Page 91 of Imperfect Player

“Mmhmm. I will too. I’ll take you deeper and faster. Swirl my tongue around you.”

“Oh fuck.”

“You like that, baby? You like when I suck your cock? You want to come in my mouth?”

“Oh . . . fuck . . . ”

Ethan emits curses and groans as the pleasure takes him over.

“Fuck, sunshine. That was amazing.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“And?”

“And I’m not sure if it helped or made me want you more.”

Ethan chuckles. “You can have me all you want tomorrow. Right now, I need to clean up this mess you made.”

“Night, Ethan.”

“Night, sunshine.”

My soggy bowl of cereal sits next to my bed as I slide down under the covers, clutch my phone to my chest, and think about all the inappropriate things we just did.

Chapter 25

Ethan

It’s been a shit week.

First the losses.

Then the flight delay.

Now as I take the final few steps to my building, the week gets even worse.

He’s here. Again.

“What the fuck is it going to take to get rid of you?”

It’s not until I say the words that I notice the little boy at his side.

I’m that much more fucking grateful that I had a drink at the airport before I left.

Not because of my dad but rather because of the little boy staring me in the face. The port in his shoulder is visible through his t-shirt. The exhausted look in his eyes is hard to miss, as is the smile on his face when he realizes who he’s looking at.

“This is Ben,” my dad tells me. “My son.”

My eyes fall to Ben, the boy from the photo, then back up to my dad. He nods his head to confirm what he said is the truth. That the resemblance I can see for myself isn’t just a trick of my eyes.

Ben’s smile stretches from ear to ear as he says, “You’re Ethan Ambrose. I’m you’re biggest fan.”

Fan. Not brother like my dad indicated to me. His son. Ben. The son he loved enough to keep, to raise.

While Ben might be looking at me with these big eyes filled with awe and admiration, he isn’t looking at me like I’m his brother. Or half-brother. Or however in the hell that shit works. Which means that he doesn’t know about me anymore than I knew about him. Until recently.

My heart can’t take looking at the kid, but I can’t handle hurting him either. He’s not a part of this. It isn’t his fault that I wasn’t good enough, that my parents didn’t want me.

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