Page 76 of Burn the Script

Grabbing the front of his hoodie, I yank him toward me and smack a kiss on his puffy lips. “I care. The next time won’t end the way it did in Costa Rica. Our lives will be flipped upside down, so learn to control your impulses.”

“Yes, darling.” His smile spreads wider, like it does every time we mention that harrowing day.

“And fix your damn hat,” I say, buckling my seatbelt.

I do a really poor job of keeping the grin off my face while he opens the gate from an app on his phone. Today has been full of surprises and baby steps, and I can’t identify a single regret.

Entering the code, he asks, “Is it too late to say I’m sorry about Costa Rica?”

My laughter fills the air, and I shake my head. “Don’t even bother. You’re not sorry at all.”

Still smiling, Graham turns his head toward me and shrugs. “Maybe a tiny bit.”

32

GRAHAM

THEN

August, Year Four

The thin rug beneath me was bunched in my fists. Miguel’s throat flexed around my cock, and I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t allowed to touch him, move, or make a sound until he licked the pineapple jam off my stomach and chest. He hadn’t reached those parts of my body yet, taking his sweet time below the waist.

The owner of the villa we rented in Costa Rica left a container of empanadas on the front porch that morning. Miguel insisted on saving them for his afternoon snack. I was the snack.

As he knelt between my legs, he popped off my dick and gasped for air. Drool dangled from his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand while the other one worked my prostate with a titanium wand. I whimpered. Couldn’t help it.

He smirked, victorious and cute and rude. “Do you need to be fucked, baby?”

Yes! I screamed the answer inside my head.

I could’ve cried when he unsnapped the front of his pink jockstrap. He’d been prancing around in it for hours, teasing me with how it framed his tight, perfect ass. Every time I tried bending him over a surface, he would swat me away like I was a pesky gnat. But we were finally getting somewhere.

Miguel pumped lube into his hand and stroked his cock as he crawled forward, dragging his tongue up the center of my sticky stomach. When he licked the pineapple jam off the first nipple, my body broke the rules and reacted, spine arching and eyes rolling back in my head. I bit my lip to suppress a moan.

“You’re being so good for me,” he whispered, breath fanning my skin as he switched to the other nipple. “So patient.” He sucked hard, trapping the sensitive bud between his lips. “Patience gets rewarded. Grab your knees.”

My knees were touching my shoulders before he could remove the wand from my ass. I was desperate to have him. And as he pushed in, we both moaned from the exquisite feeling of his thick cock stretching me.

Miguel always started out with slow, shallow thrusts, and that day was no exception. “Feels good?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I chanted.

He gripped the back of my thigh in one hand and my leaking dick in the other while punching his hips, driving deeper.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” he demanded.

“So pretty. The prettiest prince when you’re fucking me.”

Moaning, he leaned down as I lifted my head to meet him halfway. Instead of kissing me, he captured my bottom lip and sunk his teeth into it. I nearly came.

Miguel broke character, speaking softly against my panting breaths, a smile teasing his lips. “You love this. Being in the wild does something to you. You wanted to break all my rules.”

We weren’t in the wild, but close enough. Heliconia plants surrounded us in the living room. For our inaugural trip to Costa Rica without friends, I asked the property owner to have some potted and brought inside, sparing no expense. The plants were Miguel’s favorite and played into my outdoor sex fantasies.

“Yes, but I followed the rules. I’ve been good.”

He leaned back, his expression hardening as he flexed his authority again. “Not good enough. My wild boy needs to be tamed.”