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Even his phone is here, along with the headphones I let him borrow, sitting quiet and practically unused on an end table. He recently got bumped up to Green, like me, which means he has more privileges, like being able to use his cell phone for more than just games and listening to music—he can call, text, and video chat now. Where before he had to resort to calling from the facility phones.
Well, that’s if he had any calls to make.
I frown, staring at it.
Not a single missed call or text from his parents when it was unlocked.
He told me he uses it to listen to music—said it helps on his bad days—but otherwise he has no need for it. Rarely carries it on his person.
Walking over, I tap the screen. Nothing.
Pieces of shit.
You’d think they’d have at least tried to check in with him. Not once have they called the front desk asking for him. And when I asked Skyler if he tried reaching out to them, he just stared at me.
Then again, that was before I knew all the shit they put him through. Now I can’t really blame him. Hell, if he didn’t have that stupid conservatorship to get out of first, I’d encourage him to cut ties completely. Leave this place, and never look back.
My chest tightens at the thought, and I swipe the screen, staring at the number icons. I don’t know the passcode to unlock it. Which is probably for the best. So far, we’ve yet to bring up what happens when we leave here.
Do we want to keep in touch?
My thumb grazes over the numbers.
That wasn’t part of the deal.
Pulling back, I watch the screen dim after a few seconds, and nod to myself.
We have two more weeks.
A lot can change in two weeks. For all I know, we’ll have burned this out of our systems completely by then, if not sooner.
I scoff, turning away.Fat chance that is.
God, how quickly and hopelessly I’ve become addicted to this.
Tohim.
With each passing day—with each hot, heavy moment spent wringing pleasure from him like it’s my damn job; with each new shared bit of info about the other…
I find myself falling deeper and deeper into Skyler Sinclair.
If I could spend the rest of my life curled around his legs, mouthful of the best and only cock I ever tasted, holding him to me, I don’t think I’d ever crave a drink again.
Consider me cured. I found my new vice, and he’s sweeter than the sweetest of bourbons.
It’s a dangerous, reckless thought to have, but in weak moments like this, where it’s just me and my thoughts, I let myself imagine,What if?
What if wecouldhave this every day?
What if wedidn’thave to say goodbye?
For fuck’s sake, we haven’t evenkissed.
And for good reason—clearly. If I’m this obsessed with his cock, I can’t even imagine what tasting those pink, plush lips would do to me.
But the saddest part of all is…
I likehim.Like I genuinely enjoy spending my days with him, exploring the island, doing ridiculous group activities with the others, sharing meals together…
