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.

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. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

I’m hot! I know I am. I am a good-looking man. Boy. I don’t exactly feel like an adult, but I am a sort-of-man. And he’s supposedly gay.

That man is gay. Fuck yeah.

“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.”

“Hm.” He purses his lips. “Do dicks get wrinkles?” “I… do not know.” Fuck, I hope my dick doesn’t wrinkle. We wear matching grimaces. This is one I’m not going to look up; I have a feeling the answer will just make me sad. Sadder.

“Hey! If I’m not having sex on my birthday, nobody is!”

“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.

I don’t really mind being teased about Bash’s favorite pet name. I am pretty like a princess, thank you very much,

I can’t keep the dopey-ass grin off my face as I realize he’s grabbing two sets of his loungewear. Poor sap still doesn’t realize I’m hoarding his belongings.

I think you’re beautiful and that you’re stuck with me. Nothing short of actually turning into a duck would ever make you less sexy.” “What?” I scoff. “So you wouldn’t like me if I turned into a duck,” I squint my eyes. How fucking rude. “Well, I wouldn’t want to bone you.” Am I offended? A little, and I can’t even really explain why. “Princess,” he smiles, just for me as he leans in. He’s using his annoyingly deep voice to make me shiver. “Are you trying to say that you would want me to be turned on by my boyfriend, the duck?” “I guess not,” I concede, almost pouting about it. “That’s like… beastiality.”

“Liam wants me to assure him that I’d be down to stay his boyfriend if he ever turned into a duck.” “Well! What would you do with me?” “I’d… I’d build you a pond,” he pats my shoulder condescendingly, and I roll my eyes. “And I’d buy you cantucci every day to keep your little duck self happy.”

And I’m obviously never going to turn into a fucking duck. But I mean, if I did, it feels like, yeah, he might be sweet enough to build me a pond.

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.

“I told you. I love you, dimples. Pretty sure that means you’re stuck with me. Even if you turned into a duck.”

“I might as well just move in.” “You’re nuts. Is that––we haven’t been dating very long, princess.” “You don’t want to hear my adorable snores every night? No? I can just… awe. I suppose I’ll just go back to my room with Cade then.” “Shut the fuck up,” he rolls his eyes. “I guess you can move in.”

“The truth ain’t crazy. I’m going to marry you, have your babies.”

There, tattooed on the inside of his ring finger, are two little words followed by a dainty little question mark. Marry me? Love is a physical thing, something I feel with every fiber of my being, and I swear this man has me falling in love all over again every single day. “Will you marry me?”