Page 75 of Rent: Paid in Full
“I have a proposition for you.”
There’s a slight lull. “Not interested. I have money. I don’t need your—”
“Mm-hmm, you have a little money, sure. I know that ‘cause I’m the one who gave it to you, but do you have a nice, reliable car? No. No, you don’t. And you need one. That truck is a death trap.”
The outrage is epic, grand, and larger than life. His thick brows knit together as he bares his teeth at me. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous, Miller! That’s goddamn stupid, even for you. I know you’re richer than fuck, but don’t you dare try to tell me you have nice-reliable-car kind of money lying around.”
“Sure I do. I have birthday money and Christmas money and—”
“Birthday moneyis fifty dollars! It’s a hundred here, two hundred there if you’re very, very fucking lucky.” He’s yelling now, and he’s not even trying not to. I love it. It makes me so happy to see him like this. “Please tell me you understand that. I swear to God, I’m going to have a heart attack if you don’t tell me you understand that.”
I lean down and take his swollen head in my mouth, sucking it into my mouth and releasing it with a lecherous pop and then carefully massage my saliva all into his crown.
“Sure, baby,” I say reasonably, “I understand. Birthday money makes you mad. I won’t mention it again, I swear.”
“Don’t call me baby,” he snaps, shuffling in his seat and using his free hand to give the hand I have on him a halfhearted slap.
I tighten my grip and pick up the pace.
“Okay, baby. I’ll stop. I promise. But only if you promise me something too.” His head drops back against the wall and the mug in his hand tilts precariously as a soft, tortured groan leaves him. “You have to promise you’ll never stop slapping me away.”
I kiss his tip sweetly and lick a broad stripe up his slit, tasting the sweet saltiness of him and waiting for him to look at me before adding, “Don’t ever stop, okay? Not even when we’re old and married.”
He moves quickly. At first, I think he means to slap me away for real, but he reaches around and grabs a handful of the hair at the back of my head instead, fisting it so tightly my scalp stings. He howls in fury at what I’ve said. At least, I think he does. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. It’s hard to tell. His dick is buried to the hilt in my throat, assaulting my vocal cords, and my air is all but cut off from the vigorous skull fucking he’s giving me.
What I’m trying to say is that even though he’s definitely angry, there’s a decent chance he’s howling in pleasure.
24
Ryan
Displacement, time, velocity, andacceleration explode into motion. I’m thrown back against the plush leather seat of the Range Rover as Miller puts his foot down flat. Tires spin, screeching as we leave campus behind us. The low rumble of Miller’s laughter is punctuated by a slightly hysterical version of mine.
I shouldn’t be laughing. I really shouldn’t. I know that. I’d fear for my life if I had a lick of common sense, but I think we can all agree that ship has sailed.
The bustle of buildings, streets, finals, and dorm life fades as we leave the city. Slate-gray and terracotta swirl in the rearview mirror as we careen headlong into madness. Miller has one hand on the wheel and his blue beanie on his head. I cracked and asked him to wear it. Am I happy about it? Hell no. But I figure that in the scheme of things I have to regret when it comes to Miller, this little nugget will hardly register in a few years’ time.
And sweet Jesus, he looks good in it.
Colors change around us, browns and reds giving way to shades of green. The highway narrows and starts to wind. Myears pop as we climb. The afternoon sun streams into the car from Miller’s side, lighting him up and casting a righteous glow around him. A halo for a hellion. He hasn’t stopped smiling since we got in the car, and that was hours ago. You’d think he’d look stupid by now, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks borderline angelic, gilded in light.
He reaches for me, snaking a hand between my thighs and worming it toward my dick. I clamp my legs shut briefly, partly out of habit, partly to tease him, then I remember what I’m here for and let the leg closest to him fall open, giving him access. In fact, I scoot my hips forward to ensure he can really get to me.
Oh, go ahead. Judge away. You know I don’t blame you.
That’s why I’m here. That’s what he bought. “Free use” was the exact phrase he used. His eyes glittered like evil incarnate when he said it. I started to laugh. I thought it was a joke. The sound spluttered into a phlegmy cough when I saw the look on his face. “Free use,” he said again, bobbing his head slowly as if he had the ability to penetrate my mind and alter it purely through the strength of his intention. “Three days and three nights. A new car forfree useof your body.” He pronounced the words with extra care, making sure I understood them.
My thoughts are racing, jumping from topic to topic, covering madness and regret aplenty, circling back and landing on the same thought over and over – It’s a good thing I still have another year of my degree, and it’s a good thing school counselors need advanced degrees, internships, and supervision before they’re let loose on the world. It’s a great thing, actually, because even though I’ve just spent the last two years of my life studying psychology, I haven’t even scratched the surface. Haven’t even chipped it yet. My mind and behavior are more of a mystery to me now than they were before I started my studies.
I don’t have the first clue what’s wrong with me when it comes to Miller. Don’t even know where to begin when it comes todiagnosing myself other than to say that, on a base level, having a new car would be nice. I wouldn’t go so far as to say my truck is a death trap. I think that’s a bit strong, but it would be nice to have a vehicle that’s reliable. Of course it would be nice to have a car that doesn’t make that funnydoo-doo-doosound when I change gears, and of course it would be nice to be able to use the AC without the cloying smell of stale chips making me car sick.
Who wouldn’t want that?
Come to think of it, it might even be normal in a roundabout way. Might even have roots in rational thinking.
Miller’s fingers curl, nails raking gently against the seam of my fly. Rational thought goes out the window, and I’m a, erm, different version of myself by the time we get where we’re going.
The cabin isn’t at all what I expected. Built on a steep slope and nestled in a thicket of trees, it’s ramshackle and close to falling down. Dark timber has faded to an anemic gray, and a few of the gutters are hanging on by a thread.