Page 36 of Over and Above

His thrusts lost any sort of rhythm or finesse as he came on a shout. Going for extra credit, I gave his cock another firm squeeze, making him moan again. To my surprise, the ass aerobics teased another volley of come out of my spent cock, dribbling onto the bed.

Ordinarily, the mess on the bed would make me wince as Magnus untangled our bodies and took care of the condom. However, I was so blissfully fucked out that I barely had the energy to grab the towel he lobbed at me. I blotted at the puddle of cum before deciding I didn’t care how sticky and sweaty I was and collapsing onto the mattress.

“Don’t even think about moving.” Magnus yawned, settling himself behind me. “That shower of mine is a crime. You’re staying put.”

He wrapped a possessive arm around me, and I purred like a damn cat.

“You’ll have to kick me out before dawn, but no way am I navigating those steps anytime soon.”

“Exactly. I’m keeping you right here.” He kissed the back of my neck, which was damp with cooling sweat, not that he seemed to care in the least. “Heck, we might even have time for another round before sunrise.”

I clenched my ass, testing that suggestion. My cock gave a hopeful surge. I’d likely regret my boldness tomorrow, but at the moment, a sequel sounded brilliant.

“Promises, promises.” I said the words lightly, but the spoken and unspoken promises between us were starting to stack up, making it harder to pretend this was casual. Unwilling to let that thought take hold, I faked a yawn, tricking my body back to that sleepy post-sex haze. The only promise I truly wanted was that we could keep doing exactly this.

Chapter Nineteen

Magnus

My dogs were missing. However, unlike in the past when I’d been worried sick over what the Hound-ini escape artists were up to, this time I had a pretty good where they were, especially since I was home early for a Thursday, with a little wisp of fading light, which was no small thing in the Pacific Northwest in early November. The air was crisp like a bracing glass of cold cider and dry leaves swirled around my feet on my short walk from the carriage house to the main house.

I did my usual thing of knocking at the kitchen door, but the only reply was the barking of my missing dogs.

“Oh hey, Magnus.” John, the football kid I seldom saw, opened the kitchen door. “Just in time for dinner.”

“I’m looking for my dogs.” The dogs in question darted for the dining room, no doubt in search of falling food scraps. I followed John past the kitchen to find a lively dinner underway with Maren, Diesel, Wren, and Eric.

“And so we should host Thanksgiving,” Maren said forcefully as I entered the room. She speared a piece of broccoli before waving at me. “Magnus! I was telling my dad we need to host Thanksgiving this year. A big one. You, Diesel, all of us, any friends who need a place to go?—”

“Or an escape,” Eric added as he greeted me with only his eyes, a nifty trick he was getting quite good at. We’d developed more of an unspoken code since deciding to be exclusive. It made interacting around others easier. “Jonas would likely come here regardless if we host, but Declan might appreciate the excuse not to go to Sean’s parents.”

“Exactly.” Maren gave a firm nod. She gestured for me to sit in the open chair near Eric. “Grab a plate, Magnus. There’s plenty.”

“I don’t want to impose. I only came by for the dogs,” I demurred, but John was already handing me a plate heaped with a Mexican-inspired casserole, broccoli, and a side of refried beans. “Well, I guess I could stay a bit.”

“Good.” Maren beamed at me, even as Eric’s response was more subdued. But our eyes met again, and the subtle warmth there made me settle into my chair and start eating.

“You’re not working the dinner shift?” Eric asked, tone casually conversational as he reached to pet one of my traitorous dogs.

“Nope. Training a new manager for the holiday rush, and she needs more practice closing before the busy season hits.” I’d also known Eric was off tonight, and I’d had a vague plan to go home, shower, and see if he was up for sneaking over or watching something after dinner and homework time, but I wasn’t about to share that reasoning with the table.

“I wonder if Marissa’s family does Thanksgiving,” Maren mused as she reached for more broccoli. She wore a maternity shirt with a pumpkin covering her growing baby bump, and the nausea she’d struggled with all summer had vanished like the heat, replaced by an impressive appetite. “I assume so, but I should ask.”

“You want to invite your midwife to Thanksgiving?” Eric paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He continued to be skeptical of the home-birth plan, but Maren was full-steam ahead on the idea, including welcoming Marissa as another member of the family.

“Why not?” Maren shrugged, making the cartoon quote on her shirt dance. “And unless you want to miss the dinner, remember to ask off for the day. No volunteering to cover for others.”

“Okay.” Eric huffed out a breath, clearly making an effort to drop the Marissa and midwife discussion. “I’m trying to stockpile some leave for after the baby is here, but I won’t volunteer to work Thanksgiving.”

“Now, let’s talk turkey.” At the far end of the table, Wren rubbed their hands together like they’d been waiting for the opportunity. “I have theories…”

“Please, no cooking experiments.” Groaning, John pointed his fork at Wren. “I want to eat the turkey, not dissect it.”

“Edible would be a priority,” Maren agreed.

“Wren, would you consider letting me help with the turkey?” I asked before anyone else could jump in with complaints about Wren’s kitchen chemistry.

“We do work well together,” Wren continued with their analytical tone. “And you have a proper respect for Maren’s prenatal nutrition. Yes, you can help. But we’re going to need a strategy for the side dishes.”

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