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

by Brianna Flores

So, yeah. My girlfriend is cheating on me. On my fucking birthday. But I mean, shit. If whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is can make her moan like that? Maybe I sort of get it. Neither of us sounds like that when we have sex.

Sorry, guys. We’ve never said this before, but you’re just too loud for porn.

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’m not passionate. I’ve never felt a bone-deep urge to just be with someone.

Stupid big gay dude broke my brain.

The idea that there were, that more people knew I was being cheated on by the only actual girlfriend I’ve ever had… I need to get laid. Move on. For somebody who wasn’t all that sad to say goodbye to her, I sure do think about this shit a lot. I can’t help that it eats at me, though.

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. Sex would be so much better if I weren’t the one in control.

I try picture myself with them, one at a time, and I can’t see me getting into it. Enjoying it. I never fucking do. Sex is fine. I like coming, but it’s not all that big of a deal. Most of the time, I don’t even know why I have it. And none of these girls seem worth the internal dilemma tonight.

I’m tall-ish and good-looking, but I apparently suck in bed, and he probably doesn’t. Plus, he’s also tall-ish and good-looking.

I do know that the only reason I even play baseball is because of my dad. I didn’t have talent, but I play well enough now. And that’s only because he made me play so much. All the time, obsessively almost, because he was adamant that if he was going to have a son who plays baseball, he better have been good at it. There were a lot of tears involved in my tee-ball days. I’ve looked back at my childhood a lot, and the only time he ever really expressed any interest in me was when I was playing. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school that my mom told me why. He tried to go big, make it to the MLB. According to her, he was close, but then he was injured, and suddenly, all his life plans came crumbling down. I don’t see how that’s my fault though.

The bed dips behind me as Cade climbs into bed with me. He places an arm over my back, snuggling close and offering as much comfort as he can. He’s always been a touchy guy. I’m kind of the opposite, but I guess our dynamic works. I’m certainly used to it. “Nah,” I tell him, not bothering to remind him how much my dad hates him. The cuddling is one of the reasons. He caught Cade sleeping in my bed on one of our sleepovers as kids and overreacted. Luckily, my mom was able to calm him down because I doubt that Cade and I would even still be friends if my dad had had it his way. That was just something innocent. Two little boys just shooting the shit and staying up late until they crashed.

“Do you think my dad would be more pissed off hearing I’m quitting baseball or that I want to sleep with a dude?”

This man’s attention on me, his voice when he speaks to me, has a debilitating effect. It has my mind going blank in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s never been like this for me. I’m not a big people person, but I’m not exactly shy. And I know words. Use ‘em all the time, in fact.

I’ve only seen him twice––unless I count all the times I’ve imagined him, which I don’t––but this is the closest I’ve ever been, and it feels… it’s fucking with my head.

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. Oh, god. He has a dick.

He hates me. Nobody I’ve ever liked enough to pursue has ever just flat-out hated me like this. I’m fairly certain that nobody has ever hated me at all, actually. Ever. In my whole damn life. I can’t say that anymore, though. My perfect record of being liked by literally everyone I’ve ever met is now tarnished because of this guy.

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.

It’s why I’m having a hard time telling him I’m not interested. Well, that and I am interested. A little, at least. I just don’t fuck clients––or anyone I have to see on a regular basis. I hate having to talk to hookups, see them all the time. I’m a one-and-done kind of guy, and Liam here screams clingy. Fucking screams it.

This is so much better than I thought it’d be. I don’t even mind how slow I’m moving. It’s just steady glides in and out, and it’s so fucking good. Jesus. Let this be the hole they bury me in.

I expected him to be sad, disappointed. I expected his feelings to be hurt. I’d even understood if he’d gotten angry, but this? Just nothing? I should be relieved. But for some reason, I’m so fucking disappointed.

“Did you just go on a run?” Cade looks me up and down as he stands grumpily in the doorway. “Yeah,” I pant, still huffing and puffing due to the run and the fright he just gave me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my lazy best friend?” “I’m just, I don’t know. Trying something new, I guess.” “You once said you’d rather cut off both big toes than choose to run outside over walking on a treadmill.” “Yeah, well, I can be dramatic.”

“Well, you should at least grab a shake.” My face twists in mild disgust. I would rather choke, but I'd never tell Cade that. He is weirdly obsessed with his workout supplements,

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. And yet, when it became clear that it was on the table, I didn’t leave. I just spread my fucking legs and let him right in. In my asshole. Then, like a total whore, I came twice. Without even touching my dick. Just with him slowly rocking his inside me.

Why am I so fucking boring? My hand rests on the back of my neck as I force myself to stop staring at him. My own thoughts are making me blush. It’s humiliating. And it came out of nowhere. 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 liked it. Him inside me, filling me up, calling me beautiful and sweetheart, moaning and groaning because he liked doing all of that? (Well, it sounded like he did.) Yeah. I liked that. Loved it. I feel like a slut. But just for him.

So, if he was looking our way after Cade’s annoying outburst, he probably saw Baby. Looking all adorable and cute and gay as fuck. Is there a non-homophobic way to hate a gay person? Because, right now, I’m pretty sure I hate Baby.

“Want to go get drunk with us?” “Dude,” Cade lightly slaps at my abs. “We just got here.” “Can I pick the place?” Baby ignores him, looking up at me with an eery little glint in his eyes. “Class?” “That’s a gay club.” I look at my best friend, briefly wondering why he knows that before Baby starts speaking again. “And I’m gay. Come on. Don’t say no to your only gay friend. That’s homophobic.”

“Have you ever been?” I already know the answer. If he’d gone to a gay club, he would have told me. “Uh, yeah.” “What? When?” I gawk at him, and when he starts to blush, my eyes bug. “Dude. Was it a secret or something? Why don’t I know about this?” Best friends tell each other when they go to gay clubs. Well, shit. I guess best friends also tell each other when they let an asshole covered in tattoos fuck them, and for some reason telling him––telling anyone––hasn’t even crossed my mind.

“I hate to break it to you, Cadence, but––and nobody is more saddened by this information than me, trust me––Logan’s immature ass is the hottest guy in the apartment. And then it’s me, and then Liam, and then it’s any number of Liam’s baseball buddies who visit because you said ‘who has ever stepped foot in the apartment,’ so they count. And then… then it’s the maintenance man who fixed our sink last week. And then you.” “I’m telling Logan you said that.” Yeah, I saw that coming. My eyebrows jumped to my hairline when Baby mentioned him being the best-looking roommate, and I just knew Cade was gonna jump on that. “You will not!” “Oh, I sure the fuck will. Logan, Baby said that you’re the sexiest man who––Goddammit!”

Damn. Gay guys know how to drink.

“I don’t usually fuck guys, Bash.” “What?” “I––” he stops laughing, looks away from me, and looks at the doors like they’re hurting him. “Yeah. You were my first. First guy.” “What?”

“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.

He almost has freckles. They’re so light that it took me a while to even notice them but now I can’t help but stare at them even in the low early morning light. And he also has a few that are more noticeable. Darker. Beauty marks. There are twelve of them on his face, most of them on the left side. One right under the corner of his eye, a few on his forehead above his brow bone. He’s so fucking pretty.

“You’re cold.” “I wonder why.” I hear more than see as he sits up a little, looking down at himself all wrapped up in my blanket like the blanket hog he is. “Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry, his morning voice lightly tempered in a lazy smile I can hear without having to look at him. But then I do see it. I’m forced to look at him and his sleep-addled features barely visible in the early morning light coming through my sheer curtains, his full lips tilted in a crooked grin as he leans over me and stretches before promptly laying his head on my bare chest, covering the both of us in my blanket and settling as deeply into my rib cage as he can manage.

“Touch yourself.” “I––no. You do it,” he tells me, his voice quiet as he watches my hand slide up and down my length.

I’ve never told a man that I want to fuck his needy little cunt, that I want his pussy squeezing my dick until I come inside him.

“You only want me touching you, is that right, princess?” “Yes.” His breath hitches as, despite his assurance that he only wants my hands on him, he palms his pecs––his tits, as I’d called them last night––lightly swiveling his hips as I move between them once again.

“I’m gonna come!” he calls out as his back arches, pushing himself into the opening of my throat once more, unable to help himself as his orgasm rolls its way down his body. I don’t pull off, more than ready for it, but when his cock finally swells and his balls unload down my throat, I do not at all expect that much to flood my mouth. It surprises me how much I have to swallow. He comes untouched a lot, almost exclusively, and when that’s the case, there’s barely any cum at all.

“You just have to tell me how to make it good for you. I don’t––I doubt I can deepthroat,” he blushes as he places his hands flat on my sheet, and my jaw tenses at the sight. “I won’t be as good as you are at it, but I mean… a blowjob’s a blowjob, right?” “You’ll be perfect.”

I lean back, intending to give him room to get up, but all he does is lay his head in my lap, still breathing heavily as he lets his eyes close. When my fingers find their way into his hair once again, lightly scratching at his scalp, he moves his arms until they’re around me, buries his nose in my groin, and very unsubtly inhales. Deeply.

“Any plans today?” “Yeah, I have shit to do.” It was a reflex, something I said without thinking and in a tone that has him once again staring at me like I make him feel small. I do have things to do, a long drive, and an awkward birthday dinner to sit through, but I didn’t have to say it like that.

“Is it a kink if I only like one person’s hands?” “What’s so great about her hands? Girls have small hands.” He holds his out in front of him, examining them, and I frown. Yeah, I’ve never been too enamored with any girl’s hands before. I’m not even really sure what it is about Bash’s hands that do it for me. They just look nice. Strong, with tattoos and veins.

“I’m not a kink-shamer. I have kinks. I like––” “I don’t care what you like, Logan. Go away.”

“I hate edging. I can’t do it.” I can’t. I remember trying it in the hopes I’d be able to prolong my jerk-off sessions, but I always end up rushing to the big finish anyway. “Oh, I could edge you, Liam.” He smiles, and I involuntarily tense at the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Tie you up and tease you. Bring you to the edge over and over again for hours, wait until you’re crying and begging for it, and still deny you.” His voice reminds me of Bash’s right now, deep and husky. Sultry in a way that has me aware of every square inch of my skin. “You’d end up coming without my say-so, and then I’d have to spank you for being such a bad boy.” And then he winks and turns to walk away.

My prostate does not mess around. Just call me Doc Holliday because I shoot fast.

When he starts complaining about the number thirteen on our door being painted pink, I do my best to ignore it. It’s literally just a fucking color, but according to him, a house full of guys doesn’t need a door with any bit of pink on it. “You going to let me in?” He’s smiling, so obviously in a good mood. “Sure. What’s up?” “I had some free time and figured it’s been a while.” That’s true. I haven’t seen him since the baseball season ended. Since before I decided I wasn’t going to play anymore. Or started fucking a guy.

“I’m going to quit.” My body stills, my eyes widening as I let the weight of what I just said hold me down. It stops me from cringing, from looking away. “That’s ridiculous.” He smiles, and I know that he doesn’t believe me. What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense to him. “I want to quit. I am quitting, I mean.” “No.” “No?”

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.

I wash the toy I’m officially naming my Emotional Support Dildo off

“I guess I’ll just… bye.” He turns to leave, but I have stuff to say to him. He can’t just show up uninvited to my place whenever I ignore a text. I step outside and shut the door in Jax’s face. “Liam.” He turns briefly but keeps walking down the hallway. “Sorry, Sebastian. I shouldn’t have come.” “Wait.”

“So… I can come in?” I sigh. I was supposed to be out here setting boundaries. Telling this guy that he’s not my boyfriend and doesn’t need to act like he is. But he bites his cherry-red lip, and I fold just like that. “Why, sweetheart?” I put my hands on his hips and smile at the way his breath hitches. “Need me to fill this pretty pussy?”