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Fuck, he's gorgeous. I don't know how I got so unlucky, but he looks like a fucking model. Tall and lanky, scowly, broad up top but lean like maybe he's been locked up in a cage and starved for just a couple of weeks. There's muscle under his pale skin, but he makes me feel porky.
Your stepson's a total dick. He saw me almost get kissed, fucked it up, and now I want to smash his face in for giving me shit about being gay. Oh wait, but you don't know I am. Nobody knows anything about me here. And most of them never will.
He’s not even just striking. He’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen in real life, and I hate it.
I can’t move, can't even fucking breathe, as he rolls them, then drags his hand up my erection, pressing with his palm then gripping, his hand wrapped around me, moving slow and firm, back and forth. My eyes shut as pleasure grips me like a fucking vice, and then he pinches my cockhead so hard I see stars.
It's so wrong the way I want to throw him off, to fuck with him, manipulate him just so I can hear his noises, taste his skin. He's no one to me. Just a toy. A pretty, freckled, dark-haired, perfect boy for me to ruin if I want.
Everything started in a bus, didn’t it? Buses ruined my life and then this bus drove me up here where I’m supposed to fix it.
“Never jump,” I whisper. “Never fall.” His lips brush my back. He hugs me tight, wrapping himself around me. “You gotta be careful, Millsy. Don’t come here without me.”
And then he steps in closer, wraps a hand around the back of my head, and kisses me so hard and deep I nearly slide to the ground.
I’m holding Ezra Masters. My stepbrother. The most infuriating guy I’ve ever met. The smirkiest and the cockiest and by far the most confusing. The most gorgeous…and I think maybe the most broken. I’ve got him, safe with me. And I don’t ever want to let him go.
I wake up with Ezra wrapped around me like some kind of insane starfish. He’s behind me—he’s spooning me now—with one arm around my shoulders, one hand clutching the waistline of my boxer briefs, and one of his warm legs pushed between mine, like he wants to be sure we’re joined from head to toe.
“Look at me, Ez. Look at my face.” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me this much: Who fucked up before me? Who fucked around with you and made you feel like loving you was hard work?”
When I was sick, you took care of me. If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re saying I can make you feel better? I’d do that all damn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”
“You love me.” Miller’s face goes beet red, and I can’t stop a cheesin’ grin. I pinch his check, and he grins down at his lap. I cup his neck with my hand. Warm neck. Shy Miller. He does love me. I want so much to say I love him back, but no one’s ever really said “I love you” to me. It feels too awkward. Miller looks up at me. “I do,” he rasps. “Love you.” His face flushed, his blue eyes shining, his hair pressed down on his forehead by an Auburn ball cap. I snapshot it in my brain. “I love you too,” I murmur. I grab his hand. “I really do. It’s hard to say, though.”
Hi, no one’s held my hand since I was like six. No one’s touched me in a few years except nurses and a lot worse. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
“I only need one thing.” “What?” I force myself to whisper. His arm tightens on me, and I feel him inhale. He blows the breath out, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy. “Don’t leave me again.” I nod, and for a second I can’t find my voice. When I do, I sit up, so I can look at him when I promise, “I won’t.”
“Whatcha thinking about?” he asks softly. I smile. “Feeling like we’re a couple,” I confess. “We are. You’re my Miller.” He hugs me tighter. “I can’t let you go.” “I don’t want you to.”
I love you. Please stay safe. Don’t ride bikes and don’t have any seizures. Love me- okay? Can you please still love me? Even if it’s been a while? I’ll always love you too. Your Ezra
“I love you,” I say. “I’ve got you. You’re mine, and I’ve been waiting for you, so I can wrap you up and never let a damn thing ever hurt you again. Not without going through me first. I know you’re bigger, but I need to take care of you,”
