Zane dropped his hold on his cock, his fingers wrapping next to Trey’s. He hesitated. “I don’t want it to be. You just shouldn’t expect me to, you know, ask you to go to prom.”
“No,” Trey agreed, though the reckless freak in him would have liked if Zane wanted that. “What I’m asking is if you want to fool around again—in private.”
Zane’s hands covered Trey’s, squeezing them on the bench. “Yes, I really do want that.”
Trey had to smile at his seriousness. “Good. I really want it too.”
“So . . . it’ll be our secret?” Zane’s fingers stroked the dips between Trey’s knuckles—as if he thought Trey needed bribing to keep quiet. Trey couldn’t let this pass without teasing.
“Yup,” he said. “We’ll call it the bad boys club.”
Trey knew Zane would think this was stupid. “We’re not calling it that,” he huffed.
“I think we are,” Trey contradicted, prepared to do some bribery of his own. Amusingly, neither of their cocks was bored by the conversation. Both were sticking up and bouncing. He reached for Zane’s, wrapping it in his hand and pulling toward the head. As susceptible as a virgin, Zane shuddered and closed his eyes. When Trey squeezed his fingers tighter around the rim, Zane’s breath sighed out pleasurably. Deciding he had the jock where he wanted, he switched hands and pulled again. To his surprise, the pressure revealed that Zane was uncut. Trey was able to stretch his foreskin at least an inch higher. A shiver of titillation rolled down his vertebrae. He’d never had a guy with a hood before.
With some effort, he dragged his focus back on topic. “You know why we’re calling it the bad boys club?”
Eyes still closed, Zane shook his head tightly. His expression was enraptured, but even rapture could be improved. Trey licked his palm, slicking it good and wet for his next caress. This time Zane squeaked as it tugged up him. Given his reaction, Trey couldn’t doubt his was the first male hand to pleasure Zane’s equipment.
“Why?” Zane gasped, rolling his h*ps higher.
“We’re calling it the bad boys club so this can be our secret handshake.”
In spite of his distraction, this tickled Zane’s fancy. He laughed and his eyes flew open. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.” Trey wagged his brows to make this a joke as well.
Since he hadn’t minded it before, Trey smacked a kiss on Zane’s mouth. Then he bent to the part of Zane they both wanted him swallowing. Zane’s c**k was oven-hot, his skin as smooth as satin. Trey’s tongue did a happy dance over him.
“God,” Zane moaned, the volume of the cry exciting. His pelvis jerked, shoving half of him inward.
Trey took him eagerly. He discovered this was extra good when you had a thing for the other person, when you weren’t just sucking a c**k but a c**k you’d been dying for. Trey wanted to devour Zane, to pull on him with his mouth until he popped like a champagne cork. His tongue went crazy along his shaft, his hands searching out the sweetest places in the vicinity. His thumbs dug between Zane’s balls, pushing through to where his c**k rooted. Trey loved having his perineum rubbed. Luckily, this wasn’t just a hot zone for him. Zane punched his groin upward.
He groaned Trey’s name, hands urging his head closer.
“Please,” he gasped, totally thrilling him. Trey sucked him harder, and Zane let out a wail.
He came like Trey had, in a burst so big it couldn’t be contained, tremor after tremor milked out by his suckling. His final sigh echoed Trey’s, his fingers combing Trey’s hair over him.
Trey pulled gently up him, leaving one last kiss on the warm wet crown. As if it had been waiting for the salute, his c**k sagged downward immediately afterward.
“Wow.” Zane’s breathing was ragged. “You’re better at that than you gave yourself credit for.”
His hand was on Trey’s shoulder, gripping it like he was a teammate who’d scored a goal. Trey wanted to hug him but decided not to push. He didn’t know what Zane was feeling—apart from more relaxed.
“So,” he said carefully. “You want to try this again tomorrow?”
Zane flashed the devilish grin that made all sorts of heart flutter. “Screw tomorrow. Tonight isn’t over yet.”
CHAPTER TWO
Bad Girl
REBECCA Eilert was dreaming. Same as thousands of other girls, she danced with a famous actor who’d invited her to prom. You look so pretty, he said. There’s no other girl like you. She didn’t believe him. She wasn’t that special, but she liked hearing it. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he rubbed her back. Let’s ask your parents if we can run away.
The fateful words yanked her from her slumber, the slap of reality causing her heart to pound. She had no parents, and she couldn’t run away.
Her mother was dead.
Her father was permanently “off on business.”
Her two seven-year-old brothers only had her to take care of them.
Though no one had celebrated, her sweet sixteen had come and gone yesterday.
Oblivious to her distress, Charlie and Pete were locked in their usual morning war. Who got to use the bathroom first was a favorite squabble, along with Pete’s habit of stealing his twin’s backpack. Charlie knew which one was his because it had no rip in it. When Pete yelled at Charlie for sticking his toe across the duct tape that split their room, Rebecca wanted to yell too.
Their house had three bedrooms. None of them had to share. The problem was, not sharing meant giving up on the pretense that their father would return.
Her final image of him came back to her. He’d been standing by the front door, his overnight bag zipped and bulging by his feet on the penny tile. He was handsome—maybe a little weak, a little less pulled together since his wife had gotten too sick to spoil him. Her funeral had been a week ago to the day.
I can’t handle it, Rebecca, he’d said. Your mom being gone. You. When you try to cling to me like this, all I want to do is run.
He’d actually shuddered. He’d been too disgusted by her needing him to hide his repulsion. In that moment, if there’d been a knife in her hand, she’d have shoved it into his heart.
How dare he make her feel like she was the needy one? Like it was her fault he was abandoning them.
Call child services, he’d said. There’ll be someone who wants the boys.
Clearly, he couldn’t conceive of anyone wanting her.
So it was on her now: taking care of the boys, of herself. As Pete and Charlie’s turf war hit a new crescendo, she yanked her flowered comforter over her head. She wished she could stay under here forever, pretending everything was all right. She knew they were lucky they had the old brick row home. She wouldn’t hold her breath about her dad sending money, but their mother’s insurance payout covered the mortgage. They could keep the house they were used to—even the same bedrooms. As long as no one got sick and the roof didn’t spring a leak, they were safe from starving.
Probably anyway.
On the bright side, she was getting really good at forging Sam Eilert’s signature.
Before her stomach had time to clench, her bedroom door burst open and banged against the wall.
“We’re hungry,” Pete announced, finally in agreement with his brother.