Page 5 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

My breathing picks up, and I dig my nails into my palms so hard I’m sure I’m leaving marks. Just like the marks he used to leave on me. On my hips, my thighs, my ass…

My dick hardens against him as our warm breaths mingle, our mouths almost touching.

We used to be the same size, but he’s bigger than me now, more muscular and defined, thanks to three years of playing college basketball.

We’re still the same height though. Eye to eye, chest to chest, hips to hips , so I know he feels exactly what he’s doing to me.

His grip on my waist tightens as he rolls his hips into me, taunting me, daring me, and I snap like a rubber band, just like he wants me to.

My hand finds the back of his neck, and I pull him the rest of the way in, but just before my lips find his, he jerks back, laughing under his breath as he sidesteps me.

I drag a hand over my face as he unzips his trousers and strips the rest of his clothes, stepping backward into the shower. He turns the water on and waits for it to heat up. “I think about that sometimes. The way it didn’t matter to you that we were brothers when you had your dick in my ass.”

Pain slices through me. “Easton.”

“Forget it.” He shakes his head, tipping it back under the large rainfall showerhead to get his hair wet. “Say what you came here to say, or get the fuck out.”

“I…I don’t know what to say to you,” I admit. “Except that I’m s?—”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, spitting the words through his teeth. “Don’t you dare.”

Nodding, I watch helplessly as he showers, unsure what else to do.

My dick softened after he pulled away from me, but now it’s getting hard again, my hands clutching the edge of the counter behind me as he lathers his body with soap.

He’s hard too, his hands roaming over his wet chest and stomach as he stares at mine.

My jacket and shirt are still on but unbuttoned, and I make no move to cover myself back up, knowing he wouldn’t like it if I did.

I arch my back a little instead, letting him look his fill. Anything he wants, he can have it.

Pleased with me, he puts me out of my misery and moves down to his dick, using both hands to wash it.

I groan under my breath as he slowly begins to work it between his fists, making it even harder.

A bead of precum glistens on the tip, and I want it.

I want it more than I want my next breath.

He knows it too, his tongue between his teeth as he rinses himself and shuts the water off.

“You sure about this?”

I nod without thinking.

“You might not like me very much after,” he warns.

“I don’t care.”

Smirking, he steps out of the shower and stops in front of me, dripping wet and sexy as hell. His knuckles brush my jaw, and I sigh contentedly, leaning into his touch.

“I really did miss y?—”

“On your knees,” he says quietly.

I drop to the bathroom floor, eagerly looking up at him as he fists the base of his cock, guiding it to my parted lips. He doesn’t put it in right away, so I lean forward, trying to suck the tip into my mouth, trying to taste him?—

He pushes my head back, pressing it into the counter with his palm on my forehead, and I smile like a damn fool. I love him like this. Bossy. Dominant. Mine .

“Don’t suck,” he warns. “Open your mouth so I can fuck it.”

Jesus. This isn’t the way I planned our reunion in my head. I wasn’t supposed to let him get me on my knees within less than a fucking hour of seeing him again. Deep down, I know this’ll only make things worse between us. We shouldn’t be doing this…

I stick my tongue out and stretch my lips as far as they’ll go to make room for him.

His eyes darken as he shifts forward, rubbing the tip of his cock over my tongue.

I groan at the taste and feel of him, resisting the urge to wrap my lips around him and suck until I get what I want.

The fingers of his free hand glide through my hair, making me shiver as he begins rocking in and out of me.

“Can I touch you?” I mumble around his cock, my hands hovering near his hips.

He shakes his head, taking my wrists and pinning them to the counter above my head. I whine at the loss of his hand in my hair, but my disappointment is forgotten when he slides his fingers through mine, his nails biting into my knuckles as he fucks my mouth.

I gag the first time he hits the back of my throat—and the second, and the third—and his eyes darken even more until they look almost completely black.

He eases back a little, slowing his pace and letting me work myself up to it.

By the time he’s in my throat again, I’m taking it like the champ he trained me to be, and he’s smiling down at me, lighting me up with pride.

But then his smile falls, and he curses under his breath. “Tell me to stop again.”

I make a noise of protest and shake my head.

“Fuck.” He keeps rocking into my mouth. “Adam, baby…”

Closing my eyes, I dig my nails into his palms, giving him a defiant little tug. I know what he’s thinking, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want or deserve his pity. All I want right now is his cum.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Let me see you.”

I gaze up at him, my eyes streaming, his precum and my spit dripping down my jaw.

“Still a fucking masochist…” he mutters.

I laugh the best I can with my mouth full of his cock. His jaw tics as he moves my hands to his hips, finally letting me touch him, his fingers clutching the hair at the back of my head. He’s close. So close.

“I like your hair this length,” he rasps. “Don’t cut it.”

I nod obediently.

“Hold on to me.”

That’s the only warning I get before he’s fucking my mouth with fervor, chasing his release. I slide my hands around to his ass and squeeze. His hips stutter, and he widens his stance, caging me in with his feet on either side of my knees. I wonder if he’ll let me?—

“Do it.”

Swiping some of the wetness from my jaw, I reach for his ass again, parting his cheeks and rubbing his hole with my fingers.

He pulls my hair so hard it hurts as the first drop of his release hits the back of my throat.

Knowing I don’t have much time, I gently slide the tip of my middle finger inside him and fuck him with it.

He groans as he comes. Balls deep, he rolls his hips against my face, my nose buried in his pubes as he buries his cock deep inside my mouth.

I choke and retch.

I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care anymore. I could drown in his cum and die a happy motherfucker.

When he’s done, he releases me and staggers back a step, my finger slipping out of his ass. He watches me with his brows lowered as I swallow and lick my lips. Breathless and hard as a rock, I tip my head back and rub my palm over the front of my pants, desperately trying to ease the ache there.

Is this even real? Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe I’m living in one of my drawings. Maybe pining for my stepbrother for so long has finally driven me insane.

“Are you real?” I reach up with my free hand, grasping nothing but air.

I pout.

The possibly imaginary Easton in front of me bounces his eyes between mine, then looks at my exposed chest, and then finally, down at my hand on my dick. He mutters something I don’t catch and drops to his haunches in front of me, his fingers clutching my jaw.

Real. He’s very real.

He squints at me. “Did you eat today?”

“Yes. I mean, a bit…” I didn’t eat at the party tonight—I was too busy obsessing over him—which means I haven’t eaten since I picked at a plate of breakfast at the airport this morning. With the time difference, I guess that was about twenty hours ago.

“When was the last time you had some water?”

“I don’t know. This morning, maybe.”

Rolling his eyes, he stands up, grabs a towel off the rack, and wraps it around his waist. “Stay here.”

I open my mouth to ask where he’s going, but he’s already gone.

Pursing my lips, I consider getting off the floor, then think better of it. He told me to stay, so I stay.

When he returns a couple minutes later, his steps falter. He raises a brow, an amused smile touching his lips when he realizes I took his order literally.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet. “You need to eat and drink something.”

I’m still painfully hard as I turn and wash my hands, unable to help ogling the reflection of Easton’s body above the sink. So beautiful.

He walks out, stealing my view of him, and I follow him into his bedroom where a bottle of water and a sandwich sit on his nightstand.

“Where did that come from?”

“I found it in the fridge. It’s Carter’s,” he replies as he hands me the plate. “Eat it.”

Shrugging, I sit on his bed and take a bite out of the chicken sandwich. My throat feels raw when I swallow, and I like it. I like the burn. I like the fact that he caused it.

When I catch him watching me with his brows dipped, worrying his lip between his teeth, I grin at him stupidly.

“What?” he grumbles.

“You still care.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at me. “You still don’t look after yourself.”

“I do,” I protest. “I had to when…” When I didn’t have you to do it for me anymore.

I clear my sore throat and take another bite of the sandwich.

“You gagged a lot,” he says randomly, his gaze roaming over my face. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me…?”

He gives me a look. “I hit you, remember?”

Oh. That.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” I assure him. “It’s just been a while since I’ve done that.”

His eyes narrow as if the thought of me sucking dick angers him. “How long?”

Reaching for the water, I uncap the bottle and take a sip, hesitating, before I tell him, “Three years, seven months, and four days.”

His nostrils flare.

“That’s how long it’s been since we?—”

“I know how long it’s been,” he says.

Right.

In my peripheral, he drags a hand over the back of his neck. “What are you doing here, Adam?”

I place the water and the half-eaten sandwich on the nightstand.

I don’t know why I’m here or what I thought would happen when I got here. All I know is that it felt like I was drowning in London, and I couldn’t stay away anymore.

“I wanted to see you,” I finally admit.

“Why?” he asks, studying my face intently. “Did you come back for me?”

There’s a lie on the tip of my tongue, but what comes out is, “Yes.”

He closes his eyes for a couple beats. “You’re too late. I don’t love you anymore.”

I choke. “ What ?”

“I loved you, you idiot.” He lets out a bitter laugh, head tipping back as his hands brace the nape of his neck, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might offer answers. “I couldn’t fucking breathe without you. I thought you felt the same way about me.”

“I did. I do ?—”

He shuts me up with a single look, his nostrils flaring. “If you felt for me what I felt for you, you never would have left me.”

“Easton.” I stand, closing the distance between us and cupping his face. He bats my hands away and steps back. I sigh heavily. Fuck it. “Your dad knows about us.”

“I know.” He knows? “I knew , and I didn’t give a fuck. I would have chosen you. I would have gone with you, but you didn’t even give me the chance. You didn’t choose me.”

“I wanted to. I almost did. But my mum… I couldn’t do it to her. I couldn’t?—”

“Stop.” He laughs again, shaking his head as he opens his bedroom door. “Just go, Adam. And don’t come back this time.”

Anything he wants . But… “I’m coming back.”

He scoffs. “We’ll see.”

“I’ve never lied to you, E,” I whisper as I pass him. “Not once. Remember that.”

“There are worse things than lying,” he mutters.

I stop in the hall, eyes forward. “Like?”

“Like never saying a fucking word.”