Rent: Paid in Full (Bad Decisions, #1)

by Jesse H. Reign

Miller Ryan opens the door, glares at me, and then drops his bag beside his desk.

Maybe it's too soon but I am not understanding why everone hates Miller. Ryan is being an asshole.

He’s had it up to here with me, and I’m not sure why, but I kind of love it.

Ryan arrives at our table a few minutes later wearing a face one would normally expect to see on someone who recently stumbled upon the scene of a heinous crime.

Oh God, he’s not just hot. He’s complicated and rude.

Miller is a fucking vibe I love his POV

I think I’ve felt him looking a couple of times when I get changed, but it definitely seems like he’s a little less angry with Sienna than he is with the rest of us, and I can’t say I like that.

I learn something new about Ryan: it isn’t just me. The tension around his shoulders is perpetual, and so is his bad mood. I take comfort in that.

I passionately hate speaking to people on the phone.

MEEEE

I mean, who doesn’t wonder what it would be like to be with someone of the same sex. Literally half the population is the same sex as me. How can I possibly rule every single one of them out? Seems unrealistic to me.

God, I want to touch him. I want to stroke him and lick him and see how far he can bend till he breaks. I want him.

“Two minutes,” I say lightly. “That’s all I need. I won’t even touch you. Just drop your towel for two minutes and let me look at you.”

The next second, the towel’s on the floor.

“When I come”—he breathes out heavily—“Imma say your name.”

I hear it. Soft and wispy. Smooth baritone. “Ryyyy…”

“I know what full service is, you dick,” he hisses through tightly gritted teeth. Swoon. God. He’s so sexy.

Sorry but I love Miller

Little shit. He’s on his way to the Student Services building again.

I like to lie on my bed, look at the ceiling, and relive arguments and altercations long past, fantasizing about delivering the perfect, cutting retort instead of being struck mute by social anxiety, but whatever.

So relatable

“What’s stopping you from having fun?” “Um, it’s called anxiety, Bev.”

“It’s morning wood. Get over yourself.” I run a hand down my torso and stroke the outline of my cock with my thumb. “Mine’s not. It’s all you.”

Three fucking days. Four days. Five. Shit, I’m losing my mind.

My stalking skills are going to need work if I plan on keeping this up.

It’s been six days now. I’m not losing my mind anymore. That shit is officially lost.

“I meant what I said, Ryan. You can have whatever you want from me. Mouth, hands, ass. Whatever you want, it’s yours. No question. No price.”

I’ve started trying hard not to breathe in when he’s close because I know what he is. A drug. A chemical reaction that causes a nuclear dopamine surge. A full-blown addiction waiting to take hold.

Why the fuck does he have to look so fucking happy when he has sex? And why does he have to look so beautiful when he’s happy?

“Five hundred dollars for a kiss?” His eyes narrow, but instead of outrage, I see something that looks confusingly like fondness. “Jesus, Ryan. That’s extortion…but fine. Done.”

“Just kiss me, you dick,” a strained voice that sounds a lot like mine whines.

He moans as he takes my mouth. At least, I hope to God it was him and not me.

The next sound is lower. Lower and louder. Longer. I know that sound too. Usually, when I hear it, I start swallowing. I stand and watch, several feet away, nowhere near close enough to touch him, and swallow reflexively. Hungrily. Greedily. Thirsty and uncomfortable at the thought of his seed being laid to waste.

“I-I just don’t like big crowds, that’s all. I’m not all that great in big groups of people.” “Eh, don’t worry about it. You’re not all that great one-on-one either.”

It’s things like this that remind me why I like the library so much. I’m so much better when talking to people is frowned upon.

Meeee

“You have girls dripping off you like sweat, you know that?” God, he’s exhausting. “What? You jealous?” “Yes, I’m jealous.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course I’m jealous. I told you. You’re mine.”

“Are you trying to tell me I don’t have a big nose?” “No, I’m saying you have a huge fucking nose, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It makes you look vulnerable and wild, and it does something to your face that makes it so every time I see you, you look a little different from how you looked the last time I saw you.” He leans closer and speaks softer. “It makes you so hot I honestly can’t decide if I want to tear off your pants and blow you or if I want to bend you over that barstool and fuck you right here and now.”

“Who hurt you?” That trips something in me up. It rips something I’ve spent years covering up, something I’ve hidden and buried and bandaged up. “People like them,” I sneer, pointing to the booth we’ve been sitting in. My face is inches from his, and it almost looks like he’s thinking about kissing me again. For a really weird moment, I lose focus, but I quickly recover. “People like you.”

“I love tequila. Smelled it on your breath the first time you blew me. Now I think of you when I smell it.” He raises his glass to his nose and inhales, then looks at me. “Turns me on.”

“You know,” he says almost dreamily, “if you tell me his name, I’ll find him. I’ll hire someone if I need to, but I’ll find him.”

“You’re good at reading people,” I say, stomach churning at the thought of what he sees when he reads me. “Have to be. You get real good at reading the room when you grow up in a warzone.”

My poor baby

I’ve tried and tried to explain why I can’t stand him, but without getting into the whole he offers me money for sex and I take it thing, it’s really, really hard to explain.

“Told you.” “Told me what?” “Nothing bad will happen to you when you’re with me.”

Adorable

So yeah, definitely not mad and not at all bothered about where he might be. Don’t care. Could not give a shit.

It occurs to me later that I no longer know which mug I consider a victory. Pink or blue. Dicks or boobs. Who the fuck knows?

Well, he’s silent. I’m talking. Now and again, he rewards me with a bored-sounding, “Hm.” For some reason, that bored-sounding hm means more coming from him than all the lavish attention I get from other people rolled into one.

“You know what, bud—” He cuts me off. “Don’t call me bud.” “Can I call you baby instead?”

YES PLEASE

“I think I have a thing for you.” He doesn’t skip a beat. “No, you don’t. Don’t be ridiculous.” “Yeah, I do. I have a huge thing for you. I think it might be serious.”

“Hey, Ryan, if I don’t have a thing for you, why can’t I stop thinking of you? ‘Cause I can’t. I’ve tried. I think about you all the time.”

It’s one thing soliciting someone for sexual favors and stalking them mildly—or following them intently, depending on how you choose to look at these kinds of things—but it’s quite another to get to the point where you’re smelling their bedding.

“If you want to pay me five hundred dollars to kiss my ass, go right ahead. Be my guest.”

The sound he makes now is different. It’s loud. Almost angry. It’s beautiful. Hoarse and hungry and mine. It’s mine. I made it, so it’s mine.

“Mouth. Hands. Ass. Whatever you want, Ry. It’s yours,” I offer.

“What are you doing here?” I make no effort to remove the accusation from my words. “I followed you.” He raises a careless shoulder. “I do that sometimes.”

Want to be close to you, I guess. Want to know where you go and what you do. Just want you, basically.”