. I’m kind of
stunned that Jax has been mostly quiet this whole time.
I want to ask Bash how he feels about what was said, but like Walter, I
figure this is a topic meant for privacy. So, we all just keep eating, me
probably overdoing it big-time with the pasta but enjoying it too much to
really care––even if I know I probably will care hours from now.
“Are you going to think I’m sexy when I get all chubby and shit,” I ask
later, leaning back in my chair after cleaning our shared plate of cantucci.
“I think if your ass got a little fatter, it’d look real fucking sexy in those
pretty panties you wear, princess.”
I look around the table, feeling on edge all of a sudden. “Bash,” I elbow
him. Nobody can hear him, all too focused on their own conversations, but
honestly. I do not need to be getting horned up with our parents at the same
table.
“I’m kidding, Liam. I think you’re beautiful and that you’re stuck with
me. Nothing short of actually turning into a duck would ever make you less
sexy.”
“What?” I scoff. “So you wouldn’t like me if I turned into a duck,” I
squint my eyes. How fucking rude.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to bone you.”
Am I offended? A little, and I can’t even really explain why.
“Princess,” he smiles, just for me as he leans in. He’s using his
annoyingly deep voice to make me shiver. “Are you trying to say that you
would want me to be turned on by my boyfriend, the duck?”
“I guess not,” I concede, almost pouting about it. “That’s like…
beastiality.”
“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Jax pauses all dramatic-like
to stare at us over the top of his cup.
“Liam wants me to assure him that I’d be down to stay his boyfriend if
he ever turned into a duck.”
“Well! What would you do with me?”
 “I’d… I’d build you a pond,” he pats my shoulder condescendingly, and
I roll my eyes. “And I’d buy you cantucci every day to keep your little duck
self happy.”
“Aw,” my mom grins. “That’s sweet.”
I hate how gooey my guts feel, all warm and heavy, because it is a little.
It’s embarrassing. Has my neck heating up, and I don’t even understand
why because it’s not like the rest of the table can see my insides melting.
And I’m obviously never going to turn into a fucking duck.
But I mean, if I did, it feels like, yeah, he might be sweet enough to
build me a pond.

∞∞∞

I
walk away after Walter and Nadine tell me how nice it was to meet me,
following my mom and leaving Bash in front of them because I feel like
they need a moment. And when they hug him, I get the sense that it’s
been a very long time since they’ve done that. It could be the first time
they’ve done it at all, really. Nadine holds on tight, standing on her tiptoes
with her mouth moving as she quietly tells him something. Something
important, I think.
Maybe he’ll tell me what it was she said. I hope he does, that he keeps
letting me in.
My mom is here for the weekend, so we have to drop her off back at her
hotel, and she makes him get out so she can hug him too. He accepts it,
hardly even tenses up, and that, too, has me going warm all over. Melting,
turning all soupy.
“I really like him,” she whispers when it’s my turn.
I look at my mom and nod. “Me too.”
“I can tell.” She gives me a wink, and I don’t have it in me to be self-
conscious about that. Of course, she can tell. Everyone can, and that’s how
it should be.
She says her goodbyes, reminding me that she’s here to talk to my dad,
but I’m not all that interested in that topic, so I just shrug it off.
 Unfortunately, I have to go home to get stuff for school. I have finals
coming up and I need to actually study, and even when I tell him that he can
just drop me off, he refuses, telling me that he’ll just wait for me.
“Good,” I give him a cheeky grin, leaning over to prompt him to kiss
me. “I don’t really like sleeping alone anymore. I actually think I hate it
with my whole entire soul.”
His teeth graze over my lips, surprising me before he uses a hand in my
hair to tilt my face and really kiss me. “Well, if it’s with your whole entire
soul, I guess we better get you in my bed.”
I’ve worried quite a bit that he’s going to get sick of me, that he’s
probably already tired of me taking up space at his apartment as if I live
there when I actually have my own bed, just ten minutes away. Before, I
figured it was fine because we fucked all the time, but it’s been a week
since he’s been inside me or even just come period, and he just keeps…
expecting me to be there.
“Are you coming in?” I force myself not to get dirty, not while we can’t
do anything about the boner he’s trying to give me and step out of the car
only for him to follow me as his answer.
Baby snags his attention when we step inside, and I decide to hurry
down the hall and into my room.
Cade doesn’t expect me, jumps like I’ve scared him when I open the
door and it’s tense for a few seconds as I remember the last talk we had on
Baby’s birthday. I told him to change his attitude, or we’d have a problem,
and I really don’t want that to be our last conversation, so I’m hoping he
took it seriously.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he sits up, putting his legs over the edge of his bed. “Wasn’t sure
you still lived here.”
“Yeah, well… I’m leaving again, but I mean, I do live here.”
“Right.”
“Okay,” I huff. “So, still being a dick, I see.”
“Liam,” he sighs. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I don’t have a problem
with your… boyfriend.” He cringes.
“You can’t even say that with a straight face.”
“It’s true! I don’t have a problem with him.”
“Then what is your problem, Cade? Because clearly, you have one.
You’re supposed to be my best friend, dude.”
 “I…” He looks like he’s in pain, his face warped and his eyes watering.
“Cade, what is it?” I step closer, thinking he’s going to cry and fucking
hating how it tugs at my chest, but I just need him to spit it out so I don’t
step too close. “Something is wrong. You can’t even stand to look at me
when I’m next to him.” He talks about him like the words taste like acid.
“I don’t… hate him, I just…”
“Just fucking say it!” I do my best to keep my voice low, not trying to
draw any attention to us, but I’m so frustrated, and it’s hard to keep myself
calm.
“I’m just…” He grunts, aggressively wipes at his face, and then stands
up. I have to make myself stay still when he steps up to me, my body
buzzing as it waits for him to do something––hit me, push me, or just
scream, ready for any and all of it as long as he gets it over with.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Four
Bash

“W
here were you guys? It’s kind of weird to see you not dressed in
black,” Baby plucks at my T-shirt, a white one, and I just sort of
let him, watching as Liam disappears down the hallway.
“We ate out. Italian.”
“Ooh, like on a date? How cute.” Dude smells like weed, and his eyes
are definitely red. “I wish I had Italian,” he sighs.
“It wasn’t a date,” I shrug. It’s easier to talk to him when he’s high for
some reason. I guess because if he’s high, it won’t bother me too much if he
thinks I’m being awkward. “Our parents came down.” One little minute-
long heart-to-heart doesn’t really make them feel like my parents, but it’s
easier just to say that than go into detail about what they are to me.
I’m actually not sure what they are to me. I think it’s clear that I had it
wrong, that my pissed-off teenage self just decided things and went with it.
According to Nadine, she’d found me first. She was a teen in foster care and
had always planned on taking one in. I had no idea.
She didn’t say it, but I know she didn’t think anyone else would want
me. She’s right, of course, because I was full of rage and was a literal child
with multiple shitty tattoos––that I thankfully covered up eventually. I had
scars on my hands, and I remember her seeing them when she met me that
first time. They’re covered in tattoos now, but back then, they were hard to
miss, and they were the kind you only get from busting your hand open on
things––walls or glass or teeth.
So, yeah. She had a real big hero complex, and she wanted to bring me
home. Love me or some shit. And I just didn’t let her.
“Wow. So, y’all are pretty serious, huh?”
I shrug, keeping my mouth shut. It feels serious.
 “It’s a little soon to be moving in together, though.”
I cock my head, confused about how his brain jumped there.
“I’m just saying," Baby keeps going. “Hopefully, you’re not stealing
my roommate. If I have to move someone else in here, or––fuck. What if
Cade moves out? Like if his bestie isn’t here anymore, and he just decides
he doesn’t want to pay for the big room and doesn’t want to deal with
someone moving into his room? I’d have to deal with two new roommates!
Alone. With Logan. And all because you couldn’t just find an actual gay
guy to bone.”
My lips twitch. Liam is hardly here these days, but it hasn’t been very
long. I’m sure he’ll get sick of me soon, but I don’t tell this high-as-hell
twink that. “I think you want to be alone with Logan.”
He gasps so dramatically I have to laugh, but I stop to jerk my arm
away when he fucking bites me. “I’m gonna have to kick your ass,
Sebastian,” he says it so seriously––hand on his cocked hip, a piece of
floppy hair falling over his eye––that I laugh again.
I open my mouth to tell him to go for it when I hear Liam’s voice,
clearly arguing with Cade, and I’m moving.
There are no thoughts in my head when I finally have eyes on him, see
Cade pressed against him, his hands curled around Liam’s shoulders and
face hidden as they kiss.
They’re fucking kissing.

∞∞∞

“B
ash! Stop!”
I do. I stand up straight like that voice is a bucket of ice water
and just… freeze.
“Fuck.” My hand is steady as I hold it out, see it bloody, and don’t even
know whose blood it is. Some of it’s mine, I can see the small gash in my
knuckles, see it dripping, but the rest…
Cade’s.
He kissed Liam. Liam was…
 I look up, look for him, and see him staring at me, hands held out like
he’s standing in front of a wild animal. Afraid to touch me. Afraid of me.
“Fuck,” I say again, and something about my voice or my face, just
something about me has Liam moving. I expect him to walk around me, to
leave the room with the people walking out behind me now, but he comes to
me instead. When he reaches his hands out towards me, I fucking flinch.
I flinch like I’m not the unpredictable one here. The violent one. A
fucking Crawford, even after all these years.
“It’s okay,” he lies, wraps his arms around mine and traps me in his
hold. I keep my hands at my side, don’t move them even though I’m pretty
sure I can. He’s not squeezing me hard enough. If he wants to hold me
back––make sure I don’t do anything again or hurt anyone anymore––he’s
got to tighten his arms.
“Where is he?” I ask, making my voice steady, ridding it of whatever
that was, and just trying so hard not to scare him.
His arms do tighten. “Bash…”
“Is he okay?” I ignore the trepidation in his voice, make myself ask
even if the answer makes me so nervous I want to fucking leave.
“He’s… I think you broke his nose. And I think he hit his head on the
drawers. Baby said he needs to go to the hospital. You should come, too.”
His arms loosen, and I want to grab them as he pulls away from me. I want
to make him put them back around me, but I keep my fucking hands right
where they are. At my sides. Not touching him.
“No. I––I need to go home. Is he okay?” I already asked that. I don’t
know what’s wrong with me. I feel out of place like my body isn’t…
“I don’t know, Bash. I’m going to take him to the hospital, and I think
you––”
“No,” I grab him. “Liam, no. Just come home with me.”
“Bash,” he breathes. “I have to take him to the hospital.”
“He kissed you! He––you kissed him.” His lips were on someone who
wasn’t me. Did he want that? Did he––
“He did, and I don’t know why he did that. I would never… you know
that, right?”
I stare at him, trying to find the truth. He wouldn’t do that. I know he
wouldn’t. He sees Cade as a brother, not even knowing that Cade doesn’t
see him like that. “Liam, please. Just come home, let’s––”
 “Bash, baby,” his face drops, his hand moving to my ribs. “I have to
take him. He might have a concussion, and Baby is high. You can come
with me, okay? Your hand might need stitches.”
“Liam,” my voice cracks, and it’s just what I need to pull myself
together. I honestly don’t even know why I’m so… Liam has made me like
this. Pathetic. Feeble and small. How’d I go from attacking someone to
almost crying? “I’m going home.” I take a step back.
“I really think––”
“Bye.”
“What? What does that mean? Don’t do that. I’ll––fuck, Bash. You
broke his nose! He’s my best friend, and he’s fucking bleeding all over the
place and can barely stand up because he hit his head! I just want to make
sure he’s okay.” He looks at me, eyes begging me for something, and I
shake my head. “I’ll come over after. Okay?”
I shake my head. Why does he even want to? “You don’t have to. You
can stay with Cade. I know he’s…” My face twists up, and I can’t get my
mouth to work.
He’s important to him, and I fucked him up. He’s important to him, and
I’m just some guy. Some guy who attacked his best friend, who assaulted
his dad. Of course, he doesn’t want to come home with me. It’s
understandable. I get it.
But I want him to come with me. To come home. It felt like maybe it
was his home. That he wanted it to be. I like having him there, not being by
myself all the time. I didn’t even realize how much I hated that until he was
suddenly there.
I just don’t want to be alone anymore. And definitely not right now. I
don’t even know why, really, but I don’t want to be alone.
I shouldn’t even need anything right now. I don’t need anything, not the
hospital. There are just too many people there, and I won’t be able to calm
down. I need to go home to pull myself out of this fucking pit that I thought
I’d climbed my way out of years ago.
“But I will. Bash, I’ll be there later. It might be late. Maybe not until the
morning, but I’ll be there.”
“Why?” I have to ask. Why would he do that?
“I didn’t kiss Cade. You do know that, right?”
I close my eyes and nod my head. I know he wouldn’t do that.
“You’re all I want.”
 “I know,” I sigh, eyes still closed as he steps back into me, hands
cradling my face and I can’t stop the chill from raking down my body, my
blood running cold at the easy, unexpected contact. I do know that, even if
it doesn’t make any sense.
“I love you. You know that, too, right?”
I don’t move, don’t open my eyes. I barely even breathe. I’m not even
sure that I am breathing. Why would he say that? And at this moment, why?
He can’t possibly mean that.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, go home.” His lips brush against mine,
and I flinch, not expecting it. His hands don’t let me pull away. They drag
me closer, nails digging into the back of my neck. “Kiss me.”
I’ve never been able to deny him that, but I can’t. I just stay still until he
sighs and pulls away from me.
“Go,” he says.
And that’s what I do.

∞∞∞

L
eaving Liam to take care of the fucker who touched him does not
exactly calm me down. I couldn’t even look at Cade when I left, and
now that I’m not standing in front of Liam, the one thing that I now
realize was actually keeping me calm, I’m just on edge. My hand fucking
hurts. I can feel it still sluggishly bleeding as I grip the steering wheel, and
the further away I get, the more I want to turn around.
He said some bullshit, just adding to the list of words he utters that
can’t be believed, and it’s fucking with my head.
If he loves me, why the hell couldn’t he just come with me? I know I
should want him as far away from me as possible when I’m like this, but I
can’t stand the fact that he’s with Cade.
It’s not his fault. He doesn’t get it. I don’t even get it. I haven’t gotten in
a fight––as one-sided as this one was, that us what I’m calling it––in a long
time.
It feels like anxiety, like fear. I feel caged like I’m pacing around a cell
and on the verge of throwing myself against the walls. I feel like my dad.
I’ve felt that a lot in my life, but not in a long, long time.
I kind of want to blame Liam. I don’t know that I’d care so much, that it
would be this jarring if I weren’t so worried about him. His feelings. What
he thinks of me right now. I know that he was scared of me. I don’t even
know exactly what I did to his best friend that made him so scared, but the
way he looked at me after all that?
It kind of hurt. Not even kind of.
When I finally pull into the parking lot, my eyes catch sight of a rose on
my forearm, the first one I got and one of the only original tattoos I got that
I didn’t get covered up. The sight of it reminds me of my mom. I’d gotten it
on her birthday, the year after she died, and when it was done, I was so
fucking mad at myself for doing something in her honor that I went out
back and punched the shed door until I just stopped feeling mad. I could
barely even lift my arms the next day.
Hitting things was my own version of self-harm, my own means of
stress relief. I just couldn’t stop getting roses tattooed on me after that, but
sometimes it’s hard to look at them.
It makes me think of the roses Liam got me, and the burst of regret that
hits me is shoved down violently by a wave of outrage.
He should have come with me.
I get out of the car and slam the door, pissed and on a mission as I skip
the elevator and climb up the three flights of stairs to get to my apartment.
Fuck him, too. Fuck those roses.
Why couldn’t he just come with me?
My feet slow when I finally get to my floor, and at the end of it, right in
front of my door, I see two police officers standing. One knocks––loudly––
and if I was mad before that, I’m livid now.
Of course. I should have expected this.
I decide to get it over with and start walking towards them before I lose
the fire to do it. “He called the cops?” I shouldn’t talk to them so pissed off,
a bitter laugh in my voice despite how utterly unfunny this is, but honestly,
I’m over it.
“Sebastian Crawford?” one of them asks, and I take a deep, grounding
breath so I don’t get disrespectful.
“Yup.” I can hear Panini inside barking, and really that just adds to all
the bullshit––this fucking dog that Liam made me keep. I kind of just want
to go inside and pet her so some shit, calm her down because she sounds as
upset as I feel.
“What happened to your hand,” the other officer asks and I
automatically clench my fist, feel it shake in protest at the movement. I look
down just in time to see a drop of blood hit the floor.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Five
Liam

“S
o, we should probably talk about it.”
“I’d rather we didn’t.”
“Cade,” I sigh. “You kissed me.” I don’t know which of our
faces is redder, but at least I can look at him. “Why’d you do that?”
Seriously. I want so badly to just be fucking mad at him, to tell him off,
shake him. Why the fuck did he do that?
I know that Bash hitting him like that was not okay, but it’s hard not to
justify it. I’d probably hit someone for touching him, too. It wouldn’t be
anything like when I found Anna cheating on me. I’d be gutted. If I didn’t
go postal, I’d definitely cry.
“I don’t know,” he goes to rub over his face but then stops just in time,
remembering his nose, swollen and bandaged with a little dried blood
around the right nostril. I had to leave the room for it to be reset, and when I
came back, I’m pretty sure he wished I had just left.
“No,” I say. “I need an answer, Cade. I mean, there had to be a reason.
You don’t just do something like that out of nowhere.” Even if that’s
exactly what it felt like to me, like it did come out of nowhere.
He rubs his eye, the one already a little bruised, and leans back on his
hospital bed. When he stubbornly keeps his mouth shut, I start getting
annoyed. More annoyed.
“I should be with my boyfriend right now, Cade.” I don’t fully
understand why he was so shaken, but as crazy as it sounds, he seemed
genuinely scared.
My words clearly piss Cade off, his face burning as he sits up again.
“Then fucking go!” The split in his lip, all swollen, starts bleeding again,
and he grips at his forehead like the outburst hurt him. He hit his head
pretty hard on the bedside table between our beds, so it probably did hurt.
I should feel bad for him. His face is pretty busted. Nothing insane, but
Bash did some damage.
Maybe it’s fucked up, and I’m for sure biased, but I think Bash was
more messed up by that whole thing than Cade seems to be. I should have
gone with him. If Baby hadn’t been high, I would have just let him bring
him here and then gone after him, but no such luck.
“Don’t act like that, like I should want anything more than to be with
him right now. You kissed me, Cade. What if you had a girlfriend and
walked in on someone doing that to her? Plus, you know how I feel about
him.” I don’t want anyone but Bash touching me, kissing me. Anything. It’s
just him for me.
“But… why?” He doesn’t look mad anymore, just very… sad. “What
do you like about him?”
“Everything.” It was an easy question, but the way he closes his eyes
has me almost regretting saying it so quickly. It’s like the sight of him so
fucking resigned flips a switch, turns on a light.
There’s a lot that’s happened between us the past however many weeks
that I just didn’t fully grasp the meaning of; I mistook his jealousy for
prejudice that didn’t exist. I don’t know how I didn’t see this, but now that I
do, it’s glaringly obvious.
Things make a lot more sense. Not even just recent events but things
that have happened throughout the course of our friendship, going back at
least a few years. Maybe even back into high school. That’s… it’s a silly
thing to be hurt over, but he’s been my brother almost as long as I can
remember. But what am I to him?
“Cade…”
“Don’t.”
His voice has my stomach clenching, the feeling making me sick. I’ve
been hurting him, but how much? “For how long?”
“I don’t––let’s not do this, Liam. Please.”
He looks so tired, so drained that I don’t press. I keep my lips shut and
just stand there in the middle of the hospital room with my possibly
concussed best friend and his broken nose.
“You’re bi?” I ask, opting for an easier topic.
 “Yeah.” He answers so easily, a little like he’s scared but still quick with
it. I should have known. He should have told me.
“You were afraid to tell me.”
“Honestly, Liam, I was pretty sure you were a little homophobic. You
being cool with Baby was kind of a surprise to me.”
I can’t even pretend I don’t understand. I’ve never been outwardly
hateful, but I was all kinds of uncomfortable when those kinds of topics
came up. I think that was just me protecting myself, though. Repression for
the sake of self-preservation because I was so sure I had to live by my dad’s
standards.
And, fuck, if he was surprised about how accepting I was of Baby, I
can’t even imagine the shock at seeing me with some random fitness trainer
at the gym.
What does this mean for us? Bash hit him. Hard. He only got a few
punches in––Cade’s fall weirdly saved him a lot of damage––but that’s still
my boyfriend, and he did hit my best friend.
I’m not breaking up with him over this. I can’t. I fucking love him. I
even told him so.
But I love Cade, too. Just… not like he wants me to. How do we move
past this? I just really hope that we can.
“I’m sorry, Cade,” I try to say, but he shakes his head before I even
finish. “Are we still friends?” I ask, my voice so small that I take a step
closer like that one little step will make it easier for him to hear me.
“Don’t be stupid,” he gives me a lopsided grin, his lip too swollen on
one side to let him fully smile. I know I shouldn’t––it’s not at all funny, and
the smile doesn’t even reach his eyes––but I’m so relieved, the pressure so
swiftly alleviated from my chest, that I laugh.

∞∞∞

“D
o you need help inside?”
“Fuck off.”
“Well, I’m just making sure. You kind of got your shit
rocked.”
 “It wasn’t that…” He can’t even finish the sentence. Honestly, it wasn’t
that bad, but it was scary. He doesn’t actually have a concussion, but he did
hit his head. His nose is broken and there’s a single stitch on the inside of
his lip where it busted on his teeth.
“I don’t know, dude,” I bite my lip, something he can’t even do at the
moment. “It was pretty bad.” I look over at him, and he rolls his eyes,
which looks kind of funny because now that he’s had a broken nose for a
whole night, those eyes are pretty black.
But that’s the only funny thing about this. My relationship with Bash
has flipped my friendship with Cade on it’s head, and I still feel messed up
here. I hope we get past this.
“Do you think he’s going to want us not to be friends anymore? I doubt
I’d be cool with my boyfriend and his best friend––”
“He’ll get over it.” I feel uneasy saying it, but I know that he will. Bash
isn’t immature, he just has shit to get over. There’s a lot of feelings in this
whole relationship––I hope––and that’s new for him. It’s triggered shit, I
think.
It’s weird hearing Cade say my boyfriend, like that’s a possibility for
him. I guess it is, and maybe with me having one, it’s not the biggest
adjustment to have to make, but still. Strange.
“I’m sorry.”
I drag my teeth over my lip. I found out from Bash that he made Anna
apologize to me, and I don’t want him doing the same to Cade, so I make
myself accept the apology, even if it feels a little wrong.
He definitely should not have kissed me, but I can’t pretend to know
what he was going through. I’d be a mess if my feelings for Bash ended up
unrequited.
“It’s okay. We’re okay.” I nod my head like I’m making myself accept
that, too. “We are, right?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, keeping his lip tight after learning his lesson that
smiling hurts when you have a busted lip. “Go see your boyfriend.”
I wish he hadn’t said that. He couldn’t even do it without his eyes
dimming.
He leaves the car, and I wait until he actually steps inside to drive away,
feeling about a million different things. We didn’t hug, and while I’ve never
been the touchy one between us, it’s definitely noticeable that he didn’t
even try. Things just don’t feel the same, and I hate it. We have shit to talk
about, to really flesh out, and I’m not sure whether or not we ever will––my
thing is avoidance. Repression. But I’ll try.
The entire drive to Bash’s, I’m antsy to get to him, to hold him and tell
him that I’m sorry. I feel guilty, and every time I tell myself that I shouldn’t,
the feeling only grows.
He was overwrought, shaking with an adrenaline crash by the time he
was leaving. I should have been there to take care of him. He would have
been there for me.
And knowing that just makes me feel so fucking guilty, and I swear it
has to be an overreaction on my part. I tell myself that it is. But I’m
currently telling myself a lot of shit, and I’m having a hard time believing
any of it.
Panini is barking before I even knock, and I can hear Bash’s feet on top
of all the noise like he was already close to the door and not in bed even
though the sun is just barely coming out. He pulls it open, and I instantly
crowd him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” I gasp, my arms tightening around
him when he tries to move back.
“Liam, it’s fine.”
“No. No, it’s not. I should have… he’s okay. No concussion, just the
broken nose. I could have left with you, Bash. You needed––”
“Liam, your dad is pressing charges against me.”
“What?” He tries to pull away again, and my arms tighten even more.
“What do you mean?”
“Come inside.”
I reluctantly pull away from him, feeling antsy all over again until he
grabs my hand and pulls me towards the couch. Panini jumps up, and even
though I reach for her, she just hops onto his lap so he can mostly ignore
her.
“The police didn’t get ahold of you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Liam, your dad is pressing charges.” He’s frustrated having to repeat
himself, but I have to bite back the same words I just asked because what
the fuck does that even mean? “The cops came to speak to me last night.”
“Here? Can he do that? It happened… forever ago.” Not that long ago,
but I definitely feel like the moment for something so drastic has passed.
“All you did was push him!”
 “I know,” he leans back on the couch and yawns. “That’s why they
didn’t arrest me. But I am facing an assault charge,” he sighs. He looks
tired, eyes sunken in and face pale. It’s like the topic of last night, and this
new topic that I can’t even follow are racing to see which one wins my
undivided attention.
“Did you get any sleep?” I scoot closer to him, and when his hand
moves off of Panini and to my thigh, I only scoot again.
“Nah,” he gives me a drowsy smile, his dimples popping the slightest
bit, and the sight of them has my chest seizing and relaxing all at once.
I just… want him. To touch him and hold him and kiss him and let him
do all of those things and more to me. He brings a sense of peace, just
absolute contentment, to my life even as he tosses it into total upheaval.
So, of course, my dad is trying to fuck it all up for me. He never wants
me to have anything that actually makes me happy.
“I’ll talk to him.”
His smile turns almost condescending, the kind of smile you give a little
kid when they’re being cute. “It doesn’t really matter, Liam.”
“Princess,” I correct, only feeling a little stupid about it when he raises
his eyebrows at me. “Or sweetheart. Or… just stop saying my name so
much.”
His laugh is quiet and breathy––the kind that tickles my skin usually
but is making me nervous right now––as he sits up. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m
just tired, I think.” And he looks it, his blue eyes muted as they water
because he just can’t stop yawning. “Your dad could say he wants to drop
the charges if he wanted to, but there’s no guarantee the prosecutor will
agree to that.”
“But they might?” Honestly, it’s entirely possible that my dad knows
the prosecutor. He’s not involved in whatever genre of law this is, but as a
patent lawyer, he does know a lot of people.
He shrugs, yawning again as he leans back. “It’s possible,” he says like
he doesn’t actually think that it is possible. “It’s on camera that all I did was
push him––I wasn’t exactly gentle about it, but,” he shrugs. “If they wanted
to pull up my record from before I turned eighteen, they could decide to
take it more seriously. They might have done that already.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I stand up, determined to go do just that, but his hand
wraps around my wrist.
 “Liam, let’s just go to bed. I rescheduled my sessions today. You don’t
have class, and it turns out you’re not the only one who hates sleeping alone
now.”
“Really?” It’s not a joke when I say it. I fucking hate sleeping without
him, and it sounds like that’s what he’s saying right now and I don’t want it
to be a joke.
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I didn’t fucking sleep at all. I even let Panini on the
bed to see if that’d help. It didn’t.”
I adjust our hands until I’m the one grabbing him and tug, my chest a
little fluttery. “Okay. Let’s go to bed.” I feel compliant in a way that makes
it seem like an emotion, and maybe it is, I don’t know, but I’ve never really
felt it like this. Like a submission that I’m so wholly ready to sink into.
I force him to let me play doctor with his hand first, carefully washing
off some dried blood and am glad when I can see it and find that it isn’t as
bad as I initially believed.
When we lay down together with Panini at our feet, it’s not as hard to
ignore all the craziness happening as I thought it was going to be. All I’m
focused on is him and sleep as I slip my fingers through his hair, petting
him until he slips into a hard rest.
I look at him, at his smooth features, his pillowy lips, and those sexy
little nose piercings and all of his tattoos, and the last thought that I have
before I pass out, dead to the world, is that I’m going to love him for the
rest of my life.

∞∞∞

“W
e slept too long.”
“You slept too long,” I correct. “I’ve been up for about two
hours.” I took a shower, walked the dog, and thought a million
times about waking him up. But I just settled back into bed instead, and
now I’m laying my head on his chest and not at all hiding it when I sniff at
his… everything. “God, you always smell so good,” I emphasize the word
with a squeeze.
“You’re making my dick hard, stop.”
 “I didn’t even do anything,” I pout. This piercing situation is killing me.
“How many more days? Also, what if we just go really, really slow? And
you glove up.”
“All you think about is sex, princess.”
“Wrong.” I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him. “That’s not
true. I was thinking about cuddles and how good you smell. You’re the
pervert who mentioned his dick, knowing I can’t have it.”
He stares at me, and I can’t even really explain it, but I’m moving for
the lube and condoms before he gets around to saying anything at all. He
does sigh, though, an exaggerated, drawn-out sound that has me rolling my
eyes.
“It’s not like I’m forcing you,” I mumble, setting the supplies on his bed
and undressing, leaving on the soft pair of cheeky underwear I picked out
myself after my shower from his dresser. I leave those for him to remove.
“Aren’t you, though?” He slips a finger under the hem, snapping the
fabric against me as he sits up while I go back to laying on the bed. His
torso is on display with a cut V that leads to the boner he’s hiding in his
shorts. I’ve been to the gym with him more than a few times to work out the
past month. So, I know how he got all these muscles, but still. It blows my
mind that he’s real.
He’s real and he looks at me like I’m something to consume, like he’s
starved for it, and it feels so good I’m pretty sure my dick is crying.
“You want me to use a toy to prep you?”
I shake my head, spreading my legs as an invitation for him to take his
place right where I need him. “No, I––” My face heats, and I don’t know
how to ask for what I want. I don’t even know if it’s the kind of thing you
ask for. “I took a shower,” I say instead and hope that he understands.
“Yeah?” He smiles slowly, giving me one of those breathy laughs that
make me so fucking hot for him. “You want my mouth on that tight pussy,
sweetheart?”
I nod, my hand reaching up to clutch at the pillow by my face. I kind of
expect him to tease me, to draw it out, but he’s pulling my panties down and
off my legs, forcing them back open right away, leaning down to kiss up the
inside of my thigh.
I flex my hips, shift so that I’m in a better position for what I need from
him, and when he gets to my ass, he very lightly grazes the sensitive skin
with his teeth.
 “It’s asses like this that are the reason the peach emoji is the universal
ass emoji,” He smiles, and I roll my eyes, impatiently lifting an inch off the
bed. “So juicy,” he teases. “I want to take a bite.” And then he does, hard,
and my hands tug violently at his hair.
“Ow!”
He laughs.
“It’s not funny. That’s not––no biting,” I tell him, even if the resulting
heat from his teeth marks makes my heartbeat thump hard in my dick.
“Okay, princess,” he leans back down, and I feel his tongue, warm and
wet, lick over the spot, soothing it. “Just my tongue,” he promises, once
again kissing softly, moving until he’s mouthing my taint and I’m already
panting.
My hole is closed tight like it’s forgotten what it’s for now that I’ve
gone a week without a real dick, and that first lap against it is so
underwhelming I consider changing my mind and telling him to get one of
my sex toys, but I wait.
He eats at me slowly and has me lying at ease as the gentle waves of
pleasure start building, nerve endings zapping at the most random times and
sending me flying.
“Fingers,” I hum after a while, and he slides one in easily, seeking out
my hot spot immediately. It moves much quicker after that, his tongue
lashing against the opening of my rim and finally hitting me exactly how I
wanted it to. When I’m sure he has three fingers in me, I decide that I want
more, that I need his cock in me before I start crying.
“Fuck me,” I moan, back arching before I force myself to straighten out
so I can reach for him. “Please fuck my pussy,” I beg, too impatient to feel
scandalized at my dirty mouth.
“It’s my pussy, Liam,” he growls, and I whimper, nodding my head
dazedly. “This cunt is mine,” he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand, and even from here, I can see how blown his pupils are. He
pushes his briefs down his thighs enough so that he can get a condom on,
not even bothering to get them all the way off. He has to stop to apply lube,
deciding spit isn’t enough, and I’m getting frustrated at how long it’s taking.
I reach for him with clumsy hands, pulling him over and gasping as his
cock finally starts to push inside. “Fuck,” I close my eyes, feel his piercing
slide over my rim before sinking in, and then it’s just too much to feel
anything but full.
 “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans, starts to pull out, and then
fucks back into me with shallow thrusts. Fucking me open until he can get
deeper. I feel his every breath against my face as he stares at me, watches
my eyes as a few strands of his hair touch my forehead.
His cockhead drags over my prostate, and I move to wrap my legs
around him, needing it again. I need more, more of whatever that look on
his face means. I need it all.
“Tell me I’m pretty.”
“Oh, fuck, Liam, you are. So fucking beautiful.”
I whimper, my hips rolling against his as he sinks in deeper. “Tell me
I’m yours.”
“You are,” he smiles, flashing his wretched dimples at me. “You’re
mine, princess.”
“All of me?” I whisper, my whole body shaking with just how
desperately I want that, need him to mean it. Not just my hole, not just
while he’s inside me.
“Every fucking bit.”
I moan loudly, clinging to him and chasing the feeling of being
completely owned by him.
“This pussy, sweetheart,” he thrusts. “That’s mine. Your tits,” another
thrust, deeper and longer as he nips at my chest. “Mine.”
I start moaning more, louder, trying not to because I want to hear him. I
want him to claim it all, every fucking bit, just like he said.
“Your fucking moans, god. Your body belongs to me, Liam. The air you
breathe, your every thought, I want all of it. I have all of it. Fuck,” his turn
to moan, the sound joining mine and creating the perfect soundtrack to us as
a whole.
“I love you,” I promise. I cradle his face and hurry to kiss him before I
can hear him not say it back, my whole body singing as he pushes me
towards the edge until it feels like my orgasm is being pulled from me in
every direction and I’m crying out in bone-deep ecstasy.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Six
Liam

K
nocking on my dad’s door feels weird, like I’m not supposed to be
here. When we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, Bash took me to
the police station so I could give them my statement, and the whole
thing just amped me the fuck up. I can’t believe my dad.
Or, I can. I definitely can because, as wild as this is, it’s not the biggest
surprise. He’s the pretentious type, holds himself in such high regard that he
can’t even fathom the idea of anyone he thinks of as below him
disrespecting him.
“Liam,” Rebecca, my stepmom, gives me a nervous smile as she opens
the door.
“Hey.” We stand there for an awkward moment. “Can I come in?”
“Oh! Sorry,” she steps aside hurriedly. She’s never really been all that
comfortable with me, but I don’t exactly hold it against her. If anything, it’s
my dad’s fault.
As I walk inside, I know that she’s nervous about this. I’m sure he’s
been saying all kinds of shit about me lately. I should have just called him
after the whole thing happened and gotten all of this over with sooner.
“Is he in his office?” I start walking that way before she confirms, but
it’s a given that it’s where he is. He works a lot, even at home.
My dad’s place isn’t a mansion even if it felt that way when I was
younger. It’s just a big mid-century modern-style––which I only know
because he would not shut up about it when he bought it years ago––home
that never actually felt like home. With five bedrooms there somehow still
was not enough room for me to have had my own permanent room when I
came to visit. It just never felt homey, nothing like my mom’s house. And
the food? Watching my little sisters eat pancakes while I had to eat boiled
eggs and broccoli or some other bullshit was just not something I looked
forward to.
The door is open when I get there, and my feet stutter at the threshold,
used to having to wait for permission to come in, but I’m not doing that this
time.
“Dad.”
He looks up, surprised to see me, but only showing it by raising his
judgy brows. “If you’re here to talk about your tuition, you might as well
wait for your mom and come back tomorrow. I only need that earful once.”
“You’re pressing charges on Bash.” I still don’t actually think he just
would not pay my tuition. Having an uneducated kid just isn’t something
he’d allow, I know that.
“Sebastian. The boy with all of the tattoos who hit me, you mean?”
“Bash, my boyfriend who defended me when you tried to call me a
faggot and told me that I disgust you.” The words are bitter on my tongue,
but it has the effect I want.
“Liam,” his voice drops as he adjusts in his seat, going tense at what is
only the truth. “I don’t care that you’re… going through a phase. That’s
what college is for.” But his face is heating, going a bit red as he talks.
I have to bite back a laugh. “Yeah, okay, Dad.”
“I don’t have a problem with the… gay thing. It was just a surprise. I’m
a parent; I’m allowed to be shocked when my twenty-one-year-old son
suddenly decides that he’s... queer. And! The guy he’s with turns out to be
violent. You’re telling me every parent should just be okay with that?”
It doesn’t sound unreasonable, but I know better than just to accept that
as is. I don’t even really care––or I do care, just not at this current
moment––about his acceptance. I’m here for Bash, because he defended me
and now I want to defend him.
But all Bash did was shove him. He doesn’t know about the Cade
situation, and I will not be telling him, but even that, I have a hard time not
justifying.
“What if it had been some other guy who came up to me and said those
things, Dad? Would you be mad that he defended me then?”
“There’s no need for dramatics, Liam. It wasn’t ‘some other guy.’ It was
your father.”
 “That’s your defense? That it was okay to say that stuff because we’re
related?” Does he even hear himself?
“Son––”
“Am I?”
“What?”
“Do you think of me as your son?”
“Liam, of course.” His composure cracks just a bit, the question
offending him as much as it confuses him. “You are my son.”
“I’m not just a baseball player?” I’m trying to stand tall as I bring up
something that has bothered me basically my entire life, but the insecurities
definitely come across. “Am I even worth anything to you without
baseball?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not even––I don’t want to get into all of the ways you’ve made
sure I feel…” I take a deep breath, deciding that pissing him off is the
wrong move when I need something from him. “I’m just here to talk about
Bash. I’m bisexual. I have a boyfriend.” My mouth opens on an apology,
but I think better of it. Those aren’t things I should feel remorseful over, and
I don’t want him to think that I do. “Pressing charges on him just means I’ll
have a boyfriend with a criminal record. Is that really what you want?”
“Liam…” he goes silent, stares at me, and lets a smothering silence fill
the space between us.
“Dad, please just do something. Fix this. It won’t happen ever again. He
just thought he was protecting me,” my shoulders slump, a mental
weariness making it hard to keep up the bravado. “Mom used to tell that
story about you getting in that bar fight over her. That’s––this was like that,
just a guy doing what guys do for people they care about.”
Another suffocating silence permeates the room, and I want to scream
just so there’s something to listen to. He does not look sorry. He doesn’t
look like he’s on the verge of conceding, but then he doesn’t look like he’s
about to double down, either, so I can’t just give up.
What else is there to say, though? I’ve said please.
“I put a lot of pressure on you. That’s why you don’t want to play
baseball?”
I tilt my head, confused about how we got back to this topic, but he
asked, and I want to tell him. I want it out there for him to understand
where I’m coming from so that he doesn’t get any ideas about holding
baseball over my head from here on out.
“Well, it’s definitely not because I’m dating a guy,” I say, really just to
be shitty, but at least he seems to regret that comment. At least a little. “I
just don’t like it, Dad. I never have. I hate the training, the diets, and how
much my grades suffer during the season. I hate how hard I had to work just
to be decent, only to end up not being good enough anyway and trying
harder and harder and still not being good enough. I hate the phone calls I
get after every game where you tell me how bad I was, how it fills me with
dread after every single game––win or lose––as I wait for your name to pop
up on my screen. Dad, I can’t stand baseball. I wish I liked it and that I was
better at it. I thought giving it my all would make you love me enough to
show it and I really wish it was something I did and enjoyed that made you
proud, but I just––”
I have to shut up for a second because my throat is tightening, and the
last thing I want to do is get all emotional. That would be mortifying.
“And I am sorry about all the money,” I say, moving to topics that
won’t make me want to cry, shuffling on my feet.
“Liam, stop. It’s––” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair before
standing up. “It’s okay. You can quit baseball.”
I don’t bring up the fact that I already have, just enjoying the bone he’s
tossed me. It’s a very small win, but I’ll take it.
“You don't think that I love you?” he grimaces, and I have to smother a
scoff.
“You love me,” I say. “It just...” my voice cracks, and I want to walk
away. I don't even remember the last time anyone saw me cry, let alone this
man. “I think it has a lot to do with how well I’m... how well I measure up
to your standards. And I rarely do.” Another crack in my voice has me
swallowing.
“Liam, of course I love you. And that has nothing to do with... with
baseball or...”
“Me being bi? You're not doing this to Bash because you want me to
change, are you?” I guess I care more than I thought about his acceptance
because my throat burns as I wait for his answer. It wouldn’t be a surprise,
that he prefers me straight and has some misguided idea that this ploy will
force me to break up with Bash. “I’m––I can’t break up with him over this.
If that’s why you’re doing it, just... I can’t.”
 “Liam, I love you,” he says sternly, voice firm. Official. I nod my head
wiping away a lone tear just as sighs heavily. “I’ll talk to the police,” he sort
of winces, but I fucking beam, a watery smile splitting my face.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” another sigh. “I’ll reach out to the prosecutor.” He holds a hand
up when I open my mouth to gush about how grateful I am. “And, of
course, I’ll still pay your tuition, but I really want you to stick with the
degree path I have you on.”
“I don’t—I never actually thought you would just not pay my tuition.”
He just nods, looking like he’s the one out of place here all of a sudden.
“I’ve always… thought of you as my son,” he clears his throat. “But I
suppose there were times I may have taken baseball too seriously.”
“Well,” I’m still smiling. “I don’t see that being too big of an issue from
now on.”

∞∞∞

“H
e said he’ll talk to James, who I guess is the prosecutor,” I roll my
eyes at the ridiculousness that comes with Dean Walker, straddling
Bash’s lap. I am not at all surprised that my dad knows the
prosecutor, but it’s obvious that Bash is.
“Hm.” His hands rub up and down my thighs. “How did the rest of it
go?”
I know he’s only changing the subject because he’s not optimistic about
the whole thing, but I do think my dad will handle it.
“Was it weird?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “There are no heart-to-hearts with him, but he
did invite me to stay for dinner, and it was he who suggested I bring that
plate for you,” I look over my shoulder at the wrapped dish I put next to his
roses on the table. “So, a white flag has clearly been thrown. He also
seemed impressed with the fact that you have a business degree, so,” I suck
my teeth with a little smile. My dad had been kind of floored at that,
actually. He definitely saw the tattoos as a means to draw his own
conclusions about who he thinks my boyfriend is.
 “Did he apologize to you?”
I laugh. “No. But it’s okay. I think, well, I don’t have any delusions that
he’ll just change who he is, but I do think his harping on and on at me about
baseball is a thing of the past.”
“Hm.” He’s clearly bothered about the lack of apology, but I’m pretty
ecstatic with how things went.
“He does want to meet you,” I say nervously. “He just wants… I get it
if you don’t want to.”
“He’s worried about who his son is dating.” He nods, unfocused, as his
fingers play with a belt loop on my jeans. “I’m violent.” His brows crease,
looking sick all of a sudden before any emotion at all just disappears
altogether.
“No, you––”
“I am, Liam. I try not to be, you just… I don’t want you to be scared of
me, but if you are––”
“That’s––”
“Liam,” he cuts me off. “If you’re scared of me or worried about…
things, it makes sense if you want to distance yourself. We can slow down
and take things easier. If you want.” He won’t look at me, and when his
hands stop touching me, lying tensely on either side of us on the couch, I
start to feel sick myself.
“What?” I lean back, hand on his shoulder as I push at him to try and
force him to look at me, but his eyes stay on my chest. “Is that what you
want?” It’s definitely not what I want. I’m too fucking far gone for him, but
he knows that. He has to. “Bash, do you even like me?”
“What?” He finally looks at me, confusion marring his beautiful face.
“Yeah. Do you? Like, for more than just sex?” I know he’s possessive
of me, that he doesn’t like people being mean to me or kissing me, but if he
could so easily just suggest we put distance between us… what the fuck?
“Liam, that’s––see, this is what I mean. I’m not a good boyfriend. You
shouldn’t have to fucking wonder if I like you, that’s crazy.”
“What do you like about me?”
He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me with a weighty stare. I sigh,
moving to get off of him. I feel like I’m on the verge of crying for the
second time today and just need to get away, but his hands move to my
hips, keeping me where I am.
 “Everything,” he finally answers, and I get a little flashback to when
Cade had asked me why I like him. “I like everything about you, Liam.
You––we have a lot of sex, and it’s good. Best I’ve ever had.”
I roll my eyes, not appreciating the jokes at this time.
“It is,” he tugs me closer to him. “You are. Honest, princess. And I do
like that part of us, but of course, that’s not everything. I like you. I like
when you kiss my nose or my dick,” he shakes his head with a dimpled
grin. “That’s so weird and cute. I expected a jock, but that’s not you at all.
You’re just so soft and sweet but open and loud. You snore in your sleep,
did you know that?”
I shake my head, almost wanting to argue but not wanting to ruin the
moment.
“You do,” he smiles. “It’s adorable. I can’t stand trying to sleep without
hearing it anymore. You steal all of my clothes, and I don’t even mind,” he
smiles, rubbing his thumb across my cheek when I raise my eyebrows in
shock. “They look better on you anyway. I like the way you scrunch your
nose when you laugh. Sometimes, when we kiss, you do this thing where
you just barely suck on my lip,” he huffs. “That drives me fucking crazy. I
like how secretly obsessed you are with my hands.”
I blush because, yeah, that was supposed to be a tiny secret too.
“And, fuck, I love that. When you blush. You do it a lot for someone
who is so open. After things with Cade I was pissed. I wanted to come
home and throw those roses you got me away, but then... I saw them and
just couldn’t. I love them, that you got them for me. It feels like you’re it
for me. You’re just beautiful, Liam. All of you. And I just don’t want to do
wrong by you. You deserve me at my best,” he clears his throat, closing his
eyes.
“I want you, Bash. I want you as you are, all the pieces as they come.
I––I hope that things between you and my dad, and you and Cade get better,
because, I’m sorry but they’re in my life for good, but I want you to be a
permanent fixture too.”
“I can,” he pauses to clear his throat again and I have to touch him, put
my hands on his face. “I can do that. I don’t know if I can apologize to
Cade right now, but I can be... civil.”
I crush my lips against his, just overcome with giddiness and affection
at my dimpled man getting all sweet on me. “I told you. I love you,
dimples. Pretty sure that means you’re stuck with me.” I go back to kissing
him, using my leverage from being on top of him to slip my tongue deep
into his mouth. I’d fucking glue his skin to mine if I could. I don’t want
space, that’s bullshit. “No distance,” I tell him, doing everything I can to
meld our very beings to one another. “I love you too much, Bash. I want
nothing between us.”
“How can you be so sure, Liam? It sounds––feels––crazy when you say
things like that.”
I shake my head. “It’s just the truth, Bash. I want you. I love you,” I
repeat with a kiss on his forehead. I hope that it feels as good for him as it
does when he does it to me. When I move to his lips I get lost, kissing him
for a long time.
It’s a long time before his big hand grips my hair hard. He pulls me off
of his face so he can breathe, I assume.
“Liam, I love you.”
I blow out a breath, feeling dizzy. I love you plays on repeat, bounces
around my head and chest, warming me up. “Liar,” I tease, giving myself a
second to process. But he wouldn’t say that unless he meant it, I know it.
“I do. I’m sorry if you don’t feel it. I’ll do better.”
“I feel it,” I whisper. “You just said you wanted distance, and I was
scared.”
“I did not say that,” his hands tighten their hold on me.
“Okay, well, if you thought I wanted that, you’re fucking nuts. We’re all
in love and shit, so,” I shrug. “I might as well just move in.”
“You’re nuts. Is that––we’ve haven’t been dating very long, princess.”
“You don’t want to hear my adorable snores every night? No? I can
just… awe. I suppose I’ll just go back to my room with Cade then.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he rolls his eyes. “I guess you can move in.”
But he’s happy about it, I can tell. I take a deep breath, puffing my chest
out to give myself room for more air because I need it.
He loves me. Bash loves me. I don’t want to get wierd, make him regret
saying it by doing something wild like scream, but it’s a hard urge to ignore.
I shove my face in his neck, breathing him and all his mintiness in as he
rubs at my back.
I’m moving in. Morning cuddles are going to be an everyday thing. Just
us and our dog.
I've lived with Cade for a while now, so this feels strange. Exciting and
good, but something I can’t help but stress about.
 “I feel kind of bad. Cade is going to have to pay more rent.”
“Sucks for him.”
“Don’t be mean. He’s still my best friend, y’know? It was just an
unreciprocated kiss. You and Jax, on the other hand,” I trail off because we
both know what unholy deed those two did.
“Yeah, alright,” he huffs. “I promise I’ll try. I can––Is he… okay?”
“Well, I doubt he’s going to try that again, but yeah. He’s okay. Busted
lip and a broken nose. He’ll live.”
“That’s good.”
I snort at the way he forces himself to say it, trying to be polite. But I do
appreciate that he’s trying.
“Are you... okay with me and him being friends?”
His face does a funny thing, but I can’t pinpoint any one emotion. “I
don’t want to control you. So, sure. Maybe I can... will he let me
apologize?”
“When you’re actually sorry,” I tell him, feeling sure of it.
He nods his head. “Okay.”
“So, I’m moving in?”
“We just said that.”
I wiggle in place on his lap, trying not to get too excited. “You love
me?”
“I just said that,” he says gruffly, having a hard time looking at me.
I want to make him say it again, I want to hear it again, but he seems
embarrassed and I know that it’s a lot for him. All of this is a lot for him,
and he’s done so good. I feel proud of him, but I keep it to myself. For now.
“We should fuck.”
He laughs. “No. My dick needs to heal; we shouldn’t have done it
earlier.”
I groan, head lolling. “Another week? You know, I barely even felt it. It
hits my rim real good, but like, you should have gotten more. Given me
something worth the wait, at least,” I tease.
“Oh, yeah?” he bites his lip, all kinds of sexy with it. “I guess I can do
that.”
“I was kidding! Another two-week wait would kill me, dimples.”
His laugh gets all rumbly as he hugs me to him. “I guess we’ll see.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Epilogue
Liam
Two Months Later

“W
e’re gonna get married one day.” I’m not entirely sure why the
fuck I just blurted that out like that. It could be the cock that’s
been sitting still inside me for the past thirty-ish minutes, but I
don’t think so. I know it’s true.
“Why would you say something so batshit crazy?” He blushes.
“The truth ain’t crazy. I’m going to marry you, have your babies.” I’ll
probably have to do the asking, now that I think about it, but that’s okay. I
can do that. I can definitely do that. Hell, I could do that shit right the fuck
now, honestly.
“You want to have my babies, princess?” He leans in, teeth grazing my
collarbone until I whimper. My hips roll, dragging a quiet groan out of his
sinful lips. “You gonna ride me, sweetheart? Let me breed this little pussy
until it’s dripping?”
“Oh, yes,” I moan his favorite word, finally lifting up only to sink back
down and stop all over again. “Actually, no. You have to do it.”
He laughs. “My lazy pillow princess,” he says lovingly as I move off of
him and lay down, resting my head where it’s most comfortable: right on
his pillow.
“I’m what you made me,” I reach for him. I mean that when I say it.
There are two of me, the Liam before Bash and who I am now, after him.
“Mine,” he growls, pushing back into me in our favorite position, with
me on my back and my legs spread for him. And if his favorite word is
‘yes,’ mine is definitely that one.
“Shit,” I gasp, trying to match his thrusts with my own. “Oh, fuck,
Bash,” I push my chest into his hand as he rubs over the deep red fabric of
the lacey bra he put me in.
“You mean that?”
“Wha––” I throw my head back, my fingertips digging into his back.
“You want to get married one day, have kids?”
“Oh, fuck yeah,” I nod my head as much as I can before I’m groaning.
“Just knock me up, daddy.” I’m only kind of joking. I know he can’t, but
fuck, is it fun to try, especially knowing he’ll have to go back to wearing
condoms soon. And kids, little blue eyed grumps running around? Sign me
up.
“God, I love you,” he laughs, dragging his cock out of me before
slipping back in.
It was hard for him to say at first. I’d say it and get nothing back for a
bit, but it wasn’t something I took personally. I could feel his love. I do feel
it. Like when he rips off nutrition labels, or fills the tub full of bubbles. I
feel it when he looks at me and touches me. I feel it now, as that fat cock
breeds me.
But I’ll never get over actually hearing him say it.

∞∞∞

“I
s princess pissed?”
“A little,” I answer, even though I’m pretty sure he was asking
Bash. “But I mean, I am excited about the ladder.”
“I’m getting three more, so a four-rung Jacob’s ladder,” Bash sits down
next to me, handing me the Diet Coke he just got up to grab for me.
“I’m kind of jealous. I didn’t get to experience a dick piercing when we
fucked.”
I roll my eyes just as Bash shakes his head. He knows. “Jax, what the
hell? You went,” I look at my phone. “Ten whole minutes without bringing
it up.”
He laughs obnoxiously, but it is not funny. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I
honestly have no clue why I do that.”
“You do it every. Single. Time. You come over. Stop. How many times
do I have to tell you that?”
 “You’re right. I guess I’m like subconsciously pissing on his leg or
something. Marking my territory,” he shrugs, and all that explanation does
is piss me off more.
“Yeah, well, if you don’t stop subconsciously pissing on his leg, I’m
gonna start real-time hopping on his dick.”
Bash snorts, throwing an arm around my shoulders and kissing my
temple.
“Ew,” Anna butts in. “Can we stop talking about my brother’s dick,
please, and thanks?”
“That’s up to Jax.”
“Okay, gosh! Y’all are made for each other, I swear,” he grumbles.
“You guys are the ones pissing on legs and shit.”
“They’re kind of cute, though,” Anna says. “They love each other, live
together. I’m pretty sure my ex is my future brother-in-law.” She smiles,
genuinely happy about it, as I nod my head. I’m glad someone else sees it,
too.
I’m also glad that we were able to move past that mess––Anna and me
dating––and all of the other messes, too.
Cade seems to be moving on and being less awkward around me––and
Bash. He even comes with me for my meetings with the nutritionist Bash
suggested I see, which I really appreciate. It’s nice having him there for
support, and the meetings have helped. A little bit. Bash and all his body
worshipping help, too.
Cade and I don’t hang out as much as we used to, but then, with us not
living together, I knew that would happen. We’re still besties, but his
stepbrother moved in almost immediately after I moved out almost two
months ago, so I think he’s been a little preoccupied with all of that.
The two of them have always hated each other, so I can’t help but feel
like shit about the whole thing, but living with Bash is great.
The prosecutor did not drop the charges, but even that ended up not
being the worst thing to happen. He got a fine and had to agree to anger
management classes, and as much as Anna and Jax––and Baby––want to
make fun of him for it, I see it as a good thing. He worries about his anger
so much, worries that he takes too much after his father. It’s like with me
and my issues with food. They aren’t issues that will disappear after a few
meetings or classes, but we’ll work on them. And we’ll do it side by side.
So, yeah, I see it as a very good thing.
 And everyone says that he seems happier and less grouchy––including
Walter and Nadine. We even went up and spent the weekend with them, and
Bash has talked on the phone with Nadine a few times. It really seems like
they’re getting to know each other, Bash willingly letting them in, and I
couldn’t be more pumped. It’s good for him, I know it is, so as much as I’d
like to, I can’t take all of the credit for his happiness.
But really, I kind of––secretly––do.
And he gets all the credit for making me happier, too.

OceanofPDF.com
 Epilogue
Bash
Three Years Later

“F
uck,” I groan, just as Liam licks over the underside of my cock,
paying extra close attention to my piercings. “Fucking look at you.”
He looks too good, with the head of his dick poking out of his
stringy underwear, a deep pink shade to match the bodystockings covering
his legs. I can see his ass on display in the mirror in our closet as the fuck
machine starts picking up speed, pounding his pretty pussy in a way I rarely
do.
He has to stop, too distracted to keep sucking me to keep playing with
my dick.
“Did you miss me, princess?” I run my hand through his hair as his
head rests on my thigh, tired moans slipping out of his lips, all shiny with
spit.
“I did,” he looks at me. “You should be inside me, fucking me.”
I move carefully, a little awkwardly, as I maneuver around him so that I
can turn off his fuck machine so that he can pull off of the pink dildo
attached to it, still his favorite even three years later. When he doesn’t turn
around, I just sink into him that way, behind him, with him on his knees.
“There you go, sweetheart. Is that better?”
We both moan as he pushes back, voices heavy with lust.
“Yes, yes, yes.” His voice climbs a few octaves as I start moving faster,
my thumbs holding the fabric of his split panties further apart, watching my
cock disappear inside him over and over. “None of my toys have these
piercings,” he starts pushing back again, meeting me thrust for thrust.
“Nothing compares.”
 I reach down and drag him to me, wrapping an arm around him so that
we’re plastered together, his back pressed against my chest. I reach into his
panties and start stroking his dick as he cries out, hoping to get him there
because I’m already too goddamn close.
“Bash,” he whines.
“Say it.”
“I love you,” he wheezes, my thrusts punching the air out of him. It’s
been a long week apart from him, and I just can’t fucking help it. I push him
down, my orgasm demanding I shove into him as deeply as possible, and
when his hole squeezes around me in a series of tight contractions, I unload.
“Goddamn.”
He whimpers, pulling my hand off his cock.
“I love you, too, Liam. I missed you.” I pull out so I can lay down next
to him, sweeping a few strands of hair off of his forehead as he smiles
tiredly at me.
“How's the new house?” he asks after a few minutes of catching our
breath. “Walter said he wants both of us there the next time you go,” he
says it like a threat, like I better not leave him again when I go see them.
But he had work, and as the only nutritionist on staff at the moment he was
not comfortable taking time off, so I ignore the attitude, just happy to be
home.
“Okay. What did you do while I was gone?”
“I got a tattoo.”
“What?” I had to have misheard him, and when he laughs, I realize that
it was a joke. I’ve tried to talk him into it a lot to no avail, so yeah. It’s
definitely a joke.
I actually did get a new tattoo for him, though. I meant to show him
when I got home, but he was decked out in a sexy lingerie set, and I forgot.
“I did. On my finger. Let me show you,” he tries to push up, so I sit up
too.
Bullshit, I want to say, but I actually hope that he did. He's terrified of
needles, has even lied about getting flu shots before. I can’t even imagine
what would actually have convinced him to get one.
I have to ignore Panini, feeling only a little bad as she barks and
scratches at our closed door, and even though I know she missed me, too,
we were busy doing things her little puppy eyes just did not need to see.
“No fucking way,” I grin, still not really believing him.
 “I swear.”
“Were you scared? You should have waited for me, love. I would have...
held your hand or something.”
“It had to be a surprise. Look,” He holds his left hand out, but I don’t
see anything.
I grab it, rotating it, and when he spreads his fingers wide, I spot it.
“Oh.” Oh, fuck. He got one. For me. Got over his real, legit fear of
needles for me.
There, tattooed on the inside of his ring finger, are two little words
followed by a dainty little question mark.
Marry me?
Love is a physical thing, something I feel with every fiber of my being,
and I swear this man has me falling in love all over again every single day.
“Will you marry me?”
“Are you serious?” I walk closer to him on my knees, grabbing his hips
while my other hand stays holding his hand so I can look at the tattoo.
“Fuck, princess, this better not be a joke.” Even after all these years, it still
blows my mind that he wants me. That he loves me.
“I’m serious. Marry me.”
“I––” I have the perfect answer. “I got one too.” I hold my wrist out and
peel off the bandaid I used to hide it.
He throws his head back, nose crinkled as he laughs loudly when he
reads it.
Yes.

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 Afterword
Listen, I know, Cade was a lil, tiny bit problematic, but I hope you're not too mad at him because his
story is next! Try not to hate him too much! Maybe it's karma, but his book is going to be a little
angstier and a smidge darker than Liam's. Whoops.

You can find out more about his story on the next page!

I'm a little floored that you read this book at all, let alone that you made it to this page. It's impossible
to put into words how grateful I am that you made it to this point in the book! Thank you!

Leaving reviews helps small indie authors like myself reach more readers, so if you can, please leave
me a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

For those of you in the MM Book Rec group on Facebook, feel free to leave your reviews there! That
group reawakened my love for mm literature and I love it there so much! You'll find me posting
pretty frequently...

You can contact me and/or find my socials on my website, www.briannafloresromance.com.

Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart!

-Brianna Flores

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 Books In This Series
The Boys of Apartment 13
The boys of apartment 13 are unlucky in love. From confusing bi-
awakenings to unrequited feelings for your bestie, from the worst
stepbrother you could ask for to craving the most annoying boy you've ever
met, these boys just can't catch a break!
In this series, you'll find high-heat love stories with varying levels of angst
that end happily ever after.
Each book can be read as a standalone, though the series may be better
enjoyed if read in order!

Lover Boy
It's possible y'all are pissed at a certain misunderstood boy but guess whose
book is next? Yup. Cade.
After crushing on his bestie for years only to end up empty-handed, Cade is
ready to move on.
Too bad his dickhead stepbro is dead set on making his life hell.

Good Boy
Francis "Baby" Holbrook has been frustrated (the sexual kind) ever since
straight boy Logan Matthews moved in. Protecting his heart means not
letting himself fall for Logan, and luckily, he's annoying enough that he
makes it pretty easy.
But throw a little bondage and a lotta praise at Baby, and suddenly, it
becomes a lot harder.
OceanofPDF.com
 Books By This Author
Tell Me A Lie
You can read my debut story now! Tell Me a Lie is a steamy, moderately
angsty story featuring my favorite Sad Boy, Sage Evans, and his swoony,
older boss, Lucas Miller. Their love story starts with a lie and ends with a
heartwarming happily ever after!

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