Page 61 of Rent: Paid in Full
Laughter peters out, spluttering into nothing but breathy pants.
I run my hand down the side of his face, watching him as his features change. Looking at his eyes, then down at his mouth. His tongue flicks out, moistening his bottom lip and his top one too.
His lips part, and I feel mine do the same.
Even though the fuck that follows is epic. Even though he rides like a nervous newbie, he quickly turns pro, and he moans like a pro too. Even though he comes so hard he shoots come on my chest and my neck, the best thing about it isn’t being inside him. It’s not the orgasm or the way his ass clenches around me. It’s not even the way his eyes roll back and his mouth drops open in ecstasy. It’s not the way he looks at me, although, believe me, that’s a close second.
It’s the fact that when it started, when we kissed, he leaned in first.
When I’ve softened and slipped out of him, he moves to unmount me. I hold him down by the hips, just for a second.
“I already know what I want next time,” I say.
A lazy brow cocks. “Washing machine sex? Forget it, Miller. Never going to happen.”
“Nah, I don’t want washing machine sex. I want The Boyfriend Experience.”
20
Ryan
The Boyfriend Experience.
The fucking Boyfriend Experience!?
Do you even know what that is?
Oh, you do? Well, good for you. I had no idea. I thought it was some kind of variation of the missionary position. Thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Thought,how bad can it be, given all the other shit that’s already gone down between Miller and me.
But it will be. It will be plenty bad, and it will be a big fucking deal, I can promise you that.
In case you’re not familiar with the term, allow me to educate you. The Boyfriend Experience is when a sex worker is paid to provide services commonly associated with being in a romantic relationship. Things like going on dates, holding hands, soft kisses, sweet words, making love as opposed to fucking.
God. The more I read about it, the more I want to scream.
Trust Miller fucking MacAvoy to trick me into something like this.
“We still on for our date tonight?” His smile is resplendent. A thousand watts easily. The beautiful prick thinks I’m going to bail on him. Thinks he has the upper hand. He thinks I don’t have the balls to go through with it.
We’ll see about that.
I’m going to beat him at his own game.
“Sure. Can’t wait.”
There’s a short, stunned pause. “Great. I’ll pick you up from the library at eight.”
“Sounds good.”
I manage to keep at least three-quarters of the sneer out of my voice. If not three-quarters, then definitely half.
Could be better, but it could be worse too.
I’m on high alert all afternoon, and the feeling only escalates as evening draws in. I jump at the slightest sound as I read through my psych notes, looking around accusingly, expecting to see Miller creeping up on me, feeling…I don’t know, feelingsomethingwhen he doesn’t.
It’s eight o’ seven by the time I walk out of the building. I’m not angry Miller didn’t come up to my section. I’m not, okay. I’m just surprised, that’s all. It’s out of character for him.
The warm breath of an early June night exhales a sultry breath on me as I walk down the stairs. Miller emerges from the shadows, both hands deep in his pockets, pecs bulging, belly slightly concave. He has a dark green beanie pulled low on his forehead. It’s slouchy perfection. His eyes are gunmetal-gray and sparking with life, victory, and abject satisfaction.