Page 18 of Borden 3

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Dinner eaten, I’d hardly finished cleaning up my Caesar salad mess in the kitchen when the front door opened. Lincoln came racing into the house. The fucking place was so damn big, it took him eons to reach the kitchen. He was in a fit of giggles, crashing into the dining chairs before his sticky hands wrapped around my bare legs.

“Mommy, can I have more chocolate?”

“What do you mean ‘more’?”

I looked down at him and froze. His face was covered in dried ice cream. It was in his hair and all over his shirt and somehow there were dry lines of ice cream flowing down his legs.

What the—

“First of all,” I said, holding back a laugh. “You know your cut off point for chocolate is three. Secondly, who the heck gave you ice cream? I know it wasn’t Granny.”

As if realising he was busted, his eyes bulged open. “No one!”

“Lincoln…”

“Snitches get stitches!” And then he took off running again. I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head at the damn line Borden taught him a long time ago.

“I want you in the bathroom!” I called out. “You’re having a bath and then it’s bedtime, young man!”

He screamed some kind of non-committal response, his quick steps climbing up the staircase. I put my hands on my hips, waiting quite impatiently for Borden’s appearance. I would scold him and he would say something witty back. Our banter before I yearned for his kiss and his hands and his hardening cock against my belly.

For some reason he was taking longer than usual. I heard his footsteps, slow and scattered, drawing closer. As the seconds passed, my comedic stance faltered. I dropped my arms just as he appeared. My smile slid off my face as his eyes found mine. When he looked at me, there was always a spark in his gaze. Like he was suddenly alert and ravenous for me, and while that spark was present, something heavy shadowed his features.

“Hey,” I whispered softly. “You alright?”

He ignored my words and simply came to me. Without warning, his mouth crashed against mine and his arms looped around my body. He pulled me into him, pressing himself against every inch of me. He didn’t relent, like he was still trying to get closer.

His kiss was needy. His touch groping. His fingers dug into my meaty flesh, and he clung to me like he didn’t want to let go. Or he didn’t want me to let go.

Then he finally pulled back, but he kept his eyes shut. His forehead pressed against mine. I looked up at him, my lips swollen as my gaze traced along his parted mouth.

I knew if I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t answer just yet. Borden always needed time to absorb his thoughts. He wasn’t in a dark place. He was hurting.

“What can I do to make it better?” I asked him.

“Be with me,” he answered. “Never leave me, Doll.”

My heart squeezed. I almost lost my breath, the shock of his words, spoken with such rare vulnerability, hitting me. I brushed my lips against his. “I’m yours, Marcus.”

He trailed behind me as I bathed Link and tucked him into bed. Borden hovered by the doorway, wordlessly watching as I read a quick story to Link. The little man was crashing hard from his sugar high. He blinked slowly as I read to him, until finally his eyes closed and didn’t open.

“You’re a good mum, Emma,” Borden said simply. It wasn’t conversational. He spoke it like a simple fact. “I love that you’re the mother of my son, you know that?”

A warm smile spread across my face as I looked up at him, still leaning against the doorway, his gigantic frame startling in the dim lighting. He could look so fucking ominous.

“And you’re a good dad.”

Borden blinked slowly, saying nothing back. He looked at me a moment longer and then he turned, walking down the hallway to our bedroom.

When I walked in after him, he was already undressing. “Take it off, Emma,” he demanded. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

I didn’t argue with him.

I undressed, letting my clothes fall to the floor.

My desire for Borden was like a bottomless cup. I was never full; my thirst was never quenched. My body was familiar with his size, with his touch, with his gentle but often brutal strokes. Yet it didn’t prepare me for him. Not at all.

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