Page 53 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

“You did.” He swirls his finger in front of me. “With your face. I’ve known about it since you told me you were working tonight.”

Rookie mistake. He knows I wouldn’t work on his birthday.

“Someday, I’m gonna surprise you so hard, it’s gonna knock your bloody socks off,” I vow.

He chuckles. “Can’t wait.”

“At least pretend to shit yourself,” I grumble as I open the door.

“Shit myself? My acting skills are mediocre at best.”

“Give me the best you’ve got, baby.”

He jokingly gives his shoulders a little roll as I walk him down the hallway.

Still holding his hand, I lead him into the main part of the club. It’s closed tonight for a private party, so everything’s dark and eerily quiet. We round the bar in complete silence—until the neon lights flick on and music blasts through the speakers.

A hundred people shout, “Happy birthday!” as Taylor Swift’s “22” kicks in. Everyone takes a shot of tequila—except Nate and Xavi, who clink water shots like the chaos goblins they are.

I glance up to find Carter in the booth with the DJ, raising his shot glass at Easton before tipping it back. I shake my head. I hate that I’m starting to like the idiot. It helps that fucking with my older brother is his favorite game. I can’t wait to see how that plays out.

Leaning over the bar, Micah hands me a bottle of tequila along with some salt and limes.

Easton doesn’t stop me as I feed him the salt with my finger.

I tip his head back and pour a shot’s worth of tequila into his mouth.

He swallows, and I place a lime between his lips.

He makes a face, and I do my own shot before touching my forehead to his. “Happy birthday, sunshine.”

His blue eyes shine beneath the strobe lights as he smiles at me.

As requested, Easton pretends he didn’t know about his party as his best friends surround him, each giving him a hug in turn.

I ask Micah for two Wray of Sunshine cocktails, passing one to Easton as the rest of his teammates line up to greet him.

Giving him space, I lean on the bar next to Xavi and look around the club at the decorations covering the walls.

Nate, Xavi, Carter, Frankie, and Axel got here a couple hours early to set everything up while I kept Easton busy at home.

There are black and blue balloons everywhere, two basketball hoops on either side of the dance floor—Mick said if we break anything, it’s coming out of my paycheck—two huge, blue light-up 2s in the corner, and a drop-down screen on the wall playing a slideshow of images of Easton and his friends and family.

I’m in a lot of them, some from when we were in high school, and some more recent. I didn’t know they were planning this.

“It was Axel’s idea. He gave us the photos of you from before.”

I turn my head to look at Xavi. He tips his chin, and I follow his gaze to where Axel stands on the other side of the room, manning the long table of food.

Being the food snob he is, he insisted I let him take care of it rather than hire a caterer. I didn’t put up as much of a fight as I should have. He knows all of Easton’s favorites, and Easton loves his cooking, even if he’d never admit it.

As if he can sense I’m watching him, Axel meets my eyes briefly before he drops them.

I look away, finding Easton peeking at me over his shoulder, checking I haven’t gone anywhere. I want to go to him, but I stay put, giving him time to talk to his friends.

My ass clenches around the plug in my ass at the thought of what he’s going to do to me once I get him all to myself again later. He doesn’t know I’m wearing it. I wanted to give him the remote for tonight, but it wasn’t in my drawer when I went to grab it before we left.

Just as I think it, the corner of Easton’s mouth lifts as he slides his hand into the pocket of his jeans.

The fucking toy in my ass starts vibrating, and I curse him.

Xavi hits me with a questioning look. Easton, the smug bastard, can’t help but laugh at my expression before he lifts his drink to hide it.

He finishes his conversation with Bryson West, Megan’s brother and one of the guys on the team, and then walks over to me, setting his drink on the bar behind me and wrapping his arms around my neck.

“Wanna dance?” he asks.

He’s already pulling me onto the dance floor as I nod, my hands sliding around his waist. “A Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay fills the club, and he sways us to the beat.

In front of all his friends, I hold him tight, my fingers digging into his back through his T-shirt.

The plug is working its magic on my prostate, and I shiver, touching my forehead to his.

“What are you waiting for, sunshine? Show them who I belong to.”

His fingers rake through my hair as he presses his lips to mine. A few cheers and whistles hit my ears, but I barely hear them. All I see, hear, and feel is Easton Miller. My best friend. My stepbrother. My person .

He tilts my head, and I part my lips, allowing him to chase my tongue with his. His body moves against mine to the beat, and I moan into his mouth, getting as close to him as I possibly can. There’s not an inch of space between us as he kisses me until I’m breathless.

I pull back just enough to break the kiss, our breaths mingling.

“Are you happy?”

He looks right into my eyes when he says, “Nope. Totally miserable.” He shrugs, doing his best to look solemn. “I’m a lost cause, baby. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re an idiot,” I say flatly, dragging his lip through my teeth. “My idiot.”

That beautiful grin of his spreads across his face, and I finally feel completely at ease for the first time in three and a half years.

There he is.

My sunshine.

When we get home, Easton grabs our helmets and drags me upstairs to his room. I try not to laugh as I let him manhandle me.

I don’t know what came over me at the party tonight. Being with him out in the open—it was a high I’ve never felt before. That, mixed with the alcohol in my system, made me brave.

We danced most of the night, and at one point, I turned so my back was to his chest and slid my arms behind me, discreetly palming his dick through his jeans.

Later, in the VIP area, he pulled me onto his lap—my back to him—and I made a show of spreading my legs and leaning forward to grab my drink, rocking my hips just enough to get his attention.

He smacked my ass hard. I moaned and melted against his chest.

When I whispered that I was hot and wanted to take my top off, he told the others we were leaving.

I behaved in the car, keeping my hands to myself—I didn’t want to risk distracting the driver—but it didn’t matter. If anything, the anticipation only made him more desperate for me.

He shoves my helmet on my head before putting on his own.

“Fuck,” I rasp, reaching up to slide my hands beneath his T-shirt, my nails grazing his abs. I gaze up at him with my mouth parted. Unable to see the look on his face, I shiver. “Ignore what I said about bobbleheads. I think I have a helmet kink.”

“That makes two of us,” he says, pushing me down on my back on the bed. I slide up to make room for him, and he lies on top of me, his helmet knocking against mine.

He clumsily unbuttons my jeans and pulls them off, chucking them on the floor.

I part my legs and pull my knees up, gasping as he slides the butt plug out of my ass, using his other hand to open his jeans.

I toss him the lube, and he uses it to get his dick wet before fingering my hole briefly.

Impatient, I bat his hand away. Fuck the foreplay.

I’m stretched enough, thanks to the plug.

It seems he’s on the same page. He doesn’t bother taking off the rest of our clothes before he lines himself up. He doesn’t even waste time speaking as he enters me. A groan rumbles out of his throat, and he falls down on me, his hand around my neck, his body pressed to mine.

I’m sore and oversensitive since this is the third time he’s fucked me today, and I love the way it feels, the way it burns as he stretches me to my limits.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Don’t go easy on me. I can take it. I want it.”

He does as I say without question, his thrusts hard and deep, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from screaming his name. He can’t gag me or cover my mouth when I’m wearing the helmet, so there’s nothing to muffle the sounds coming out of me.

I also can’t kiss him—the downside to my new kink.

His thoughts must mirror my own because when our helmets knock together again, he says, “Fuck it,” and pulls them off.

I grab his head and pull his face down to mine, smashing my lips to his. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, and I suck on it greedily, my fingers tugging his hair.

His grip on my throat tightens—a silent demand—so I pull harder.

“Mark me,” he orders, so I do.

I drag my nails down his back and move my mouth down to his neck, sucking and bruising his skin. He rewards me by fucking me even harder.

I pull his head back by his hair to look at the mark on him, my eyes darkening with heat as I meet his gaze. His eyes never leave mine as he comes. I feel him pulsing inside me and moan loudly, my hips jerking against him as I come hands-free.

“Fuck,” I shout. “Easton, fuck .”

He rides me through it, slowing his pace before stopping entirely. We’re both sweating and breathing heavily, his dick still buried in my ass.

After a while, he gently pulls out and kisses my face.

“Don’t move,” he says, getting up and going into the bathroom.

He returns a moment later with a warm washcloth.

Kneeling between my legs, he takes his time cleaning me up.

The warmth feels amazing on my sore flesh, and I shiver, melting into the sheets.

He kisses my hip, and I run my hand through his hair.

I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve him. I sure as hell haven’t earned him in this one, but I’m going to work my ass off paying my dues to whatever or whoever gifted him to me. Fate? Destiny? Dumb luck? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Easton is mine. That’s all that matters.

He tilts his head to the side, and it’s only now I realize he’s staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“You still don’t see it, do you?”

This again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply. “Inside and out.”

I shake my head. Surely he doesn’t still believe that. Not after everything I’ve done.

He sighs. “I was wrong. You’re the lost cause.”

I laugh.

He doesn’t. “I’m serious, Adam. Why do you refuse to see how perfect you are?”

I swallow. “Why do you care so much about this?”

“Because I want you to love yourself as much as I love you. I want you to see what I see when I look at you.”

My heart swells.

I open my mouth to make a joke about loving myself, but the look in his eyes stops me. He’s not letting me off the hook.

“How do you not see it?” he asks again.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I fixate too much on the mistakes I’ve made, I guess.”

“There’s your first clue,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Only good people do that. You’re not a bad person, baby. You’re beautiful ,” he says again, “ inside and out . It’s why I chose you.”

He chose me.

Maybe it wasn’t fate, or destiny, or dumb luck that won me this sweet, perfect guy. Maybe it was Easton who looked at me one day and thought, Him. I want that one . And the universe said, Not sure why, but whatever.

He narrows his eyes as if he can read my mind. “Tell me something you like about yourself.”

“I like my boyfriend.”

He fails to hide his smile. “Calling me your boyfriend for the first time isn’t going to get you out of this. Try again.”

I twist my lips side to side. Racking my brain, I come up empty. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for me to think of something.

“I heard you the day you told me my parents’ divorce wasn’t my fault,” I finally say. “When I really thought about it, I stopped blaming myself.”

He nods, encouraging me to keep talking.

“My dad was the one who cheated,” I say.

“He was the one who hit Axel. If I hadn’t told my mum, there’s a chance she’d still be married to him.

She wouldn’t have met your dad, and I never would have met you.

” I lift my hand to his face, stroking his cheek with my thumb.

“Every time I think about that, I know I did the right thing. I made the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, lying down on top of me. “You did.”

I lock my arms around his neck. “Happy?”

“For now,” he says. “Think of another one for tomorrow. You’re gonna tell me something good about yourself every day until you love you the way I love you.”

“Oh, good,” I grumble under my breath. “I was afraid you might drop it.”

He laughs against my lips. “Breakfast?”

“Can I cook it for you?”

“Absolutely not.”