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

by Brianna Flores

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.

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.

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.

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

Such a pretty little thing, I think, my lips pressed against his throat. “So soft and sweet,”

“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?”

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.

I feel like a slut. But just for him.

“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.

“You forgot what? How open and wet you left your hole for me? Just like a good little cunt should be, huh?”

“Shh, it’s okay. I fucking love that. Were you thinking of me, princess?”

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.

“Just so we’re clear, I did not call you stupid. This was just a dream, princess.”

“Went twenty-one years without a dick, and now it needs one every day,”

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.”

“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.

“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.

“It’s my pussy, Liam,” he growls, and I whimper, nodding my head dazedly. “This cunt is mine,”