2. Abi

CHAPTER 2

ABI

" A n all-expenses-paid trip to Guadalajara," Tatum shrieks at no one in particular. "What the hell is even in Guadalajara?" His voice is coated in disdain, and I have to admit—I love when he's like this. Bratty. Sassy. A bundle of righteous rage. "Guadalajara!"

"Yes, I was there. I am aware of what you've won." I give him my widest smile. "I am very proud of you for winning."

His eyes narrow. "Fuck off."

He's been pacing our miniscule cabin for over an hour, wearing nothing more than his usual jockstrap and crop top, only making eye contact long enough to scowl. I'm sitting at the foot of the bed, my legs dangling over the side. Fiona initially objected when I took a seat beside her feet, but went back to her book after giving me an unamused expression.

When we arrived home, Scotty slapped him in the face and told him he would cut his throat. I threatened to make Scotty stand in the corner, and the twink has been docile ever since. Now, Scotty's on the floor, sitting in front of his fiancé and my best friend, Brody. As Scotty softly—and repeatedly—kisses his way up and down Brody's biceps, Brody tugs at Scotty's hair, occasionally eliciting a moan. Next to them is a small pink suitcase. I do not know when or why he started carrying it, but he's been toting it around like a third arm. I don't believe I've seen one without the other in months. Despite Tatum's insistent curiosity, Scotty has yet to reveal its contents. We've all waged bets on what's inside. My money's on a decapitated head, because he seems the sort to carry dismembered heads on his person.

"It's South America!" Tatum shouts after a long period of silence, startling Scotty who glances over his shoulder and scowls. "Do you know how fucking hot it gets down there? I've lived in Texas all my life. The temperature is unbearably warm and unwelcomely treacherous. Guadalajara has to be at least ten times hotter." He marches toward me and shoves a finger into my chest. "I will not fucking sweat, you psycho-stalker. Do you hear me? You don't get to make me sweat."

"You will be drenched by the time I'm done with you," I joke, squeezing my bulge and smirking. "And Guadalajara is in Mexico. Mexico is in North America."

He growls at me. "I am a makeup artist. I'm not a damned geography teacher. Stop trying to make me feel stupid. North America. South America. I might not know where the fuck it is, but I know I'm not going. I've acclimated to the Washington weather. You can't just rip me from my habitat and thrust me into harsh and extreme climates. I'm just a dainty little guy, Abi." A blush spreads across his cheeks.

I need to do something to stop him from spiraling. God knows Fee is of no use to me. She's simply tuning us out as she focuses on her smut-filled romance novels on her Kindle. Pretty Baby is having the meltdown to end all meltdowns, and I hate to see him this way. It pains me.. I would ask Scotty for help, but the twink is busy playing in Tatum's eyeshadow as his fiancé kisses his neck. Everyone in the room is useless, so it seems I'm the only hope for Tatum's mental wellbeing. Patting my thigh, I open my arms in invitation, welcoming him over to the bed, but he just shoots me another death glare .

"Come to me," I insist.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm not sitting in your fucking lap."

"Tatum," I say firmly. His back straightens, and I can see the hairs on his arms standing on end. He darts his eyes down at Scotty, then at me, wordlessly pleading. I know he hates being reprimanded in front of his friend, but he's given me nothing but attitude since we got home an hour ago. I need to calm him. "Now."

His tongue darts out and journeys across his mouth, making his already-glossy light pink lips sparkle. Slowly but surely, he makes his way over and takes a seat on my thigh. He gives another quick look around the room before inconspicuously grabbing a throw cover from behind us and using it to hide our laps. Once it's done, he wriggles around a bit, arching his back and waiting expectantly.

I know what he wants from me. It's an action that always seems to center him, but it's one he rarely—if ever—acknowledges verbally. I do not offer the relief he's hoping for. Instead, I rest a hand on his hip and squeeze. When he looks back at me, his mouth is hanging open in surprised disappointment.

"Was there something you wanted?" I whisper. The words are said with purpose. I need to feel it again. His hand. My cheek. A sharp spike of pain that fades into warm waves of comfort. Anyone else might find the experience of being slapped in the face by the man he loves to be problematic. Not me. He's done it for as long as I can remember. The night we met, he slapped me three times before we eventually "kidnapped" him. Though, can you really kidnap the willing? Tatum seems to believe so.

"Why the fuck are you looking at me with those feral eyes?" he hisses.

"Do it," I say, my voice insistent. "Slap me." His palm connects with my cheek, making my teeth chatter. I can't catch my breath. The rush is so strong, I cannot draw air into my lungs. "Jesus, Tatum."

"Was it good?" he asks with a knowing smile. Once I nod my agreement, he rolls his eyes. "Now, I've indulged your ridiculous little fetish. Your turn." He stares at my hand. "Put it where it goes. Now."

I lean in closer, nipping his chin with my teeth. "And where does it go, sweetheart?" He looks like he's going to have a meltdown soon, but I don't let that deter me from having fun with the situation. I wiggle my finger against his belly button and grin. "Is there where it goes?"

"Obviously not."

I drag my fingers up his chest and tweak his nipple. "What about here? Is there where you want me?"

"I want you in the innermost pits of Hell. That's where I fucking want you. I swear to the Goddess?—"

"So," I interject, raising my voice so the rest of the room can hear. Dipping my finger below his jockstrap, I trace my finger back and forth against the cleft of his crack. "You don't wish to visit Guadalajara?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" His voice is shaking now. With only a repeated twitch of my finger, I've got him falling apart at the seams. Still, he tries to maintain his composure, and I'm proud of him for the attempt. "I couldn't make it any clearer if I tried. Jesus. Are you dense?"

"If he doesn't want the tickets, I'll take them," Scotty says, slathering makeup over his left eyelid. He's not particularly talented when it comes to the art of makeup application—not like my Tatum—so, in the end he looks like a racoon masquerading as a drag queen. Brody doesn't seem to mind, though. He's staring at Scotty like he's the sun in the center of Brody's universe. Scotty stares back at him, sighing. "I really don't understand why he's so angry about tickets he doesn't even have to use." He turns his sight to Tatum. "No one's forcing you to go anywhere. There's no need for all this hostility. "

"Do you want to talk about hostility?" Tatum says, squeaking when my finger touches his hole. As I probe at his eager entrance, he tries to steady his voice as he speaks, but in the end, he sounds like a cracking dam. "Because we can. We can talk about how you cut the brake wires to Abi's car last week."

Scotty nods. "And then your stupid boyfriend screamed at me after you tattled. He told Daddy I tried to kill him." The twink's eyes lock with mine and he clenches his jaw. "I got called a ‘bad boy' by Daddy because of it. I'm gonna get you back for it too, Kincaid. Gonna make you rue the day. Just you wait and see." He sets the eyeshadow brush back in its home in Tatum's makeup case before whirling around on his ass, folding his arms across his chest. "We can also talk about the fact that you just tried to run away again. Two weeks before my wedding, Tatum. You're supposed to be my Gay of Honor. How the hell am I supposed to get married without you? You just abandoned me."

Tatum's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows air. He's quiet for a moment, as if he's working himself up to say the words. "I wasn't running away from you. I was running away from them." He flicks his thumb over his shoulder at me, then points at Fee. Fee's eyes are still locked on her Kindle, but she must not need them to know Tatum's talking about her, because she raises a hand and flips him off. "I've been kidnapped by a blatant bisexual bastard and his polyamorous partner. You might have signed up to ride this crazy train, but I didn't. I was just trying to live a normal life." His words sting a bit, if I'm being honest. It's something that must stick with him too, because he quickly looks over his shoulder and offers me the flash of a smile. "I'm sorry, Abi. Your bisexuality has no bearing on your success at being a blatant bastard. I shouldn't have said that; it just sounds pretty when you say the words together. Because of all the words that start with ‘B', you know?"

"It was beautiful. Thank you," I say, kissing his temple and earning myself a death glare in the process. Taking my finger into my mouth, I get it nice and wet for him, just the way he likes. "I appreciate the apology." Leaning closer, I whisper into his ear. "Deep breath, baby. Here it comes. Remember the safeword if you need it."

He's never needed to use it, but tonight, he may want to. I have plans for this hole. Plans I know he will appreciate, but it may take a bit of coaxing to get him there. Still, he nods, and his body vibrates against me like a purring cat. I watch as his chest rises and remains locked like his breath has been vacuum sealed inside his body. Slowly, my finger enters his warm, silky passage.

Home again.

It's a trick I learned the night we met. When I fingered him at Scotty's apartment, he told me his hole is where my finger belongs. Then, after Fiona drugged him and placed him in the trunk of my car, I lay at his side, not wanting him to wake up in total darkness, terrified of what was to come. When he finally woke, he was making all these terrible sounds. Gasps and soft whimpers. I couldn't stand the sound of him like that, so I pulled him closer to me. The strange thing is, the moment I held him in my arms, the fight left him, and he melted into the embrace.

Tatum had been abducted by two strangers, only to awaken in their trunk, drenched in darkness, another person right in front of him, and he hadn't tried to fight me off. His hand found my wrist and guided it toward his ass. He'd been wearing a pair of skin-tight pink shorts, but somewhere along the way, he'd removed them without me noticing, so his bare ass was right against my palm. I gripped and squeezed him for the better part of an hour before finally finding the courage to dive deeper into his crack. When my finger breached his rim, he came on my thigh, his cock untouched. His muscles gripped and spasmed around my finger, and it was that moment I decided it's where my hand belonged. Now, I do it any time he's nervous; it isn't even a sexual act anymore. I finger his hole like some men hold their partner's hand, and he lives for it.

Scotty is still yammering on in the background about being left high and dry for his big day—a day neither of the happy couple have planned, nor have they shown any intention on planning—and I've had enough. He's being intentionally cruel right now, and I won't allow him to continue making Tatum feel bad.

"Scotty," I finally say. "He made a mistake, and he's apologized."

Scotty simply blinks at me. "I don't care if he's apologized. This doesn't even concern you." Scotty's cheeks are crimson with rage, and I watch as he reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls out a 9mm pistol. He cocks the hammer before aiming it at me. "If you ever talk to me like that again, I'll shoot you in the head."

I sigh, because death threats are now an everyday occurrence at our commune. If Scotty's not aiming a gun at one of us, Fee's slipping crushed-up sleeping pills into people's coffee, tying us up in the yard, and pretending to be in the midst of a ritual sacrifice when we wake. Then there's Brody. The man threatens the life of inanimate objects for simply inconveniencing Scotty's day-to-day activities. Once, I saw him torch a mighty oak tree for having a well-hidden root protruding from the ground, tripping Scotty as he played a round of hide-and-seek with Tatum.

To my surprise, Brody doesn't threaten my life for scolding his boy. Instead, he places his hand on top of the gun and takes it out of Scotty's grip. "Baby?" Scotty's eyes widen as he nervously darts them back to Brody. He must know he's fucked up, because he quickly blurts a vague apology at me and Tatum. Brody is unconvinced, however. He rises from the floor and points at the doorway. "Our cabin. Now."

Scotty's mouth falls open, his face a vision of betrayal. "I'm in trouble? You're punishing me for this?"

Brody gives him a quick nod. "Yeah. And you're going to be in even bigger trouble if you try to argue with me."

The look Scotty gives us is one that sends a chill down my spine. The man looks bloodthirsty. His pale skin is red with rage, his pupils blowing wider until you can't make them out from the irises. He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair before jerking his hand down and balling it into a fist at his side. "This isn't over. If I'm getting a spanking because you ran away, I'm going to get you back. I'm gonna get you good, just like I'm gonna get your boyfriend." Tatum's too lost in his pleasure to respond.

As Brody tugs Scotty's chin until their eyes meet, Tatum's writhing around on my finger, his breaths sharp and jagged each time I touch his special place inside.

"Listen," Brody says calmly. "Your queer friend over there might be the most unbearable man I've ever met, but he's important to you. For some reason, you love the guy like a brother, and I don't want you to lose that." He pauses and turns to glare at Tatum. "At least, not until I've had a chance to stab his ass in the forehead. Until then, you need to make this right, baby."

Scotty stares at his hands and nods, sniffling. "I'm sorry for threatening to shoot you in the head, Kincaid," Scotty mutters, pulling my attention away from Tatum. "Tater Tot just made me mad."

I give him a nod as I press harder against Tatum's prostate. "Is there something you'd like to say to Scotty?" Tatum stares up at me with lust-laced eyes, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but nothing comes out. "Go on. Tell him you're sorry for running away and scaring him."

He bites his lip before looking over at Scotty. "Sorry," he says breathlessly. I press harder against his magic button, stealing another moan from him. "I'm sorry for scaring you." Tatum rocks on my lap—on the finger that's slowly fucking him toward completion—nodding emphatically. The faster Tatum's hips work, the tighter he grips my thigh. Scotty makes his way across the small room and stalls when he reaches us.

"Tatum?" he asks, leaning close and pressing his hand on Tatum's cheek. "Are you okay? You look like you're going to be sick." He turns to Brody who seems to have figured out what's going on beneath the blanket, because he's staring at us with the biggest smirk I've ever seen in my life. "Do something, Daddy! He could be dying right now."

Brody snorts a laugh. "I don't think he's dying, but you might want to give him some space."

"Why?" Scotty asks, looking back and forth between his fiancé and his best friend. "Tatum, are you okay? You're breathing funny. If it's about what I said, I'm real sorry I threatened to get you back for running away. It just makes me sad when you try to run off. Makes me feel like I'm not good enough to keep you happy here. You're my biffle."

"Biffle?" I ask, sliding another finger in and scissoring them open.

Scotty nods. "Biffle. My Best Friend For Life and Ever and Ever."

Tatum's eyes flutter open and he's making no attempt to hide the way his hips are rising and falling. The sight of him like this—lost in his pleasure to the point social decorum no longer matters—is enough to make my dick throb against him. That must be all it takes to get him there, because a long moan pours out of him, and he reaches blindly for my free hand.

"Why is the bed shaking?" Fee says, looking over the top of her Kindle at us. The moment she spots us, she sighs and rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the matter at hand. She halfheartedly points at her dinner—a small cobb salad resting on the nightstand, and says, "Really? Right in front of my salad?"

Brody's headed toward us, and when he makes it across the small room, he attempts to shield Scotty's eyes, but Scotty just slaps his hand away.

"Cut it out. He's dying, Daddy. Let me say goodbye to my friend!" Scotty sniffles as he leans in and kisses Tatum's cheek. Behind him, Scotty's fiancé lets out a possessive growl. "I'm gonna miss you when you're dead, Tatum. Can I have all your clothes?"

Tatum squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. After shooting his load in front of hundreds of gay bar patrons, I figure he's used to the attention, but there's still something holding him back. Something stopping him from letting himself have what he truly desires. To be seen. To be idolized.

"There's my good boy," I whisper into his ear. "Everyone's watching, Tatum."

"Shut up," he rasps, his ass squeezing around my fingers with an unbearable grip. "Hate you."

"Is that right?" I say, plunging my fingers deeper into his eager entrance. "Because I don't think you do."

"Hate you," he repeats. "Hope you die, hope you cry, hope you eat a cyanide pie."

I chuckle, my warm breath blowing against the side of his face, making him blush. "Come for me, sweetheart. Everyone wants to see."

"I don't," Fee says, sounding bored. I have to resist the urge to tell her to watch her tone, because he's right on the brink of release, and I'm not going to allow her to ruin this for him.

"I don't want to see this shit either," Brody says, but his words don't have any credence when he's grinding his cock against his fiancé's ass. "Fuckin' queers, man."

Scotty turns around and glares at him. "I'm not gonna tell you again—you have to stop with the homophobia. When it's just me and you, it's okay, because I know you don't mean it?—"

Brody eyes Tatum up and down like his entire existence offends the man. "When I'm talking about this one, I do."

Scotty pokes Brody in the chest, making him wince. "You're queer now. So, if you're talking about him, you're talking about yourself." He looks up and down at Brody, feigning disgust. "Fucking queer."

"So icky," Tatum mumbles as his breaths come quicker. "This is fucking depraved. Let me go, Abi."

"If you wish for me to stop, simply use the safeword. We have it for a reason."

He doesn't say the word, he just shudders in my arms. When he looks up at me, he's got a fearful look in his eyes. "Everyone can see me." He brings his voice even lower, whispering, "Scotty's watching."

"He is." I nod, wanting to assure him. "He's family. Family doesn't mind."

"What the fuck kind of a family raised you?" Fee asks incredulously. "Giving prostate massages during social gatherings isn't exactly a familial bonding exercise."

"My boy needs to come," I tell Scotty, ignoring Fiona. "You don't mind, do you?"

Scotty's mouth falls open. "What? You can't be ..." His cheeks flush red and when he looks down at Tatum's rolling hips, he lets out a nervous giggle. "You're not really about to come, are you? He isn't even touching your penis."

"I'm not!" Tatum's eyes look to be welded shut. Despite his ass grinding against me, he tries to save face by shaking his head, but his words sound scattered and divided. "I'm having a seizure. Don't call 911, just leave."

"He's leaking through his jockstrap, Scotty," I say, enjoying the sound of the long, lurid moan the statement earns me. "He does so much for us. Doesn't he deserve our support?"

Scotty looks back at Brody, then at me like he's seeking guidance. "He needs this?" he finally asks me. The second I give him a nod, Scotty goes into biffle mode, grabbing Tatum's hand and holding on tight. "Alright. You can do this, Tater Tot."

"Shut the fuck up," Tatum groans.

Scotty shakes his head. "Come on. You've got this. I can usually make Brody shoot just by fucking him, so I kind of know this game by heart. Clench your hole around him."

Tatum looks positively scandalized. "Don't you fucking dare try to give me a guided ejaculation meditation like those shitty YouTubers you make us listen to so we fall asleep easier. I refuse to have you lead me into the land of lost loads."

Scotty kneels in front of Tatum and presses a hand against his cheek. "You can do this. I believe in you. "

"Fuck off. I'm not going to—I can't ... I don't think I can—" He reaches his hand behind his shoulder and grips my nape. His eyes search frantically for mine, and when he finds me, he's got this desperate look on his face, like he's waging a war between his head and his cock. I guess his cock comes out victorious, because his hips rise and fall three more times, and then his muscles clench around me. The only sound he makes is a grunt, but I know what's happening. He's so fucking close. "No. I don't want to—please ..."

"If you want me to stop, say the safeword. That's all you have to do."

He opens his mouth like he's about to say it, but when I press harder against his prostate, fire slashes in his eyes. "Yes! Oh, God. Abi. Please? Please make me come." He grabs my free hand and presses it against his stomach, holding me as tight as his hand allows. "I'm going to come."

"Fuck, yes," I growl into his ear. "Go on. Show them what I do to you. I want them to see how much you love this. Tell them who you belong to. Scream my fucking name, Tatum."

And that's exactly what he does. The second his cock erupts, drenching his jockstrap, Tatum St. James screams my name for the world to hear. I don't even realize I've shot a load of my own until his breathing finally steadies, and I feel the dampness in my jeans. No one seems to have noticed. No one except Tatum who looks over his shoulder and scowls.

"Good job, Tater Tot," Scotty praises, giving him a round of applause. He hops up from his place on the floor and leans in, pecking his friend on the forehead. Without warning, he grabs the blanket and yanks it off Tatum, revealing a soaking wet jockstrap. "Oh, wow. You come a lot. That's awesome!"

Tatum licks his lips as his breathing steadies. Once he's settled, realization hits and his cheeks turn crimson with post-ejaculation clarity. "I didn't just come. I don't know what you all think you just saw, but it wasn't me ejaculating."

"Sure," Scotty says with a wink, turning and lunging at Brody. Brody catches him, and the twink is once more wrapped around him like a clingy capuchin monkey. "Whatever it takes for you to sleep at night." He pecks Brody on the cheek. "Come on, Daddy. Take me home. Wanna fill your hole with my monster cock."

Brody cocks an eyebrow at him. "Baby, I don't think four inches is what most might consider a monster cock."

"Rude! It's four and a half, and it's enough to make you cry when I fuck you with it. Now, come on." He makes it halfway to the door before looking at Tatum. "Love you, biffle. Sorry I got mad at you and stole your driver's license and ... on second thought, no. That's a battle best fought another day." Brody, clearly done with this conversation, continues walking toward the door, only stopping when Scotty leans forward and bites his shoulder. Not a gentle bite, either. It's probably going to leave a mark. "By the way, you don't have to help me find a wedding venue anymore. We're all going back to Texas instead. We'll be there for almost two weeks, so pack accordingly." He gives Brody an urgent look. "He's dazed. Hurry up and carry me out of here before the words register. He'll kill me dead, Daddy." Scotty glances over Brody's shoulder and beams at Tatum. "Night-night, Tater Tot. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Oh, Daddy, wait!"

"Yeah, Freakshow?" Brody's pet name for his future husband offends me on every level, but each time he lets it slip, Scotty stares at him like a heart-eye emoji, so I guess he enjoys it.

Scotty points at the pink suitcase, still resting where he left it. "Don't forget it. It's got all the plans for the you-know-what inside."

Brody snorts as he bends down to pick up the case. "He's going to kick your ass when he finds out."

"And I'm going to fuck your ass when I get home. What's your point?"

Tatum's still too blissed out of his mind to make sense of Scotty's words, so he just blinks dazedly at his best friend and smiles. Once they're gone, I pick up Tatum without removing my fingers from his hole. His legs loop around my waist, and he's got his head resting on my shoulder. He's going to be a sticky mess if I don't get him clean. I mean, I don't necessarily mind sleeping at his side, his cooling cum connecting our bodies like glue, but I doubt Fee would be into the idea.

When Fee and Brody were still an item, we spent most nights cuddled together in bed, me between both of them. Brody and I never shared a sexual spark, but it felt right having him next to me. He never asked Fee to take the center role, and part of me wonders if it was due to his latent bisexual awakening. They were barely friends, much less head-over-heels for each other after I joined the mix. Perhaps he was removing himself from the situation without even realizing. Now, Fee and I share a bed with Tatum, and he's taken the center spot. At first, I assumed the layout would remain the same with me playing middleman. Then Tatum wedged himself between us, claiming he was worried an intruder might sneak in and murder him, so we were to act as human barricades. I believed him at first—then I caught sight of the smug smirk he gave Fee after separating me from her. They may be friends, but I never miss the death glares he shoots her when she kisses me. Well, when she used to kiss me. Tatum either hasn't noticed, or he hasn't mentioned it, but what I once shared with Fiona is done. We had a talk a few months ago, and we both decided until Tatum and I figure out what this thing is between us, it's best she and I refrain from sexual activities. His jealousy is unspoken, but it's there for all to witness, and I'm tired of witnessing it. I hate seeing him that way.

Cleaning him off means taking him to the shared, communal bathroom on the other side of the parking lot. There's a chill tonight, so I wrap a blanket over his nearly nude body to keep him warm. Once we're across the grounds and in the bathroom, Tatum looks like he might fall asleep at any moment, so I set him on the bathroom counter and begin the task of cleaning him. I reach for a washcloth, but his hand wraps around my wrist .

"Yes, little one?"

He doesn't respond. Not verbally, at least. Instead, he slides his thumbs into the waistband of his jockstrap and wiggles side to side, pushing them down. My heart slams in my chest, because even though I've fingered him hundreds of times, I've only ever seen his cock once. The night we met.

"Tatum, sweetheart, you don't have to?—"

"Abi," he whispers, cutting me off. Our eyes lock and he gives me a decisive nod. As he slides the jock down, I'm introduced to his pubic hair. If I'm being honest, I've expected him to be clean-shaven. He seems like the hairless sort. Not the case. Blond pubic hair covers him like carpet, neatly trimmed, but thick enough to squiggle between my fingers if I wanted to. Trust me; I want to.

He lowers the fabric a bit farther, and I'm greeted with the base of his cock. It's thicker than I remember. He's such a tiny man, I guess I pictured him with a tiny cock to go with the aesthetic. His hands stall and his warm breath gusts across my face. He's breathing heavier than normal, so I place a hand on his arm to steady him. He takes a deep breath before sliding his jockstrap all the way down, introducing me to a part of himself I've spent the last six months dreaming about.

"Do you like it?"

I lean in and kiss the curve of his smile. "I love every inch of you."

He reaches into what little of his cock his jockstrap still covers, and when his hand emerges, it's coated in cum. My mouth waters in hopeful anticipation, and I inch closer to him, pleading with my eyes.

"Is that for me?" I ask, pointing at his cum-coated hand.

"Do you want it?" When our eyes meet, I can see mischief swirling around the surface. He holds it out for me, only inches from my mouth. "Tell me you want it and it's yours."

"I want you," I say, taking a step forward. As much as I'd like to taste his flavor, I want him to know how much I appreciate him for giving me this part of himself. Leaning closer, I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, mumbling to him, "I love you, Pretty Baby." Pressing another kiss to his cheek, I work my way up until I'm at his ear. The way he's trembling against me makes me think he wants this just as much as me. "You're mine, now. Always."

His body goes stiff—just for a second, but it's enough for me to notice.

"Look at me, Abi." I tear my eyes away from his cum, and when I do, I realize I've completely misread the situation. He no longer looks lost in his lust. Now, he's got the same look he had at the bar. Annoyed. Irate. Irritated by my existence. He lifts his arm higher before slapping me as hard as he can, right across the face. His cum slathers against my skin, and the sting of his palm sends me staggering back. A droplet of cum slips into my mouth, and I immediately spit it out, though not due to taste. Tatum asked me not to eat his cum earlier. I do not wish to do anything without his consent.

"Why?" I groan, cupping my cheek. I'm fairly confident I cut my cheek on a tooth.

"Why?" he mocks, hopping off the counter and taking a rag from the shelf to clean himself. "You just forced me to ejaculate in front of our closest friends! Why? Why, Abi? Are you fucking high?"

"You could have used the safeword. We have it for a reason."

He quickly darts his eyes away. "Fuck off." With his crotch dry, he tosses the rag over his shoulder and marches toward me. "I want you to get this through your head, asshole—I am a prisoner here. This isn't some romance novel where a twink with Stockholm syndrome falls for his captor. I detest you. I despise everything you stand for."

"You don't mean that," I say. "I know you do not mean it, Pretty?—"

He drives a finger into my chest. "Stop fucking calling me that. I'm not your Pretty Baby. Or your little one. I'm a grown-ass man with friends and family I want to get back to. And, do you know what? Maybe I will. Maybe, once we get back to Texas, I'll run away until you leave. And, by the way, fuck you very much for not filling me in on that new addition to our agenda. You must have known about it before he told me. Fuck knows you know everything else that goes on around here."

"I knew nothing. I would have told you if I had."

"Liar, liar, asshole on fire. Was this your plan all along? What was your endgame? To woo and wow my parents until I've got no means of escape from whatever the fuck this is?" His hand is flicking back and forth, motioning at us.

"We both know you do not want to escape," I say, my voice taking a bitter tone I've never used with him. "You run away, then you wait for me to find you. We do this constantly, Tatum. It is our thing."

"We don't have a thing. We're not a couple," he argues.

"Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you will believe it."

His eyes widen, and he's staring at me as if I'm the one who just slapped someone. Like I'm the guilty party in this situation. Maybe I am. Maybe we both are. Good. We can be guilty together. I inch closer until my chest is right against him.

"I fucking hate you," he says, but his voice doesn't sound terribly genuine. "There's no way I'm coming back with you. I'll stay with friends if I have to."

"Which friends?" I keep my tone soft, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but needing him to see sense. "Your boyfriends? Are you talking about the Bens and Austin? Baby, they haven't even mentioned you on social media. Not a single word. I would never do that to you. The day you went missing, I would have been on the hunt, and I wouldn't stop until I found you. They cannot love you the way you deserve. I can. Why can't you see that?"

He takes a step back, his cheeks burning red with what I can only assume is embarrassment. "They love me. "

"They don't love you. Not like me." I match his step back with a step forward, gripping his nape, dragging him close to me. His breath is shaky as it escapes him, like he's frightened of me. Like I might hurt him. I could never, but I will not allow him to stand here and romanticize a pack of wolves who devoured their prey and left his scattered pieces for me to put back together. "I will treat you better than you've ever been treated; I already do. Why are you fighting this so hard? I love?—"

My words end in a gasp when Tatum takes my nipple in his hand and squeezes with unbearable force. "Don't." He grabs his discarded blanket and wraps it around his waist, using it as a sarong of sorts. Once he's hidden himself away, he whirls around to make his exit, stalling in the doorway, gripping the frame, refusing to look at me. "Don't ever say that to me again. Don't even think it." He takes a step forward, pausing at the door. "You need to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Tatum—"

"No," he barks, spinning around and snarling at me. He looks feral. Bloodthirsty. "Don't even try it. You claim you love—" He closes his eyes and shakes his head, mouthing the word "no" to himself. "If you care about me, you'll do this. I need some time to process." He spins around and makes his way to the door.

"Do you truly hate me?" I whisper. I need some form of reassurance. I know I'm meant to be the strong one, but there's no strength left in me. He does not move. Does not speak. Tatum does not do much at all. I'm not even sure he's still breathing.

"I don't know," he finally says. "And I don't want to say something even worse before I do." As my heart splinters and shatters in my chest, he walks away, taking my hope along for the journey.