Chapter 21

Dylan

I went to the only place I wanted to be. Not to the Loop. Not to a friend or to Aro or to Quinn.

Home.

I climb up the tree between my house and Hawke’s, not really trying to hide, but thankful for the cover.

And for the view.

The street where I learned to ride a bike. A street that looks amazing covered in fall leaves in a neighborhood that smells great on a summer night filled with grass, grills, and bug spray.

I can barely look up, though. Tears drip onto my hands as I play with the button on my shirt.

I thought maybe I loved him.

I don’t.

I misjudged my connection to him as something more than it was, and maybe it was necessary to get here. We needed to scratch the itch in order to get past it, otherwise we’d always wonder.

It hurts, though.

Other girls I’ve talked to, they almost always say the same thing. Their first times sucked. They don’t remember it well, and the way they felt after was…cold. Like they didn’t mean anything to the other person.

I didn’t feel like that last night. I was nervous, but I was sure. Like he had only ever seen me.

Now, it just feels like it was all a lie, because it was all just a race. Like the truck they were supposed to share but was only ever really Kade’s.

Point Hunter. Score’s tied. The tears keep falling.

A motorbike comes whirring down the lane, the engine audible before the bike is even visible. In my peripheral, I see it speed in, sliding right and into our driveway, and I know it’s Noah without looking up.

I sit there, hoping he won’t see me. The tree’s leaves are sparse. I’m not as invisible this time of year.

But in a moment, his helmet is off and he’s peeking his head around the house. I look back down, not waving.

He walks over, one hand in his pocket, and the other clutching a clear plastic bag of what looks like cotton candy. He stops underneath the tree and looks up, but when I don’t say anything, he just jumps up to me.

Climbing the branches, he plops down on the thick one that stretches over to my room and faces me.

My voice is gravelly. “I don’t want to talk.”

“That’s okay,” he tells me. “I’m used to being the chatty one.”

I actually meant ‘I want to be alone,’ but I can’t be rude to Noah.

You’d think he’d want to move out and have his own space, but no, he loves living with a family. Even if he’s constantly getting lectured in our effort to civilize him. My dad was about to pop a gasket when the cops came because Noah was burning trash in the backyard.

That’s when he learned that we put garbage on the curb to be collected—just like families on TV.

And my mom screamed when she walked into the garage and saw Noah draining the blood out of a decapitated deer he’d bought off one his new friends who’d gone hunting that morning. He was going to make us stew or something.

She ran, about to puke. James just dove in and helped Noah.

He loves it here. He says he still needs to be raised.

He opens his bag, pinches off some cotton candy and holds the bag out to me.

I take some. Blue’s my favorite.

I slip it into my mouth, the sugar breaking down to little granules as the taste of carnivals and festivals dissolves on my tongue. Hot sun hits my cheek for a second, and I almost smile. “That’s good.”

He nods, taking more bites and looking out at the street. He must’ve picked it up at the parade. Did he see the fight?

“I grew up surrounded by thousands of trees,” he says. “I rarely ever climbed them.”

He offers me the bag again, and I take a little more.

“People come to Chapel Peak for the mountains, the skiing in the winter, the hiking and off-roading in the summer, the scenery…”

I blink, a remaining tear spilling over. “Sounds pretty,” I murmur.

“I hated it.”

I dart my eyes up, and he chuckles.

“I like people.” He shrugs, chewing and swallowing. “I wanted neighbors, noise, culture...”

Culture? I dig in my eyebrows, and he sees, rearing back and looking affronted. “Fuck you, I like plays and shit.”

I finally smile a little.

He goes on, staring at the street again. “We were so isolated up there, and I don’t remember a time when those majestic mountains didn’t feel like walls.”

I can’t imagine seeing things like that every day gets boring, but I’m sure it does. We get used to anything.

And the seclusion would be hard. I’m like Noah. I like activity.

“When we did see anyone,” he says, “it was the same old bullshit. You’re rotating the same girls in and out of your bed, determined to live in the present, because the only thing getting you up in the morning is the thought of the beer you’ll get to crack open at five o’clock, and who you’re going to screw that night.”

I watch him stare out at the street, my heart suddenly beating so fast. I’ve never heard him talk like this.

I’m not sure if I’m shocked, or if I appreciate someone in this house speaking to me like I’m not a child.

“But I kept doing it.” His voice sounds strained. “Day after day, year after year, because I didn’t know if I’d find what I wanted if I left, either.” He pauses, breathing hard. “I don’t think I ever would’ve left if she hadn’t first.”

“Who?”

Finally, he looks over at me. “Step-cousin, actually.” He pulls out more cotton candy. “Same as you and Hunter and Kade.”

He offers me more, but I forgot to eat what’s in my hand. I stuff it in my mouth.

“I stayed miserable,” he swallows, “because I was too afraid to leave and risk failing. Kaleb hadn’t spoken a word since he was four. And my father had stopped knowing why he was alive. Fear was rotting us.”

He’s talked about Kaleb. His older brother.

“And one day,” he says, pausing to smile, “she comes into our house and we start fighting for our lives again, because now, we have something we don’t want to lose.”

“She’s not there anymore?”

“No.”

He said she left first.

“She found what she wanted, but not what she needed.” We both grab for more cotton candy. “So…this eighteen-year-old girl, desperately in love, breaks her own heart and walks away, because she’s not wasting one more second on anyone who costs her her peace of mind.”

My chest aches and swells, and my eyes water again, and I don’t know why. My grandpa said the people you invite into your life should stay because they make it better. If they make it worse, then…

It’s just hard when sometimes it feels so good.

Noah’s eyes soften. “And I thought, if she could do it, so could I. And when she never came running back, my brother did what he had never done before and left Chapel Peak too. To find her.”

To go after her.

So…

My eyes go wide. “You shared a girl with your brother?”

He stares at me for a second, then waves me off. “Mmm, not just my brother, but I’ll tell you more when you’re grown up.”

Huh?

I blink, shaking my head. Never mind.

“My point is,” he continues, “you’re way ahead of the curve.”

I hold his gaze. I am?

“You know exactly who you are and what you were built for.”

He means unlike him.

“Don’t forget it, and keep going.”

I try to smile, but my chin is trembling too hard.

“There’s no choice,” he says.

Yeah, I know who I am. I like being who I am.

And I know exactly what I want.

My dad pulls up in one of the JT Racing trucks, two bikes and some gear tied to a trailer in the back. Noah crumbles up the empty cotton candy bag and gives me one last look before hopping down to join everyone.

James climbs out of the back seat, my uncle Jax from the other side, and my mom steps out of the front.

My dad moves to the tailgate, lifting up the cover and pulling out a cooler. They were all at the parade, but he doesn’t bring work home. They must be heading out for an event.

I wipe my eyes and climb down, trying not to hide my hands in my pockets as I walk over, but I do anyway.

Dad looks over at me, stopping his work.

“Hi,” I say.

He gazes at me for a few seconds, a smile in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he almost whispers.

Jax walks past, behind me. “Staying out of trouble?”

“Neverrr,” I tease under my breath.

I blink, still feeling the tears. I know my eyes are red.

I tip my chin at the trailer with the bikes. “What’s on the schedule today?”

“Air show,” he tells me. “They’ll have a hangar for displays, engineers—”

“Robotics,” James chimes in.

I watch my little brother pass with a crate of gadgets and hand it to our dad.

“We texted and called,” James adds. “To see if you wanted to come, but somebody doesn’t like to answer their phone.”

“Shhh,” Dad tells him.

I don’t tell them that my phone is sitting on a wet forest floor in Weston.

Which means Hunter can’t reach me if he’s trying, either. I’m okay with that right now.

I swallow, inching a little closer to my dad. “Need some help?”

He smiles a little, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Yeah.”

I crack, unable to look at his face, but I come in all the same, wrapping my arms around my dad’s waist and planting my head against his chest. He immediately hugs me back.

I don’t know if he’s assuming I’m sad that we’ve been fighting, or if he saw the fight at the parade and knows something is up, but he simply asks, “Do you want to talk?”

“Not yet.”

And he doesn’t push it. Thankfully.

My mom steps over, removing a carrier from the front seat and handing me a strawberry milkshake.

I laugh, taking it.

“So that’s why you wanted an extra one,” my dad says to her.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” I ask her.

“Your dad and Jax installed some cameras.” She points to one at the front door and one at the corner of the house. “We all have apps on our phones. He was sure someone was in the house the other night.”

Hunter.

I suck on the straw, not saying anything though. If I tell them he snuck in, I’d have to tell them why.

Jax and James carry more gear, sliding it all into the bed of the truck.

“Do I have time for a quick shower?” I ask.

Dad nods. “I’ll pack the cooler.”

“I got the snacks!” James shouts.

But my mom stops him. “You only pack chips.” She wraps an arm around his shoulder, walking him inside the house. “You can help me with the snacks, how about that?”

I just hear his disgusted sound as I follow.

“Mom, not even you want to eat the almonds and carrot sticks you pack,” I tell her.

She argues over her shoulder, “But I still need to put that stuff in there to make it look like I’m a good parent.”

Dad and Jax chuckle behind us.

Dad pulls into the Weston High School parking lot the next morning, dropping me off after I got to sleep in my own bed last night. I’m not sure if spending a day away from the Rebels constitutes a forfeit of the prisoner exchange, but they’re free to kick me back to the Falls if they want. I have every intention of trying to finish the week.

Dad pulls his Mustang Dark Horse up to the curb, one hand on the wheel as he leans down and looks out through my window. Students trail into the building, some slowing and checking out his car as they pass.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” he asks me.

I open the door. “It’s only a few more nights,” I say, climbing out. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Got our tickets,” he calls out.

I draw in a long breath. The game. I wasn’t sure which side I was sitting on yet. Guess I know now.

I bend over, peering into the car and smiling at my dad. We didn’t talk about racing yesterday or anything that we still need to hash out, but I wasn’t looking to anyway. I just wanted to go home.

Noah helped a lot.

“Love you,” I say.

“Love you too.”

He shifts into gear, and I slam the door shut, twisting and walking up the stairs.

Students pass, giving me a nod or smile, and I walk into the school, spotting Coral. She’s wearing my jacket now.

“Hey.” She falls in at my side, Mace and Codi following. “Where’d you go off to? Where’s Hunter?”

“What do you mean?”

“He disappeared yesterday, same as you.” She looks around to her friends. “No one’s seen him since.”

He doesn’t have his phone, either. I saw it on the ground when the Pirates tried to take me Saturday night. I think that’s what he threw at Kade’s truck.

“I spent time with my family,” I tell them. “I haven’t seen him.”

His parents were at the parade. They’d know about the fight. If there was something to worry about, we’d know by now.

“Are you okay?” Coral asks.

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure how much they saw or heard, but I’m not talking about it either way. I glance at Coral. “You know I’m getting that jacket back?”

She makes a face, and I laugh.

“Well, she looks better in it.”

But the voice wasn’t Mace’s. I turn my eyes over my shoulder, looking at Codi. “Well, look at you, using your words.”

She beams, glancing at her friends.

She talked to me.

I turn around, all of us heading into class. I’m fine if I never get the jacket back as long as I can see her in it once.

“Essays, please,” Mr. Bastien calls out as we enter.

I dig into the satchel, pulling out two pieces of crisp paper stapled together. I don’t often have homework done on time, but I got a sudden burst of energy after we got home from the air show last night. I wanted to walk back in this school with some paint on my nails and my book report done like I hadn’t missed a step.

“You know,” I say, setting my essay down on the pile, “most teachers in the digital age ask us to submit assignments online. Saves trees.”

He picks up the stack, sifting through. “Any idea how many more hydrocarbons, carbon monoxide, and nitrogen your motorcycle pumps out than my car?”

I turn away. “Whatever.”

I hear him snort behind me as I walk to my seat.

Sliding in my chair, I drop my bag to the floor.

“Did you see Kade Caruthers’s post?” Mace whispers next to me.

I dig out the class text that we’ve been discussing. “No.”

“He’s having a pool party this week,” she tells me. “Both teams and their dates are invited.”

“No fights allowed.” Coral leans over my shoulder. “He promised.”

Well, I’m not going to be Kade’s bait to get Hunter there. That’s what the party is really about.

But I look out the window as the bell rings and the football team runs outside, a quick jolt to my nerves when I still don’t see Hunter. Farrow is there. His guys too. They laugh and joke in the parking lot as they make their way to the field, and I start to worry. Like I think I’ll never see him again.

Bastien comes around the front of his desk and sits on the edge. “So…” He gives a tight smile. “The parade was fun.”

A round of laughter goes off, everyone who wasn’t there at least hearing about the fight by this point.

“Oh, come on, the kids will remember that one, at least,” a guy in the back calls out.

The teacher nods in agreement. “They will.”

He unzips his dark blue pullover, revealing a thick vein underneath a tan neck. His Kelly green T-shirt peeks out, and I hear Coral inhale behind me, almost whimpering. I shake with a laugh, knowing my father would never let my mom have a parent-teacher conference alone with this guy.

Of course, she’s obsessed with my dad, but he still gets jealous.

“And I’m sure the Falls High alumni will remember it, as well,” Bastien informs us. “They’ll remember it, reinforcing their continued assessment that thugs like us should never win.”

Someone tsks behind me, while others make aggravated sounds.

He goes on, “So they’ll write more checks, pumping more money into equipment, extra training, physical therapy, away games, hotels, and buses with bathrooms.” He pauses, looking around his room of seniors. “You made their coach very happy yesterday.”

I’d love to say that he’s not right, but that’s exactly the narrative about Weston in my town. Of course, we know better, but it pumps us up and increases our enjoyment of the rivalry to talk shit like every single one of them is trouble-loving, rude, and has no regard for personal property.

Just like they assume we never work for anything, have never experienced loss, and have never had a deep thought in our heads.

“And for what?” Bastien asks. “Why do we do it? Put on our colors and march down the street to represent our towns?”

And one by one, students throw out answers.

“Community pride?”

“Solidarity for our shared history?”

“Supporting the hard work of our athletes?” Mace offers.

“What about the hard work of the students?” someone else asks. “We don’t have parades for Honor Roll.”

“Stadiums for science fairs,” I add.

People laugh, and the teacher nods, liking the questions we’re asking.

Competition is fun. The prospect of winning brings people together. That’s easy enough to figure out.

But why just football?

“Take out your phones,” he says.

He walks to the board and picks up his marker.

“Email me a letter.” He writes down his email address. “Dylan Trent wants us to save trees today.”

“Haha,” Coral jokes behind me.

Haha.

“Write to a Shelburne Falls Pirate parent,” he continues. “Mom or Dad. It doesn’t matter.” He turns and recaps the marker. “Tell them what you think of all of this, what you want them to know about you, and what you hope for them. Five-hundred words.”

Hmm, boring. Sounds like he doesn’t want to teach today.

“If you don’t have your phone, paper is fine,” he calls out.

I take out paper and a pencil, and he raises his eyebrows. I roll my eyes. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have my phone.

“Does Dylan just write to her own parents then?” someone asks, followed by a round of snickers.

I put my name on my paper and try to think of a witty comeback, but I’m honestly not sure who I’m going to write to.

“Are we sending these to the parents?” Coral asks.

Bastien doesn’t reply, simply plays some downtempo on his computer while most of the class starts typing away on their phones, a few of us, including Codi and me, writing on paper.

Next week at this time I’ll be sitting in computer science, my class right before financial literacy. They didn’t have either of those options on my schedule here.

The classes are better at home, but still, it’ll be hard to leave Weston. I like Bastien. He talks to us like adults, and gives us more questions than answers. I don’t like people who think they know everything.

I mean, I understand the significance of learning programming and why my credit score matters and how the stock market works. I know new jobs are being invented every day, taxes help society function, and we’re being groomed to be useful parts in the massive machine, and hey, I don’t even mind all that much. I love helping the economy. I like shopping.

But I don’t love those classes. They’re not fun, and I never feel like I’m discovering anything.

Since coming to Weston, I’ve discovered one new thing about myself. I might be a Shelburne Falls parent someday, but I can’t say I want the jacket back anymore. Not really.

We turn in our assignments, and I go through the day, keeping my eyes forward.

Even when I feel him.

I thought maybe he wouldn’t come when I didn’t see him with the team during first period. Hunter has a habit of walking away. This is his third school in a little over a year, after leaving Falls High and St. Matthew’s.

But I head down the hallway, knowing when I pass him and his friends standing by a set of lockers, and he watches me.

I don’t look.

I draw in a long breath and release it, the weight of caring disappearing.

I talk to Codi at lunch, the others with the pack at the football players’ table, and I stay after school, helping Mr. Bastien print off all the letters that students emailed today.

He doesn’t read them before he asks me to stuff them in envelopes, including the one I wrote, writing the person’s name who wrote it on the front. He tells me to seal them.

“Are you mailing them?” I burst out.

He can’t. I don’t want this going to my house.

He shakes his head. “No. Just trust me.”

I cock an eyebrow and continue my task.

After I leave, the parking lot is empty, but instead of going to Knock Hill, I walk down to the mill district, seeing my bike still parked in front of the abandoned insurance business.

The hair on the back of my neck rises, though, and I pop my head up, looking around. Leaves blow across the street, workers jump off a tugboat down the street at the dock, and I see a mom carrying a bag of groceries, a small boy walking at her side.

No one is watching me, although it feels like there is.

I head up Phelan’s Throat, making runs around and around again for the next two hours. I shouldn’t be without supervision, I should be in more protective clothes, and I shouldn’t push it this fast, but I shove everything out of my head as my heart drops into my stomach and I just go. I have to.

I race up the hill, swerving around potholes and the Road Closed sign. I fly up to the top and jerk the handlebars right, skidding down the throat just like Farrow taught. My knee catches on the ground, and I can feel the sting as it shreds my jeans, but I’m okay. I speed down and back up again, over the bend, and back to the finish.

The sun sets, darkness seeping in, and the eyes I felt before are in the woods, behind me, up ahead, all around now. I race back up the Throat one more time, headlights appearing far behind.

A car.

Cars don’t come up here. Road closed and all. I’m not even supposed to be up here.

It gains on me, but not close enough to threaten. All the same, though, I slow down and cruise around the Throat, taking it easy before speeding up again and dashing back to Knock Hill. It follows me the whole way, and I cruise up to the curb in front of my place, skidding to a halt.

The car, an old, black BMW with rust around the grill stops on the other side of the street, in front of Fletcher’s.

Constin climbs out. He’s alone.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but my eyes are stern.

He walks over to me, glancing up at my house.

“Farrow told me to keep an eye on you,” he says. “For your safety.”

“Farrow told you that?”

I get off my bike and remove my helmet.

Farrow would ask Hunter. Of course, that doesn’t mean Hunter would do it.

He closes the distance between us, stopping on the sidewalk in front of me. “I need to check the house.”

“What for?”

“There’s someone in there,” he says.

I turn my head, looking up the stairs. What?

“I saw movement through the window just now.”

Oh, bullshit. “Give me a break.”

I jog up the steps, away from him. He’s just trying to get inside. That was plain enough when he asked me to homecoming. I told Hunter I was thinking about it, and that’s what I told Constin, but only because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no fast enough. As if I need a reason.

I just don’t get asked out a lot, and turning people down makes me feel badly.

He catches up to me, pulling me around by the arm. “You’re still a prisoner,” he says. “I don’t have to ask.”

“No, you do,” I correct him. “And I can say no.”

It’s my house for the rest of the week.

He stares down at me, his expression softening a little. “Let me in,” he whispers.

I know what he wants to happen if he does come in. Is Hunter watching right now? I glance behind Constin, to Hunter and Farrow’s place. I don’t see any sign of life in the house.

“Let me in,” he presses again.

He brushes my chin with his fingers, and I snap to, shoving him away.

I run inside, slam the door, and race up to my room to the phone Hawke left me.

I throw open my door and see Hunter, sitting in my desk chair, leaning his elbows on his knees.

A new Android phone sits on my desk, still in the box.

He looks at me, his brow etched with pain.

He shouldn’t be in my room without my permission.

I walk in and drop my bag, heading to the nightstand and pulling out the cell Hawke gave me. “I have homework to do.”

He immediately rises to his feet. “Dylan, please let me apologize.”

I turn on the phone, waiting for it to start. “I appreciate it.” I look at him and nod, doing a good job of ignoring how beautiful he looks in black. I love the jacket. “But you don’t need to,” I tell him. “I forgave you almost immediately.”

I walk to the door, holding it open for him. He just stands there.

“You’re a part of me,” I say, not looking at him again. “Like Kade, Hawke, Quinn…I’ll always be there for you, Hunter.”

His spine straightens, and he grows another inch taller. “I’m not Kade,” he growls. “Or Hawke. Or Quinn.”

He approaches me, and I breathe shallow, my skin on fire the closer he gets.

“I…” I swallow. “I have work to do, Hunter.”

“I’m obsessed with you,” he gasps, grabbing my head in his hands, threading his fingers through my hair, and pressing me into the wall next to my door. “I’ve been obsessed with you since we were kids.”

Everything hurts. My eyes sting, and my mouth falls open, everything below my fucking waist coming alive at just the feel of his body pressing into mine.

I pant but then quickly clench my teeth. His chest rises and falls hard against mine as he stares at my mouth.

“I’ll always care about you,” I say. “You’re a part of me.”

“Stop saying that.”

His forehead presses into mine, his lips hovering, and I hate him. I hate him so much.

“Hit me,” he whispers. “Hit me, bite me, make me pay, but don’t fucking tell me you care about me.”

A fist clenches around my heart.

“Show me you hate me instead,” he hisses. “Show me how much you fucking hate me.”

I shove him in the chest, forcing his ass back, and then dive down, lifting his shirt and sinking my teeth into his stomach.

“Ah,” he groans, holding my head against his body as he leans a hand on the wall behind me.

I hold his flesh between my teeth, hearing my pulse race in my ears. I take another bite and then another, the feel of him in my mouth so fucking good.

And then…I come up and kiss him hard on the mouth, groaning as I feed, because this is what he deserves. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I shove my hands in his chest at the same time I’m nibbling his mouth.

It means nothing.

“It was a mistake,” I tell him, tugging on his bottom lip with my teeth.

“Fine.” He pulls my shirt over my head and yanks my bra down, taking me in his arms again. “It was a fucking mistake.”

He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as his mouth covers a breast.

“Just one more time,” he pants.

I shove him in the shoulders as he bites my flesh. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

Gripping the back of his head, I force his mouth up to mine and kiss him, unable to eat enough.

He drops me back to my feet, our lips glued as we shove down my pants, breaking only when we pull off his T-shirt.

Picking me up again, he carries me to my bed, throwing me down on it and coming down between my legs.

I suck in a breath as his mouth covers my clit, and I grip his hair as he licks.

He eats hard, not slowing down as a groan escapes his throat while he sucks my clit like a straw. “Ah,” I moan, squirming underneath him. My legs bend, my thighs widening, and I feel his fingers move from my waist to my ass and then around my thighs.

“Constin is outside,” I taunt. “I could scream.”

He kisses and licks, sliding a finger, then two, inside me. I whimper, arching my back and rolling my hips into his mouth.

“Fuckin’ scream, then,” he says, his voice breathy.

He sucks, flicking my clit with his tongue.

“Scream,” he tells me.

I moan louder and louder, his tongue teasing me over and over until I feel the orgasm rise.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fuck his mouth, and cry out, not caring how loud I am.

His fingers glide in and out, in and out, in and out, and my whole body tightens as I gasp.

The orgasm flows through me, but he doesn’t stop. Rising back up to his knees, he clutches my thighs and flips me over. I blink, startled.

“Up on your knees.”

And he grabs my hips, pulling me up. I stand on all fours, on top of my bed, feeling him unfasten his jeans behind me.

“Hunter,” I gasp.

He positions himself at my entrance, and I tremble as the head of his cock starts to stretch me.

“Disappearing for more than a fucking day,” he whispers.

He thrusts, burying himself inside me, and I shut my eyes again, holding my breath. “Oh my God…”

So deep.

He slides out, and then in, and before I know it, he’s fucking me hard and fast.

“I go to your parents’ house,” he growls, yanking my hips back on his dick. “I wait here…”

He did?

I grab onto the headboard, pushing myself up and arching my back.

He hits deeper, and I grind the wooden railing in my hands, holding on.

“And you don’t even have the decency to look me in the fucking face at school,” he murmurs.

He slams into my ass, filling me—the ache of his cock stretching me so fucking good.

He grips my hair, tugging me back to whisper in my ear. “Is this the last time you want to touch me?” he pants.

I nod. “Yeah.”

I can’t tell him the truth.

“I put your plastic dick underneath your pillow,” he says, and I hear him wet his lips. “Ride it really good in the morning, okay.”

“Okay,” I whimper.

“Put it inside you.”

“I will,” I tell him.

He releases my hair and grips my hips tightly as I hang on. The headboard hits the wall, and I back up into him, meeting him pound for pound.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “Fuck, baby.”

And I smile, loving that he loves this. A vibrator can’t give me that.