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He rests his cheek against my shoulder. “Love you, Millsy.” And then he’s back through the bathroom. He’s gone—so we can keep this charade up.
We don’t leave early. We stay late, till almost midnight. Brennan knows our parents are away this weekend, which means he’s aware we don’t have a curfew. My mom’s gone to buyers’ market to buy things at cost for the gift shop, and Carl went with her.
I love watching Ezra at the party. He knows everyone now, and even though I think he’s more ambivert than extrovert, I can see him watching people, picking up on little things that charm them, trying to make them laugh. At one point, he lays Jenna out on the couch and pretends to suck her blood, and everybody cheers.
Then he looks at me and looks at the back door—the one that leads out onto the porch. We meet back there a few minutes later, and he leads me into the woods, where he kisses my mouth, wraps his hand around my nape, and whispers, “Let’s go in a minute.”
I nod. “Sounds good, Count.”
He hugs me hard, and smells me. “I love you.” I see his smile in the moonlight.
“I love you too.” I kiss his cheek. “Pretty angel.”
He kisses under my jaw. “You go in first. Say bye. I’m gonna walk around the other side of the place and smoke. Just come find me there, okay?”
“Okay, Ez. See you around.” I wink, and he saunters off, trailing his long cape.
Almost an hour later we’re in my room, stripping off our costumes. We dive into bed together, doing our favorite thing—the sixty-nine pose where we’re on our sides, and he’s got his hand between my legs, his arm pressed on my balls, one of his fingers slipped into my hole with lube he ordered online.
It feels so good tonight. My abs actually ache from coming when we’re finished, which makes me laugh. I wait till he’s almost asleep to tell him a secret.
“I got something for us,” I whisper.
He turns to me, curling up against my chest. “Is it donuts?”
He’s been doing so much better with his eating. That makes me smile back. “No, it’s not donuts.”
“Did you get a toy?” His eyes widen on that. He’s been trying to convince me to get something he can push into me.
“Sort of.” I grin. “It’s…a toy for the shower.”
I look at him, and he looks at me. And he realizes what I’m saying.
“What?”
I grin, pressing my cheek to his. “We have this place to ourselves tomorrow. I thought I could use it. And then…we’ll see what happens next.”
He wakes up at night again. It’s been happening more for the last week or two. When I come out of my own dreamland, his body’s stiff and tense, and he’s got his hands up in front of him. The look on his face says he’s bracing. He makes sounds like little groans, but I don’t know what’s hurting him in his sleep. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. As soon as I wrap him up, kiss his cheeks and whisper to him, his eyes open just a little, and his whole damn body sort of goes limp.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, and he says, “I know,” and wraps himself around me. Then he sleeps through the night.
We get donuts Sunday morning, and he eats two in the car. I can’t help a smug grin as he polishes the second one off.
He thumps my chin lightly. “Whatchu smiling about, Millsy?”
“Nothing.”
“I got something on my face?” he asks.
“Just a whole bunch of everything I’ve ever wanted.”
He snorts, and I laugh. Mission accomplished.
“I like to see you eating,” I say.
“What about you eating?” He hands me a donut, and I smirk down at it.
“No donuts for me.” My eyes flicker to his as my cheeks sting with heat, and I rasp, “Just one extra-large dick in my ass.”
“Oh God, dude. I’m gonna come driving the car.” His eyes move back to mine. “You serious?” His voice drops an octave. “You’re gonna let me— You want it?”
“Um, yeah dude.” I give him an awkward look, and he squeezes my hand.
“I’m scared I’ll hurt you. I’ll be careful. God” —he laughs— “I swear I’m gonna come. I want to be in there. But you can still change your mind.”
I give him a nervous smile. “I know.”
“I’m okay with what we’re doing. More than okay. I love putting my fingers in you. It’s more than enough.”
I look at him, widening my eyes. “Do you want to do it?”
“Yes,” he whispers. He reaches down and cups his bulge, which is straining against his pants. “I just want it to be good for you.”
I’ve been reading about this for a week, and I’ve been prepping.
“I want it,” I tell him. “When we do the sixty-nine thing…it feels so good. With your fingers. And your mouth.” I laugh.
