Page 51 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

ADAM

A few days later, I quietly crawl onto Easton’s bed and straddle him.

I watch him for a moment, making sure he’s really asleep before I wake him up by smashing a cupcake into his face.

He grunts and cracks an eye open, scraping some frosting off his cheek with his finger and sticking it into his mouth.

Leaning over him, I eat some off his jaw.

“Happy birthday, sunshine.”

He opens his mouth, and I shove another cupcake into it.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

He chews, swallows, and squints up at me. “What are y?—”

The next one gets him in the chin.

“I love you, E. Happy birthday.”

He’s onto me now, understanding softening his eyes.

I take the last one from the box beside him and paint his neck with the frosting, spreading it down his chest.

“Happy birthday, sunshine. I missed you.”

Four cupcakes—one for today, and three for the birthdays I missed while I was away.

“You’re washing my sheets,” he grumbles, though there’s no heat to it.

I smile and begin cleaning him up with my tongue.

I start with his face and work my way down, licking across his throat.

He sighs contentedly and fists my hair, guiding my head down to his chest. I eat the frosting there and kiss his tattoo, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

My hand travels down between us, and I lift off his lap, sliding my palm over his dick through his boxers.

I rub my ass on his cock, and he looks down to watch, groaning when he realizes I’m wearing nothing but a pair of his basketball shorts.

He fists the fabric and forces me to grind on him.

When his hand creeps up my thigh beneath the silky material, he remembers his fingers are covered in frosting.

“Shower,” he orders. “Now.”

I jump off him. He grabs the lube and pushes me into the bathroom, kissing my neck while he shoves the shorts down my thighs.

“You drive me crazy, baby.” He drops his boxers and walks me backward into the shower, reaching over to turn the water on. He squeezes my ass as he kisses me, and I rub against him, desperate for more. “Give me thirty seconds,” he rasps.

He washes himself in record time, and I watch with my dick in my hand.

Once he’s done, he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers, motioning for me to turn around.

I do, and he pulls me back to his chest, his skin hot and slippery.

With one arm locked around my waist, he rubs my hole and fingers me open, stretching me in preparation for his cock.

Tipping my head back on his shoulder, I dig my nails into his arm as I jerk off.

He lowers his head to suck on my neck, and I moan, shoving his hand away and blindly reaching back for his dick.

“Fuck me,” I rasp, finding my entrance with the tip. “Please.”

He takes over and pushes inside me, his teeth digging into my neck so hard that it feels as if he’s piercing the skin.

I cry out and snap my eyes up to the mirror above the counter on the other side of the bathroom.

I expect to see blood dripping down my throat, but there isn’t any.

Disappointment flashes across my face before I can stop it, and I briefly wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

Easton’s eyes meet mine, and he smirks, his fingers wrapping around my throat.

His other hand wraps around my dick, and he strokes me in time with his deep thrusts.

My eyes roll, and he squeezes my neck, a silent demand to keep looking at him.

I stare at his reflection as he fucks me, remembering the first time I ever stepped foot into this bathroom.

Things were so different back then. I was so unsure, so afraid that I’d ruined what we had and there would be no getting it back.

My gaze lowers as I recall dropping to my knees for him. The way his dick felt in my throat. The way he begged me to tell him to stop. The way he called me a masochist. The way he pulled my hair as he came. The way he took care of me afterward.

I look up at his face again, finding him already staring back at me.

“Did you know we’d end up here?”

“Yes,” he admits. “The second I saw you standing next to your mom at the party, I knew you’d be mine again.”

“How?”

He slows his pace, his hips rolling into me from behind. “I spent a lot of time thinking you didn’t care anymore. That you’d moved on. But all it took was one look at you, and I knew. You were still mine. You never stopped being mine. It confused me.”

I grin. “So you punched me.”

He drops his head. “Yeah, well, I thought you deserved it. I didn’t know you hadn’t been getting my calls back then.” Gently kissing my neck where he bit me, he whispers, “I’m s?—”

Reaching for the back of his head, I turn my face toward him and shut him up with my mouth. “Don’t. We don’t say that to each other, remember?’

“You deserve an apology, Adam,” he murmurs, echoing what I said to him not so long ago.

“I don’t want one. I have you.”

His lips twitch against mine.

“Don’t come yet,” he says, and it’s the only warning I get before he fucks me hard and fast, hitting my sweet spot and making me whimper.

He does apologize, but it’s not with words.

After he comes inside me, he pulls out, turns me to face him, and drops to his knees.

His mouth wraps around my dick, and I almost stumble, pressing my palm against the wall above him for balance.

My other hand goes to his head, and I rake my fingers through his hair.

He taps my leg, and I get the message, widening my feet to grant him better access.

His cum drips down my thighs, and he fucks it back into me with his fingers, throating my dick and sucking the cum out of me.

My mouth parts as a shout tears from my throat, my hips bucking.

My vision darkens at the edges, but I do my best to keep my eyes on him, groaning as he pulls back and shows me my cum on his tongue.

I drop to my knees with him. Taking his face in my hands, I kiss him hard, loving the taste of myself on his tongue.

We don’t say anything as our filthy kiss turns into something more soft and meaningful. His fingers graze my ribs, and I loop my arms around his neck, gently brushing my lips over his. When I pull back to look at him, we make a hundred silent promises to each other.

This time, I’ll be damned if I don’t keep every last one of them.

After we shower again, we get dressed, and I change Easton’s sheets while he messes with his hair in the mirror, sneaking glances at me every five seconds.

“I got you a present,” I say, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

He lifts a brow and looks down at the small box I’m holding. “What is it, a gift card?”

I click my tongue. “Don’t spoil it.”

Laughing, he takes the box and unwraps it. There’s a smile on his face as he holds up the Lucky’s Diner gift card between two fingers.

I kiss his cheek. “Wanna buy me breakfast?”

He nods as if there’s nothing else he’d rather do.

When we get downstairs, he starts to open the front door, and I step in front of him, pressing my back to the wood to stop him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

Nervous, I rub the back of my neck. “I got you something else, but I’m worried it might not have been the best idea. If you don’t want it, we can take it back, okay? It’s fine. I promise, it’s fine. And?—”

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Is it a motorcycle?”

I press my lips together, feigning annoyance. “You ruin everything. How do you know me that well?”

He gapes at me.

Grabbing my arm, he pulls me out of the way and opens the front door, dragging me outside with him.

A light blue Yamaha YZF-R1 is parked on the driveway with a huge, over-the-top blue bow attached to the handlebars.

I contemplated whether or not the bow was too cheesy for a long time this morning.

Sick of me, Frankie snatched it from my hands and attached it herself.

I’d say it was a good call judging by the look on Easton’s face.

He’s been talking about getting a motorcycle since we were thirteen, but he always put off getting his license.

He never said it outright, but I knew it was because of his mother.

She died in a car accident, and he’s the most cautious driver I know because of it.

Riding a motorcycle can be dangerous. Of course he’d be a cautious rider too, but all it would take is one idiot on the road to not pay attention, and he’d be toast. He doesn’t want to go the same way his mum did.

While I was in London, my mum told me he’d finally gotten his license, but when I came home, he never mentioned it, and he never bought himself a motorcycle.

“When did you get this?” He walks around the bike in a slow circle, trailing his finger over the framework.

“A couple weeks ago. Xavi helped me pick it out and test drove it.”

He snaps his head toward me. “You weren’t his backpack, were you?”

“No. I don’t have a death wish.” I wince at my poor choice of words.

“I meant because Nate would kill me, not because Xavi’s a dangerous driver.

He was careful.” I leave out the part where Xavi told me he and Nate once rode his motorcycle while Xavi was blindfolded.

I’m sure Easton already knows the story behind that.

“So…” I hedge. “Do you want it? You can say no. And we don’t have to ride it right now if you’re not ready. We can take the car to breakfast and?—”

He grabs my face and kisses me. “I fucking love you.”

I let out a breath, relieved I didn’t fuck this up and make him feel like I was pushing him into it. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?” I ask just to be sure.

“Fuck yes, I want it. Now, can you stop babbling so I can see how good you look wearing that?” He points to the black helmet on the seat, knowing it’s mine without having to ask. His is the blue one.