17. Miller

I can’t believe it. I literally cannot believe Ryan’s agreed to let me fuck him. I’m so happy it feels almost impossible to lie still. I have about a million things I want to tell him, but since I have a feeling that might make him rethink his decision, I close my eyes and smile quietly in the dark.

I can tell he’s restless. He’s trying to lie still, but his breathing is a little louder than usual and his sheets are rustling.

“Tell me something,” I say after a while. He acts like he hates it when I do this, and maybe he does, but I know it helps him fall asleep faster.

He grunts in my direction and gets up to use the bathroom. He’s in there for a long time. A suspiciously long time.

Wonder if he’s jerking off?

Oh, please, please let him be jerking off.

“Everything okay?” I ask when he comes out.

“What do you want to know?” he says, getting into his bed and changing the subject none too subtly.

“Mm.” I take a while to think it through. It’s not all that often he agrees to humor me like this, so when he does, I like to make sure my question is a good one. “Okay, got one. Your earliest memory?”

He sighs, and I can almost hear him rolling his eyes, but he answers anyway. “I can’t remember much from when I was really little. I think my memory only kicked in when I was like four or five, but I remember this one time Jenna and I were visiting my gran and grandpa. It was raining. I guess we were going crazy in the house because my gran had us put our rainboots on. I was stoked about that because I’d gotten new boots a few days before. Shiny red ones. My gran gave us this big umbrella and told us to go play outside. They had a big yard with lots of trees. We used to have fun playing in it, but we’d never been out in the rain before. Jen let me hold the umbrella. I think it was the first time I’d held an umbrella, and I was way into it.”

I’m not completely sure, but there might be a tiny smile in his words. “It was kind of dark and dreary out, and I remember the sound of the raindrops hitting the umbrella. It was loud. It was those big fat raindrops, you know? The ones that make a plopping sound when they hit an umbrella.”

I murmur to show him I’m listening, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want him to stop talking. “They ran down the umbrella and splashed onto my boots. My feet stayed dry the whole time, and I was stoked about that. Jenna had to huddle in close to keep out of the rain. We walked around chatting and laughing, and there was something, I don’t know, it sounds kind of dumb now, but there was something almost magical about it. I felt like I was in a storybook or something.” He’s quiet for a couple of beats. “I think about it randomly sometimes.”

“That’s neat,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

Everything Ryan’s ever told me about his sister and his parents matches this theme. His family are thoroughly decent, kind people. They love him, and he never felt anything but safe when he was little. They made him believe the world was full of good people with good intentions. When I think about the fact that life got hold of him at thirteen and taught him something different, it makes me crave violence. Seriously, crave it. It makes my chest feel tight, and I have to consciously fight the urge to clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms.

It’s quiet for a while, and I think he might be drifting off, but then he says, “You?”

He doesn’t usually ask. Most of the time, I can tell that he tries not to. Recently, he’s been caving more and more. “My first memory is of a nanny picking me up and carrying me out of the dining room because my parents were fighting, so it”s not really a great memory. But something I think about randomly sometimes was the day my dad took me to work with him. He took me to this old house he’d bought. It was amazing. It was really old and dilapidated, but it had good bones. High ceilings and wide hallways. There was a bird’s nest in one of the fireplaces, and some of the rooms still had beaten-up pieces of furniture in them. Some windows had curtains on them, but they’d weathered so much that they looked almost like webs. We were there for ages. I was so happy. I walked around each room and imagined what it would look like when my dad fixed it up. I found this little vase or canister, or whatever you’d call it, in the kitchen. I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought it was fancy, like treasure or something. It was cream China with old roses painted on the front—”

“Just roses? No dicks or boobs?”

“Sadly, no dicks or boobs.” I laugh. “Just roses. I showed my dad, and he said I could keep it. I still have it.”

“Did your dad fix the house up?”

“Nah. He tore it down and built a square block of apartments on the land.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I stay awake for hours. I’m up long after Ryan’s breathing deepens. I listen to it, trying to match my breathing to his, fighting the desperate urge to get out of my bed and into his. To be close to him. To rest my head against his and put a hand on his chest so I can feel his ribcage expand and retract. To lie next to him and feel the heat of his body against mine.

Every time I feel myself start to relax, I think about the fact he said yes. I think about his eyes and his mouth and his ass and the way he tastes when he’s horny. I think about the fact that soon, I’m going to have him. I’m going to thrust into him and hold him. We’re going to sweat and moan together. I’m going to fuck him until this lust leaves me.

So help me, God, I’m going to fuck him until I can’t anymore.

Despite my less-than-stellar night’s sleep, I’m in the best mood ever when morning finally rolls in. Ryan’s disposition is markedly different. He has narrow slits where his eyes usually are, and he doesn’t even bother trying to tame his dark tangle of hair. He growls his thanks when I hand him his coffee and doesn’t seem to notice or care when I hand him the blue dick mug.

“So,” I say, topping up his coffee as soon as he’s drained his mug, “I’m thinking Friday, so you have the weekend to recover.”

“Recover from what?” Despite being down one cup of coffee, his voice is still thick with sleep, and I can tell he isn’t firing on all cylinders.

“From the dicking I’m going to give you,” I remind him gently.

He stiffens, spilling coffee down one side of the mug. He sets it down on my desk and waits black-eyed as I get some paper towels for him. He wipes his hands and then makes a big show of wiping down the mug and the desk too, unceremoniously holding out the crumpled ball of paper for me when he’s finished. I stand by and take it from him dutifully.

I love everything about this fucked-up little interaction. I love how sweet he is when the lights are out, and I love how angry my existence makes him when they’re on. I love how he seems to expect me to run around helping him despite the fact he’s a nightmare, but most of all, I love how much he hates it that with every day that passes, he’s having a harder and harder time hating me with his whole chest.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, when the sun’s up, he’d still push me from a moving vehicle the first chance he got, but I think there’s a chance he’d regret it. Not deeply or anything like that. But probably a little. And I think that’s called progress.

I perch myself on his bed, sitting near his ankles in case I need to make a hasty retreat and say, “I’m going to the clinic after economics. Do you want to come? It’s not far from the Student Services building, so I can meet you there if you like.”

He glares at me and takes a spiteful sip of coffee, swallowing hard to make it go down. I show him my open palms. I read somewhere that it’s a gesture meant to make others feel reassured, and something tells me Ryan could do with a little reassurance right about now. “If you want me to use a condom, I will, but I’m getting tested either way, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll go on my own,” he spits.

I can hardly believe my luck. I’m in seventh heaven. Today might be the best day ever. Ryan’s agreed to let me fuck him and he’s getting tested so I can leave a load in him.

What could be better than that?

Based on the look on his face, pissed off doesn’t begin to describe how he feels about the whole thing. The twisted part of me that loves that he hates me somersaults happily in my chest.

I pat him on one knee and give him a supportive smile. “You won’t regret it, Ry, seriously, there’s no better feeling than having semen shot up your ass. You’re going to love it. You know what? I’m not gonna jerk off this whole week. Gonna save my load just for you.”

His eyes, which I thought were as dark as they could go, darken further. Jet black and sparking with fury. I should stop. I know it, but I can’t help myself. “It’ll feel like a fire hydrant going off inside you. Not cold though. It’ll feel hot. You’ll feel it for days… And you’ll remember it forever.”

The sinews in his neck tense and his top lip pulls up to expose his incisors. I hop up and trot to the bathroom, closing the door to give him a little time to himself. He’s one of those people who needs space now and then, and as the future love of his life, I think it’s important that I’m sensitive to that.

It’s finally Friday. It’s been the longest week in living memory, and I’ve had to stop myself from begging Ryan to let me fuck him earlier at least twenty-seven billion times this week. And that’s a conservative estimate.

I’ve managed not to, but not by much. It’s really taken it out of me. Finals are starting in two weeks, and I’ve done less work than usual. I can’t even say I blame myself. Who could possibly concentrate on crap like business cycle theory when they can think of the procurement of a devastatingly sexy, rude, and complicated dude’s virginity instead?

It’s pouring with rain and the campus is all but deserted except for the odd person making a dash across the quad, sending water splashing up from the soggy grass as they run, resulting in either vicious cussing or high-pitched squeals. The rain started this morning and hasn’t let up all day. It’s as gray and depressing as a day could ever be, and I couldn’t possibly be happier about it. I mean, yeah, I am a bit cold, and maybe I should have thought to wear a weatherproof jacket or something, but just try telling me what I’m doing isn’t dead romantic.

Go ahead, I dare you.

I’m outside the library, and I’ve been here for a long-ass time. Despite the fact I’m cowering under Sienna’s hot-pink umbrella, I’m drenched. Soaked to my bones. My hair is pasted onto my forehead and there’s a steady stream of water running down my back.

The look on Ryan’s face when he sees me makes it all worth it. His jaw drops, his eyes bulge slightly, and his mouth twists in horror.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands as soon as he’s within earshot.

“Waiting for you.” I give him my most winning smile. “Romantic, huh?”

“There’s something really wrong with you, you know that, Miller?” I hand him the umbrella, and when he takes it, I sidle up a little closer to him, putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. “Get off me, you’re wet.”

He pretends to try to squirm out of my grip, but as he does, I notice the corners of his mouth tugging upward. He pushes them down hard, but it’s too late. I see it. I see him. Dark and broody and sexy in a way that’s gotten deep under my skin. Intense, angry, and vulnerable at the same time. His hair and eyelashes are wet. And Jesus, that nose. The curve. The high bridge. It’s almost too much for me.

We walk slowly together as stragglers tear past us. Rain pelts us from all angles and neither of us cares. That’s right, I said neither, and I meant it. Ryan would deny it to his last breath, but he isn’t hating this display, not even a little. Heavy drops plop onto the umbrella as we walk under the old oak trees in the quad. He pauses to listen to the sound and inadvertently looks at me when he does. His eyes are wilder than usual. Gentler too. Under the armor and hardness, there’s a softness I haven’t seen before.

“You excited?” I ask.

“No!” he replies a little too quickly.

“Nervous?” He doesn’t answer, but his Adam’s apple rises and falls. I stroke my hand up and down his back. He shrugs me off halfheartedly. “‘Cause you don’t have to be. I’ve got you. You know that, don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes profusely, but when I slide my hand down and wrap it around his waist, he doesn’t shrug it off. Not even for funsies.

By the time we get to our room, I can hardly get my key in the lock. My hands are shaking badly, and not from being cold and wet. My blood is pumping fast. I’m cold on the outside, but on the inside, I’m burning up. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. For as long as I’ve been me. For lifetimes I don’t even remember.

“I’m going to hit the shower,” I say. “Want to join?”

“No.”

Once I’m showered and warmed up, I wave him to the bathroom. “I bought a kit for you so you can prep.” Just when I think I’ve seen his eyes go as dark as they can, he ups the ante. “It’s under the sink. You know what to do, right? Use warm water and just shove the nozzle u…actually, d’you want me to just come in and show you?”

His head twitches in rage and his mouth twists to the side.

“Dunno,” he deadpans, “d’you want me to kill you?”

“Maybe later,” I say, giving him my biggest and best shithead grin. “Want to get my dick in you first, so I can die happy.”