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He snorted. “What are you gonna do? Get even?” “Fuck yes, I am.” I pulled on his shirt collar to get a look at his neck. The marks I’d left there were gone. “No one lays a finger on you but me.”
“But it kinda is my business. If I’m gonna come here and rail you twice a week as hard as you like it, I need to know you can handle it.”
Pretty sure he knew what I did to his owner twice a week, and he was not impressed.
“Nope. Telling you what to do makes me horny.” I pushed the plate away and my empty coffee cup, making room on the table in front of me. “Get your arse over here and give me your dick.”
I wanted him to be such a whore for me, to beg for it.
“Such a good whore.” His dick twitched, so yeah, he fucking liked
And him sleeping in my bed . . . I’d never slept so soundly.
All the money in the world couldn’t buy us love.
God, he didn’t even know I was gay, let alone about my perversion for humiliation and degradation.
I just really liked getting held down and deep-dicked by a guy who was hung like a horse. If he called me names while he held me down, even better.
“We’ve lost another one, boys.” He made the sign of the cross with his beer bottle. “RIP Marshall Wise. The man-whore lives no more.”
They all raised their beers like it was some farewell salute to the fallen.
I couldn’t resist having a little jab. “Are you jealous? When they said I had a boyfriend, did you think it was someone else?”
And another jab. “Did you think it was the end of our agreement? Were you sad?”
He seethed. “I would miss one part of you.” His gaze drew down to my dick and back up. “And nothing else.” I laughed. “Liar.”
“Your work crew are most likely watching.” “One hundred percent chance of that, yes. They’re probably taking bets to see if one of us throws a punch. Odds will be in my favour, just so you know.”
“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I fully intend to let you win.”
“Did you come here for anything work related? Or just to see me? Did you miss me? Wanna make it three nights a week?”
If he wanted to play stupid games, he would win stupid prizes. Bring on seven o’clock.
‘walk in, put a load in you, and leave’ but the sentiment’s the same.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, a low guttural rumble. I slid my hand up his thigh. “Good boy.”
God, if only he knew . . . If he only knew the hold he had on me.
“The only thing that will be inside you tonight is me.”
“Look at me while I fuck you.”
“Such a good little whore,” I rasped out.
“My cock has never wanted arse like it wants yours.”
I wanted to make him smile. I wanted to fix him.
His eyes met mine. “So it’s like a work bromance,” he said, nodding. “But the b is silent.”
“Why did you hit their number four?” “Because he deserved it. And I fucking told him too. When he was a puddle of blood on the field, I fucking told him it was for you. Because fuck him.”
“He put a hit on you and no one fucking touches you but me.”
“You know what? I’m not fucking sorry about that either. I am the only one who can touch you, and if any fucker thinks they can hurt you, I’ll send them to hospital too. I don’t give a fuck. I protect what’s mine.
I protect what’s mine. He said I was his.
I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth. I hated that he did this, that he played the let’s-feed-Valentine game, but damn, part of me loved it too.
That if I can sit here and be all sweet with you, then that means I can’t throw you down and fuck you hard. But, rest assured Valentine, I can do both.”
I happen to like using your body as a fuck-toy, and I need it in good working order.
“Every time your father calls you, I’m gonna eat your arse, because fuck him.” He pressed his erection against my arse crack. “I would fuck you while you speak to him, but you make the most obscene noises.”
He took a fistful of my hair and made me look at our reflection, at him bending over me, pressing against me. Dominating me. Owning me. “Watch me fuck you.”
“He can’t be by himself for the rest of the day,” I’d said, holding Enzo to my chest. “What kind of cat-dad are you?” Enzo and I both gave him a look of horror.
Is that . . . is that Rocky? I snorted. He likes it. He also likes rotten fish, so make of that what you will.
You are so fucking sexy. My marks on your skin are hot.
It was just for me. He was just for me.
“Pretty sure he saw what you did to me over the back of the sofa, so . . .” I laughed. “That was some of my finest work.”
“And if you wear this shirt, it’s like you’re saying Marshall did this, and no one but us will know.”
“You want me to wear something that identifies me as yours,” I asked, my voice quiet.
“I like it when you mark me,” I admitted. “Hickeys, bite marks.”
I was resilient and self-sufficient. I’d anchored myself to withstand any storm. Until him.
“Yes,” he said. “I knew you liked me, my little guy. I didn’t mean it about the nuggets. Of course I’ll get you some.”
And if you wear this shirt, it’s like you’re saying Marshall did this, and no one but us will know.
You showed me what was possible, and what I could have. And what I’ll miss when you leave me. What I will never find again.
I looked twice at the little balloons and decided that was too stupid, got to the end of the aisle, and went back for the stupid balloon because fuck that too. And a stupid bouquet of stupid supermarket flowers at the checkout. Because fuck that as well.
