“Tell us what happened,” Fox suggests, squeezing my hip where his hand rests on it. There is plenty of seating in the living room even with the twelve tables in here, but my seat is always on Fox’s lap, and since this is the only place I really want to be, I encourage his submission to being my chair by wiggling my ass on his dick while I type. He enjoys it. Bellamy huffs because he doesn’t have a lap to sit in. I stop typing out my narrative and look at my son, then at Fox, and because Fox is actually everything a mute boy could possibly ask for, we both look back at Bellamy and Fox pats my
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