Page 16 of We Own Each Other

As the check hit the table, though I already knew he was going to pay, I put on my best withering look, digging through my pocket for a wallet I knew wasn’t there. With a sigh, Everett pulled out his own wallet, waving me away.

“Stop the theatrics. I got you this time.”

“Thank you, my dear, dear friend—”

“Stop. Seriously.” Huffing, he held up a couple of fingers, tapping them as he listed off my next steps. “Just get a job, prove you’re a stable guy, and then… I hate saying be yourself because you are so obnoxious, but he was attracted to you for a reason. So…” with a sigh, he set his card down in the tray with the check, and then wagged his fingers and rolled his eyes, “be yourself.”

I beamed.

“I can only be myself, my friend. Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes again. I was beginning to worry they might roll back and not come back down.

“Sure. Next time you’re buying.”

“Of course.”

Though I doubted there would be a next time. I had what I needed. Once I won over Corin, I would never need to meet for things like this ever again.

He was going to be mine.

Part Four

Corin

CHAPTER FIVE

LUKE WAS VERY enthusiastic.

It was to the point of obsession.

But… I kind of liked it.

It was an interesting change of pace. Since I usually played the Sub in all my prior relationships, and I was an unfortunately unimpressive one, I was the one who reached out and begged for attention. To have a man like Luke being the one to reach out, and constantly, was refreshing.

I especially enjoyed the gradual transitions of his messages.

In the morning, it was your typical:

Good morning, beautiful

Usually accompanied by a tasteful picture of his morning wood, or at least a mirror selfie — with his disheveled hotel room behind him — as he clutched the bulging front of his sweatpants. It was a stimulating way to start my day, to say the least.

We’d exchange pleasantries by text throughout my workday. He would occasionally send more pictures, much less provocative ones, like of his lunch or him out and about in town. I got the sense that he didn’t have much going on in his life, besides me, which made me feel all the more important.

Then, we’d hit the evening, and those text messages would steadily morph into something else. The texts were evolving into something primal and carnal. Just after dinner, I received the first text message:

Take your shirt off.

Unfortunately, commands didn’t work that well over text. Still, I could hear his voice, deep and resonant, scraping along the sensitive canal of my inner ear — scratching an itch that I hadn’t even noticed. Carefully, with trembling fingers, I unbuttoned my top, letting it fall off my upper body.

As if he were watching me, the next text buzzed in.

Lick your fingers, then rub your nipples.

The prospect of rubbing my nipples with my own saliva was sad and lonely in a way, and that light, solitary humiliation was just enough to make them perk up. I did as I was told, lapping at the pads of my fingers until they were glistening before brushing them against my taut peaks.

My mouth was burning hot, yet from my gaping maw to the flesh of my nipples, my spit had grown cold. The cold was a sharp pain, piercing through my buds. It was a shock that radiated through my spine, and after the initial tremor, it left me frozen as I mewled out of both pain and pleasure.