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

by Brianna Flores

“Princess,” he frowns as he presses against me, and the hand that curls around my waist points out just how much I’m shaking. I was worried I wasn’t his princess anymore, that I’d never hear him call me that ever again. The rush of relief that hits me as he cups my cheek with his free hand, his thumb running across my bottom lip, is overwhelming.

“Liam, I meant what I said. You’re mine.” My eyelashes flutter as I take that in, a wave of calm satisfaction washing over me. 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. I am his.

“You are the horniest motherfucker I’ve ever met.” That has me smiling, my hooded eyes opening. “I can’t help it.” He just doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand the effect he has on me. It’s like Bash was made for me, an aphrodisiac curated just for my tastes.

“And I’d normally just use sex toys to make myself feel better, but you do it better.” Except he’s going home. Without me. “Yeah? What makes me so much better, sweetheart?” I sigh against his skin. “You just fuck me so good,” I moan, both of my hands now fisted in his tee.

“Pretty boy,” he murmurs. “Just come home with me, princess. I’ll fuck this sweet pussy in my bed, where you belong.” I moan, rubbing against him as he runs a finger over my boxers right along my crease. “Yes,” I pant.

I just knew he’d look so fucking good with his cock wrapped in lace for me.

“I––do I feel good?” His words tickle, barely skim over my mouth as he talks. I nod, unable to speak, and close the small yet infinite space between us to lick at his lips. “You feel perfect, love. Like mine,” I tell him truthfully, and he smiles with his mouth still pressed into mine.

He doesn’t want to go to sleep, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. But then he wiggles in my lap again, like he’s trying to burrow into my skin, and I understand. He just doesn’t want me to pull out. “You can just keep me warm, princess. We’ll stay like this.”

“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.

It’s just him. How he looks, yes, but just who he is. His voice turns me on, the way it’s short and monotonous when addressing other people, but then he talks to me and puts so many different feelings into those words. It’s how strong he is, even after everything he’s gone through. How brave and strong-willed he is. How he grabs my thigh while he’s driving and tolerates my kisses in public even though I know it’s difficult for him. There are a million little things about him that I adore so much, and there’s so much I haven’t even discovered. I will forever be amazed and humbled and grateful for every bit he lets me see.

I’m not really sure why I can’t just stick to one pet name, but he is all of the things I call him. My pretty boy, my princess, my absolute sweetheart. It’s crazy, blows my mind if I think about it too hard. Who I was when we first met would be fucking stunned at the way he just makes me something soft.

I look at him, at his smooth features, his pillowy lips, and those sexy little nose piercings and all of his tattoos, and the last thought that I have before I pass out, dead to the world, is that I’m going to love him for the rest of my life.

He’s real and he looks at me like I’m something to consume, like he’s starved for it, and it feels so good I’m pretty sure my dick is crying.

“Tell me I’m pretty.” “Oh, fuck, Liam, you are. So fucking beautiful.” I whimper, my hips rolling against his as he sinks in deeper. “Tell me I’m yours.” “You are,” he smiles, flashing his wretched dimples at me. “You’re mine, princess.” “All of me?” I whisper, my whole body shaking with just how desperately I want that, need him to mean it. Not just my hole, not just while he’s inside me. “Every fucking bit.”

“This pussy, sweetheart,” he thrusts. “That’s mine. Your tits,” another thrust, deeper and longer as he nips at my chest. “Mine.” I start moaning more, louder, trying not to because I want to hear him. I want him to claim it all, every fucking bit, just like he said. “Your fucking moans, god. Your body belongs to me, Liam. The air you breathe, your every thought, I want all of it. I have all of it. Fuck,” his turn to moan, the sound joining mine and creating the perfect soundtrack to us as a whole.

I wanted to come home and throw those roses you got me away, but then... I saw them and just couldn’t. I love them, that you got them for me. It feels like you’re it for me. You’re so kind, brave. You accepted me and you wanted me enough to come out for me. You’re just beautiful, Liam. All of you. And I don’t want to do wrong by you. You deserve me at my best,” he clears his throat, closing his eyes.

“I want you, Bash.” My throat tightens but I power through. “I want you as you are, all the broken pieces as they come. I want to help you put them all back together. I don’t want you to do that alone. Please don’t push me away. I––I hope that things between you and my dad, and you and Cade get better, because, I’m sorry but they’re in my life for good, but I want you to be a permanent fixture too.”

I’d fucking glue his skin to mine if I could. I don’t want space, that’s bullshit.

“My lazy pillow princess,” he says lovingly as I move off of him and lay down, resting my head where it’s most comfortable: right on his pillow. “I’m what you made me,” I reach for him. I mean that when I say it. There are two of me, the Liam before Bash and who I am now, after him. Two entirely different people. “Mine,” he growls, pushing back into me in our favorite position, with me on my back and my legs spread for him. And if his favorite word is yes, mine is definitely that one.