Page 51 of Rent: Paid in Full

“Hey, Ry.” I stop and look back to see Miller fully recovered, skin glowing, hair an ode to blond hotness. He lifts one hand, holding up a stack of notes between two slick fingers. “You forgot your money.”

It’s mercifully dark. Miller and I are both in our respective beds. I’m working through mountains of the same shock, humiliation, and jubilation I experience when Miller buys something new. I think this time might be the worst.

I’ve never been that hard in my life, not even when I came in my pants from blowing him that first time. Not even when he rimmed me, and God knows, my dick could’ve cut through steelthat time. I was harder this time. I know it. And I know he could see it.

Ooof.

There’s always a lot to unpack when I’ve been with Miller. There’s the disbelief that he asked for whatever he asked for, of course, but more than that, there’s the utter shock that I agreed. That shit hits like a sledgehammer every goddamn time. Not only that, there’s the incredulity that I actually went through with it. That I did it. I’ve always heard the sayinghe has some balls, and I’ve never once related to it. I’ve never thought it applied to me because everything I’ve ever done has implied the exact opposite. But it does. It must. There’s no other possible explanation.

Only someone with a gargantuan set of swollen, low-hanging balls would even consider getting up to what I’ve been getting up to with Miller. If I didn’t have a front-row seat to this madness, there’s no way on Earth I’d believe it was happening.

I hardly think I need to explain the humiliation, but on the off chance I do, let me reiterate once again. I don’t like Miller MacAvoy. I don’t like him, and I don’t like people like him. I don’t trust him as far as I can kick him—which isn’t far at all. Can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before or not, but I’m not what you’d call athletically inclined, so me kicking anyone, much less tall, built, blond fuckboys would be unlikely to result in much mileage.

The fact that it’s Miller that I’m giving access to my person makes my entire body feel like it’s going to burst into flame if I think about it for long. It makes me feel like I’ve been liberally dunked into a pressure cooker and the lid has been screwed on tightly. I swear my core temperature skyrockets at the mere thought of what I’ve let him do to me. It’s a horror unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

And the jubilation? Well, that’s a little harder to explain. I’m not sure I’ve landed on a satisfactory explanation yet, so I won’t harp on about it, but suffice it to say, it’s definitely either jubilation or something worryingly like it. It’s washed over me after every, um,transactionI’ve had with Miller. It comes out of nowhere, interrupting shock and shame, bursting from me in a big, heavy swell. Lingering around me, settling on my chest, making me feel weighed down and impossibly light at the same time. So light that when I breathe in deeply, I feel like I could take flight. Just lift up and float off.

“…everything bagel today.” He’s been talking for ages, and while I’ve managed to tune most of his words out, I’m struggling to do the same with his voice. The smooth, sexy timbre of it moves through the dark, stealthy and sly, seeping into my blood and infecting it until it starts to vibrate. “…so good. The best one I’ve had. There was nothing but cream cheese on it, but I swear, it hadsooooomuch seasoning. My mouth was so happy.”

I’m so boneless and brainless, I only just manage to suppress the urge to tell him about the fucking everything bagel seasoning. Fortunately, he changes the subject while I try to get myself under control.

“You know what you need, Ry?”

“Ryan.”

His throaty chuckle tickles lightly under my ribs. “Fine. Do you know what you need, Ryan?”

“Why do I feel like you’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not?”

He smiles loudly. “‘Cause you know me so well.”

The scary thing is he’s not even bullshitting right now. I do know him. I’m starting to know him anyway, courtesy of how he seems completely unable to go to sleep at night unless he’s spent ages asking me about myself and telling me random things about him.

I happen to know that he goes out to the street to check to make sure the windows of his Range Rover are closed every night, even if he hasn’t driven anywhere all day. And I know he thinks the plural for penis should be penii instead of penises. Don’t ask me why, but he feels very strongly about it. I know he likes Dean more than Trip, and he feels bad about it. I know he wakes up in the night sometimes and can’t fall back to sleep, but I don’t know why. I know his favorite color is white, and he secretly wishes for more people to know he can sing. I know that his love language is acts of service. Not because he told me. Not even because he can’t stop doing shit for me, but because when I poured him a glass of water without thinking once, he looked about as happy about it as it’s possible for a human being to look. Seriously, you’d have thought I’d given him a billion dollars. He sat there, smiling from ear to ear long after he drained the glass.

I know he looks sexy in the mornings.

And I know he looks happy when he has sex. With me. I know he looks happy whenever we’re touching.

Jesus! What’s wrong with me.

I’vegotto stop thinking this kind of shit.

I quickly tune into his ramblings, as I’m pretty sure whatever crap he’s spewing is better than the nonsense running through my head.

I’m wrong.

“What you need is a good dicking down. That’s what you need.” I don’t answer. I can’t. I can feel words, jumbled and muddled, working their way up my throat, but they’re the wrong words. They’re not words I want to hear myself saying, so I press my lips together firmly and make a weird sound. It’s strange. It sounds almost like a giggle. It eggs him on. “Yeah, that grumpy, uptight little butt of yours needs a dick in it.”

I close my eyes to try to block out his words. It does nothing to help. His voice wafts through the space between us and lands onme like a warm blanket. My dick loves it.Lovesit. Jumps right up and tries to poke a hole through my sleep shorts when it hears it. I reach down to get it under control. I press down hard with the heel of my hand, and fuck me, it feels so good that I have no choice but to do it again. This time, I wrap my hand around it and squeeze through the flimsy fabric. “That’s what you need. A nice, thorough fuck. Not a pounding because you haven’t done it before. But a good fuck. The kind of fuck you’ll feel for days.”

I pull the waistband of my shorts away from my body, taking an unbelievable amount of care to make sure the elastic doesn’t snap against my skin. When I have my dick where I want it, I hold it in one hand, pulling my foreskin down to expose my head. I raise my free hand to my mouth, dip two fingers in, and make them wet, then I reach down and circle my crown slowly. My abs contract and my head presses into my pillow from the effort to stay quiet.

Miller, on the other hand, has no such compulsion. He’s still talking. “I wanna be the one to do it. To strip you naked and spread you open. I wanna be the first one to rail you. Mmm, yeah. I want it to be me. Ithasto be me. I’ll lose my mind if it’s anyone else.”

My dick feels so sensitive I could scream. I jerked off in the shower again after I got my prostate pummeled earlier, but it’s almost like jerking off isn’t working anymore. The relief doesn’t seem to last. It might actually be making it worse. Wish I could stop, but I can’t. I stroke my tip, tapping my finger lightly on my piss slit, feeling the thin string of precum that sticks to my finger when I lift it.

“How much?” Miller’s voice startles me, a rude reminder that I’m not alone. I quickly let go of my dick.