Pretty Boy (The Boys of Apartment 13, #1)

by Brianna Flores

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.

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 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.

Pretty boy is an insult as much as it is a compliment.

How long does it usually take to become obsessed with something? I’m pretty sure for me, it took a single second. If even.

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.

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.

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’m a one-and-done kind of guy, and Liam here screams clingy. Fucking screams it.

Never has a kiss just wholly devoured me like that, demanded so much from me. Just fucking owned me so completely.

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.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m gonna fuck this little hole so softly, Liam.”

Jesus. Let this be the hole they bury me in.

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 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sex with Liam makes me stupid. Turns me into someone else.

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.

He’s so fucking beautiful like this, mouth full of cock and eyes full of tears.

“Did you just kiss my dick?” “Just a little,” he says defensively,

Everyone needs a little dick therapy now and then. Or something like that.

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.

Emotional Support Dildo

He’s not a feminine man, too buff to be considered that, but, fuck, am I obsessed with his little cunt.

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.

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’s so hot he turned me gay––or something not exactly straight, anyway. Or, he awakened apart of myself that I was not aware had existed anyway––because I know you can’t be turned gay. That’s not how that works.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.

“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?”

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.

“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 asshole was so hopelessly in love with Liam, he agonized for days over where to take him on their first date.

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.

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.”

“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.

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.”

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.

“You are the horniest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

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.”

“Pretty boy,” he murmurs. “Just come home with me, princess. I’ll fuck this sweet pussy in my bed, where you belong.”

“Is everyone in this apartment gay now?”

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.

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.