Page 37 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

EASTON

Easton

Sometimes I crave your presence so much it hurts. I’d do anything to hear your voice. Your laugh. To watch your stupid hazel eyes light up when you look at me.

It’s been two years. How long are you gonna make me wait?

“ Y ou should go.”

Adam tenses. He’s still lying on top of me, his arms locked around my neck, his head on my shoulder, our dicks spent and soft.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I hate you right now, and I don’t want to say something I might regret.”

He doesn’t go. Instead, he wraps himself around me tighter. “I can take it.”

“Adam—”

“Easton,” he cuts in. “Will you let me be here for you? Please.”

Be here for me . Where the fuck was he when I needed him most? I didn’t have him then, and I don’t need him now.

That’s a lie.

“Don’t make me leave you like this, sunshine.”

I lock my jaw. Rolling him over onto his back, I reach up and untie his wrists, throwing the tie on the floor. I stare at him, and he stares at me with what looks like fear in his eyes, not moving a muscle. It’s as if he’s bracing himself for something.

A few tense moments go by, and then I lie beside him. He lets out a relieved breath and turns toward me. Facing each other on our sides, I pull him close and wrap my arms around his body, tucking his head beneath my chin.

Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth—a trick Veronica taught me—I drop the mask I wear for the world and just be . I let myself feel everything.

Anger comes first, always. It coils through me, winding my muscles tight, clenching my teeth and fists with blind rage.

Then comes jealousy. Longing. The ache of what I once had.

And finally, the heartache—the kind that’s lived in me since the day I watched him walk away.

For three and a half years, that was my last memory of him. And it fucking hurt.

Still does.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t outrun that kind of pain.

I’m usually alone when this happens. This time, I’m holding the very person who broke me, the person who made me like this, and he’s holding me right back.

And I don’t hate it.

We don’t fall asleep. He doesn’t dare say a word; the only reason I know he’s still awake is because he’s rubbing my back, his grip firm as if he’s trying to anchor me.

It’s working, but I don’t tell him that.

When I notice the sun rising through the window, I ask, “Are you hungry?”

He lifts his face to look at me. “Yes.”

“Good. Come with me.” I take his hand and lead him into my bathroom.

Much like he did the first time he was in here, he watches me as I turn the water on, wait for it to heat up, and step into the shower. He stays near the sink, waiting for permission to join me. I let him sweat for a few minutes while I wash my hair, putting on a little show for him.

His nails dig into his palms as his eyes drag over my body.

I smile to myself. “Wanna play a game?”

He huffs and looks down at himself. His dick is already hard.

“You win,” he says.

“Yeah, I do,” I agree, staring at him.

He stands up a little straighter.

“Come here.”

He steps in with me, and I grab his waist, pulling his chest to mine. I turn him and guide him beneath the showerhead, and he moans as the hot water cascades over his skin.

I wash his hair for him, then his body, taking my time as I run the washcloth over the marks on him.

There are several of them—bite marks, finger marks, scratches—and they’re all over him.

His neck, his chest, his abs, his hips, his back, his ass.

All covered in my marks. I fucking preen at the sight. He’s never looked more beautiful.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, amused.

I nod. He chews on his bottom lip, his gaze moving from my face to my neck and back up again. I raise a brow. He doesn’t move. Chickenshit.

“Do it,” I say.

He steps into me and wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, pulling my throat to his mouth.

My eyes flutter shut as he sinks his teeth in.

He sucks hard, and I groan quietly, my fingers curling around his hips.

He pulls back to look at the mark, his eyes blazing with heat as he kisses his way down my chest. Just as he’s about to drop to his knees, I take his elbow and pull him upright.

“Later. Breakfast first.”

He clicks his tongue, making me laugh.

We get dressed and head down to the kitchen. He makes us some tea while I make the eggs, the two of us sneaking glances at one another. He’s shirtless, and it’s distracting me, a fact I’m sure he knows judging by the satisfied look on his face.

We sit down to eat, and he squirms a little, shifting on his seat to try to get comfortable.

“Does your ass hurt?” I ask, spooning a scoop of scrambled eggs onto his toast.

“Mhm.”

“Feel good?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Eat.”

He picks up his fork and makes a show of taking a big bite. I chuckle.

We sit in comfortable silence while we eat. It’s nice. Familiar. Kind of feels like before, when we’d stay up all night fucking and sneak downstairs to have breakfast together before everyone else woke up.

Just as we’re finishing up, Carter walks into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, yawning as he scratches his abs. When he sees us sitting together, he scrunches his nose. “You two look…freshly fucked.” He grins at me. “Aw. And you made him breakfast. How cute.”

“Shut up, Carter.”

He doesn’t shut up. “How’s your ass, sunshine?”

I fling a piece of toast at him. “Don’t call him that.”

He catches it, lifts it to his mouth, and crudely licks the butter off.

Adam looks at him in disgust. “Are you ever not a dickhead?”

Carter tilts his head as if he’s thinking about it. “Only when I’m being fucked really hard. I can be a good boy then.”

Adam cringes. “Jesus.”

Carter grabs a plate, places the toast on it, and helps himself to some eggs, sitting opposite us.

He looks up as Axel walks into the room, his eyes roaming over his body.

He’s wearing black sweats and a T-shirt, but with the way Carter’s looking at him, you’d think he was wearing a corset. He’s practically drooling.

“Your big brother could make me a good boy,” Carter says to Adam, loud enough for Axel to hear him.

Axel ignores him. He looks at us and scrunches his nose, doing a double take at the state of Adam’s chest and back. “Really? Put a fucking top on.”

Adam turns to me expectantly. I pull the shirt off my back and give it to him. He puts it on. Exasperated, Axel runs his hands over his face. He’s so done with us.

Adam smiles at me while he’s not looking, and I smile back.

“Gag,” Carter says.

After Adam and I clean up the mess we made, I take his forearm, pressing my chest to his back as I lead him out of the kitchen.

“Where are you two going?” Axel asks.

“Well, first your little brother’s gonna get on his knees for me, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. That okay with you?”

He glares. I blow him a kiss and take Adam upstairs.