That was it. That’s the feeling I’ve been chasing.
He leans down, licking up my cum, then kissing me, before going back to my chest to get more for us to share.
What is happening to me?
What is changing?
I reach for him when Shai pulls out of me and gets off the bed.
“You’re a needy little thing. I’m not going far.” He comes back a few moments later with a wet cloth, cleaning me up before handing me two pain pills, which I take with water.
Shai turns out the light and climbs into bed with me, and the last thing I hear is, “You’re mine. I don’t care if you’re theirs too, but you’re mine,” before I drift to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Shai
Iopen myeyes the next morning to see Rory lying on his side, staring down at me. He looks like he’s been awake for hours, no sleepy eyes or anything like that, just…staring.
“Good morning,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. Unlike him, I’m still half-asleep.
“Good morning,” he says, not moving from his position.
“What are you doing?” I ask because I can’t say this has ever happened to me before.
“Watching you.”
“I see that,” I reply.
“Does it bother you?” He lifts his hand slowly, pauses, then keeps going, running his fingers through my hair.
My breath catches. “No. It’s a bit weird, but it doesn’t bother me. I think…I think maybe I like it.” It feels good that Rory is this obsessed with me.
“You’re just a little off, like me.”
He grins, and I chuckle. He’s right. Maybe that’s why this—whatever it is—works. I’ve told him he’s mine, and he hasn’t argued—told me the same thing about me—but I still don’t know what that means.
“Yes,” I answer simply, and his lips stretch into a wide, happy smile. “Come on. I have to piss, and then I want tocheck your arm.”
“Yes, sir,” he answers playfully.
We get out of bed, and I go to the bathroom, then wash my hands. Rory grabs a first-aid kit. I clean the cut, then rebandage it. “It’s not red or puffy, but we need to keep an eye on it for infection. Maybe you should have gotten stitches, but—”
“It’s fine, pet.”
It’s wild how different the nickname sounds on his tongue now than when we first met.
When his stomach growls, I say, “Let’s go make breakfast.”
We put on shorts, no tops, and go downstairs, where I hear voices in the kitchen. When we round the corner, it’s Cillian and Ollie—and Cillian’s shirtless too. His abs look like they belong to someone who spends their days in the gym, which is unfair as shit since he probably rarely works out.
“Good morning,” Ollie says. He’s got on a flannel pajama set, his cheeks a rosy pink, his grin wide as he looks at us. God, he’s so fucking adorable, so earnest in this way I’ve never seen in anyone before.
“’Morning,” I reply as Rory walks over and picks him up.
“Bunny! Sorry if I scared you last night.”
My gaze flicks toward Cillian, wondering what I’ll find there, but he’s just smiling, coffee cup in hand, watching his best friend with his boyfriend. He takes a sip, peeking at them over the mug, before lowering it again, appearing happy and content, like he enjoys seeing them together and it fulfills something inside Cillian the same way it does Rory.
