Brian held up his hands, still giving me a shit-eating grin. “What? Just calling it like I see it. Did you or did you not just ask if you could—”
“Not,” I interrupted.
Brian barreled on. “Because it sounded to me like you needed to make sure your little boyfriend would let you—”
“What I need to do,” I cut in, my patience for being fucked with about done. “Is make sure my boyfriend—” yeah, I’d just said that, “—is down with the plan. It’s called fucking courtesy, Brian. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Making sure he doesn’t have something else going on, you know?”
Which of course he didn’t.
Also, Jesus.I’d just said that. Brian rattled off some other bullshit designed to get a rise out of me, but I ignored it, bracing myself for the impending B-word freak-out. But then I heard a squeak, that fucking adorable sound Sean always made when he got excited, and I forgot about freaking out and grinned down at him. “What?”
“I’m your boyfriend?”
“Hell yeah, you are.” I wasn’t gonna ask. This was just a fact. “You okay with that, babe?”
Oh, guess I was gonna ask after all. Fucking alien mind-control.
Sean bit his lip, his eyes shining. “If you’re sure you really want me to be.”
I heard a gagging sound and Brian made some noise about needing to escape before he got diabetes or some shit, but I ignored him.
“’Course I’m sure,” I said... which I should have followed up with something about what a hot little lay he was if I wanted any hope at all of holding onto my manwhore crown. “I want you to be my everything, sweetheart.”
Oops.Ishould be the one gagging now. Instead, I accidentally kissed him… for long enough that Brian really did leave. Then I dragged Sean into the shower with me and got us both clean.
But only after some quality time spent getting hella dirty, first.
9
Sean
I was havingthe best dream ever. All the anxiety I’d been feeling about avoiding my parents’ increasingly upset phone calls over the last few weeks—not to mention the horrible fact that the school year was almost over and they’d make me leave soon—was gone. In my dream, none of that could touch me. Nothing could get at me, I could barelymove, because Tyson’s heavy weight had me pinned down and safe.
But notjustsafe… him touching me, just him being near me, always made me feel all sorts of other things, too. Naughty things. He made my thing so hard itached, and even while I was asleep, just dreaming about having him hold me so close made the hot, heavy hum of all that shameful excitement start to skitter down my spine and pool in my belly, low and deep.
Oh, God. I’d goneyearswithout letting myself feel that sort of thing—at least, not very often, not if I could help it—but now, with Tyson, it was like my thing wanted to make up for lost time or something.
I wasalwayshard lately.
Alwayswishing he would touch me.
Always desperate to feel that intoxicating rush that wiped everything else away when he played with my thing and made me come; always craving the fireworks that left such a shameful mess when they exploded but took all my worries with them, too. When Tyson made me come, that feeling replaced everything bad with something so, so much better; something Tysonwanted, which meant I never had to feel bad about it at all.
His arms tightened around me even more and I sank into the warm, syrupy goodness of the dream, because dreams were so nice that way. A place you could have anything you wanted.
The sleepy, sexy sound of his voice wrapped around me—no words that made any sense, justhim—and it almost pulled me out of the delicious dream. I held onto it tight though, not ready to wake up even though real life had been so good lately it almost felt like that was a dream, too. Still, I wanted to stay asleep. Wanted to selfishly imagine that Tyson was saying everything I secretly wanted to hear.
That he really believed all those nice things he was always saying to me.
That I’d made him so happy he didn’t need anyone else, maybe not ever.
That he wanted to keep me—me—which was hard to believe even when I was dreaming but which almost sometimes sort of felt like it really could be true, because he hadn’t brought anyone else around for a long time, not since the first time he’d touched me. And earlier, he’d said… he’d said… he’d said I was hisboyfriend.
“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” dream-Tyson murmured, big hands roaming over my body as if he knew it belonged to him.
Someone moaned.
Was it me?
