Page 20 of Don't Say You're Sorry

“By making yourself miserable?”

“How do you know I was miserable?”

“I already told you…”I know everything there is to know about you, little brother.“Why come back now? Did something happen?”

“No. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Stay away from you.” The words slip out before my brain can stop them—but I don’t take them back.

He stares at me, his eyes searching mine intently. “Promise me that’s the truth. Promise me no one hurt you and made you come running back here.”

I fight a smile, my heart galloping. “I promise.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, then nods. “Good.”

“Are you happy?” I change the subject, scooting as close as I can to him without climbing over the console. He leans in too. “You looked happy,” I add when he doesn’t say anything. “I watched all your games. You’re good.”

“I’m better than good.”

“You’re amazing.”

Still not answering my question, he rounds his lips, sucking on the lollipop the way he used to suck my dick. He’d almost never let me come. He’d suck me for what felt like hours, teasing me, luring me right to the edge before pulling me back again. He’d make me cry and beg for it. And only then would he fuck me and make me come all over myself. Sometimes, he’d fuck my dick with his ass and make me come inside him. I loved it. I loved everything he did to me.

Inches from my face, the tip of his tongue circles the lollipop, and I groan, my hips rolling on the seat as my dick jerks. He hasn’t even touched me, and I’m ready to explode just from the way he’s looking at me, teasing me with his eyes and his wicked mouth.

“Stop,” I plead.

“Stop what?”

Growling, I snatch the lollipop from his mouth and stick it into mine, tasting him.

He laughs under his breath. “Suck it,” he demands, and I obey. “Did you eat today?”

“Yes. I had Sunday dinner with our parents.”

“What was that like?” he asks, watching me.

“It was weird without you.”

He nods as if he gets it. I wonder how many times he’s had dinner with them over the last few years without me there. I wonder if the house felt as empty for him as it did for me today.

Making a point not to touch me, he lifts a hand and grabs the lollipop, guiding it in and out of my mouth. “Open.”

I part my lips and stick my tongue out, my legs spreading as much as they can on the seat, my ass clenching, my hands fisted with the urge to touch myself, to touch him. “Tell me you’re as hard as I am right now,” I mumble around the lollipop.

He looks at my eyes, my mouth, my lap… “Show me.”

My hands fumble with the button on my jeans. Pushing them and my boxers down to the tops of my thighs, I allow my cock to spring free. He doesn’t tell me to touch it, so I don’t. My hips flex at the sight of the drop of precum leaking down the side. Easton makes a low sound of approval in his throat. Removing the lollipop from my mouth, he uses it to scoop up my precum and pops it back in, making me taste myself. I suck greedily.

“Yeah, I’m as hard as you are,” he says, his voice a little less controlled than it was a moment ago. “When was the last time you came?”

“Not since before I came back. Not since before I knew I was going to see you again.”

Back when we were together, he never stopped me from jerking off, but he liked to be there when I did it. He liked to watch me. He wanted me to save all my cum for him. It was an unspoken rule that I was more than happy to abide by.

But three and half years is a long time. I might not have been with anyone but him—ever—but I couldn’t help getting myself off during our time apart. I tried not to. At first, I was too heartbroken to even think about my dick, but as time went on, and I let myself remember the good times, I couldn’t help wrapping my hand around my cock and whispering his name into my pillow, face down, pretending he was on top of me, filling me.