Pretty Boy (Perfect Boys #1) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,35
him. “They’re wrong, and I told them to get the fuck out.”
“They’re your friends,” he points out weakly, wrapping his arms around himself and rounding his shoulders.
“And my sister,” I add, just so he knows that I’m not taking this lightly. “They’ll come around eventually, and when they do, they’ll realize that my bringing you here wasn’t a passing whim. It’s not about you at all. I’ve made some…let’s say questionable choices about partners in the past. They’re just trying to look out for me in their own stuck up way.”
“If this ain’t a passin’ whim, then what is it?” he asks, sounding so insecure it makes my heart ache.
“I don’t know, little rabbit,” I admit, slowly reaching for him, giving him a chance to tell me to stop again. When he doesn’t, I brush the tips of my fingers delicately over his cheek. “All I know right now is that it feels right, like I was meant to walk into that bar and I was meant to bring you here.”
He scoffs. “If there’s such thing as fate, she ain’t been too good to me so far.”
“Maybe she’s seen the error of her ways,” I tease, and his lips twitch in an almost smile.
“This don’t make no sense, Barrett,” he says, still sounding sad. “None of it makes sense. Of all the men in the world, why would you pick me?”
“You don’t see yourself clearly, Pretty Boy.” I tilt his face up and press a soft kiss to his lips. “But that’s okay; I’ll keep doing it for the both of us until you’re able to do it for yourself.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t argue anymore, sinking into me and burying his face against the center of my chest.
“If you still want me, I’ll stay,” he says after a few seconds, his words muffled, but still music to my ears.
“I absolutely want you,” I assure him.
Chapter 11
Sterling
After the whole mess on Sunday morning, I unpack my things all over again, and this time, Barrett takes my paper bags out to the big trash bin in the garage, as if not having bags will stop me from trying to leave again. It’s kinda sweet in its own way, even if it don’t make no difference. I’m not sure his friends were wrong. Not about me being after his money; I couldn’t care less about that, but about me not fitting here. That’s what they really meant when they kept mentioning Billow and telling Barrett to send me home. This ain’t the place a man like me should be.
On Monday morning, I wake up alone in an ocean of silky sheets that smell like Barrett, with a hard, aching cock. I turn my face into the pillow and breathe in his scent, a quiet moan slipping from my lips as I reach under the covers to do something about the needy feeling.
I wrap my fingers around my cock and stroke myself slowly, closing my eyes and remembering the way Barrett touched me the other night. It feels like ages ago now, and he hasn’t properly touched me since. Is he rethinking things? Did he decide he’s not attracted to me? Or is it because he wants to take it slow like he said? But, most importantly, what can I do to get his hands on me again? Because I’m craving his touch something fierce.
I thrust into my fist, using my other hand to cup my balls the same way Barrett did, tugging them just a little and moaning again.
“Sterling,” Barrett’s stern voice startles my eyes open. I find him standing beside the bed with his arms crossed over his large chest, one eyebrow raised, an unimpressed look on his face. Dang, that’s so much hotter than it should be. Although, I still prefer the look he gives me when he calls me his good boy to this annoyed one.
“Daddy,” I say breathlessly.
“What was the second rule, Pretty Boy?” he asks, his tone slow and patient.
My cock is still throbbing in my hand, making it difficult to think. I search my mind for a second before I remember what he means. “Dang,” I mutter, reluctantly pulling my hand off of myself. “Sorry, Daddy.”
“Mmm,” he hums, pulling the sheets back and shaking his head. “What a naughty boy you’ve been this morning.”
I squirm, my cock jerking at his words. Is he going to spank me for being bad? Or, wait, did he say chores were my real punishment?