Page 102 of Only the Small Bones
“Boy, get off him, he can’t breathe.” She laughed, but I did this partly because she enjoyed seeing us happy and together after all we’d been through. She moved around the kitchen collecting pots and pans while I gazed down at him. His cheeks were pink, his eyes glassy. I knew if I felt behind his apron I’d find him hard.
“Show some respect,” I whispered playfully, then to my mother I said, “I can’t help it.” I brushed my mouth across his smile. “I love him too much.”
“But don’t forget I loved you too much first,” he quipped.
I groaned. “Hurry up with the food, Momma. I think hunger has made him delusional.”
“Have I said how adorable you two are?”
“All the time,” I told her.
She walked over with a pile of ingredients in her hands. “Okay, while we’re getting the chicken tenders and fries ready, you mix the batter for the double chocolate fudge cake. That oughtta keep you busy.” She set everything on the island, then pulled the recipe from her apron pocket. I got to work, me and Asher stealing glances at each other.
We ate and joked around the dining room table, but decided it was time to leave once my mother and Davidson put the record player on and began slow dancing as if we weren’t there.
After all the stolen glances and kisses Asher and I shared, there was an unspoken rush to get home anyway.
A tangible wave of lust filled the car, but a dark cloud hovered over the interior as well. I turned to Asher at a red light, taking in his folded arms as he stared out his window. I understood his need to descend into his thoughts. We’d had an eventful day, and with all the distractions now out of the way, it was time to process it all.
I pulled into our building’s parking garage less than an hour later. Asher exited the car first, and I took a deep breath before trailing behind him to the elevator.
“You’re in a bad mood,” I said as we stepped on. We moved to opposite sides of the cabin, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.
“No. I’ve just been thinking. No more bad moods for the wrong reasons. What we did today deserves a celebration.”
“Oh? What kind of celebration did you have in mind?” Nothing made me weaker than Asher dressed in all black, and when he reached up to let his hair loose I wanted to fall to my knees. The strands were longer now, the curls more out of control. A corner of his mouth lifted in approval when my cock pitched a tent behind my zipper.
“The kind that starts and ends with you fucking me.” He was more brazen now. He didn’t shy away from waking me at all hours of the night for a quick fuck, or sometimes a long, drawn out one. He made no apologies for demanding sex often. I wouldn’t have accepted those apologies anyway, because I wanted him just as often and as feverishly as he wanted me. His body was my safe place, my home, my place of reverence.Mine to protect. It went both ways, because my cock was his to do with as he pleased.
“Do you want to talk about today first?” I tried not to let my arousal overrule my number one need—to make sure he was alright.
“No, I don’t. When we get inside, I want you to fuck me and not be nice about it. Then we can talk, and then you can make love to me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathed.
Asher started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Don’t,” I said, with an edge to my tone. “I plan on ripping it off of you.”
He swallowed, nodding before stepping off the elevator.
“Head to the dining room,” I said once we entered the apartment. “I’ll be fucking you over the table.”
I grabbed the lube from my bedroom, pulling my cock through my zipper and slicking myself up as I prowled to the dining room. Asher waited by the window, turning at the wet sound of my hand stroking my dick. I stuck the bottle in my back pocket, freeing my hands to do what I promised I would.
Without a word, I approached him, gaining satisfaction from the widening of his eyes. My ego would never grow tired of how my cock affected him, never get enough of the tight fit whenever I slid inside of him. My dick tapped my stomach as my long strides ate up the distance separating us.
“Malcolm,” he breathed as I tore his shirt open. He unconsciously called me that sometimes, in moments when he wasn’t thinking, only feeling. The name no longer bothered me the way it used to. I was even okay with my mother’s occasional lapses now too. It felt like a little piece of me carved out just for them.
Yanking the sleeves off his arms, I grabbed him by the waist to hold him steady. “How many inches do you want tonight?” I ripped open the button at his fly, crouching to roughly remove the skin tight jeans. He wore nothing else underneath.
“How many?” I growled, his erection nearly slapping me in the face when I rose to grab a fistful of his hair. I stroked him from root to tip while he tried to formulate words.
“All of it,” he panted, blushing a brilliant shade of red.
“You think you can handle all of it tonight?” I whispered, biting down on his cheek. “Or are you in the mood to hurt for it?” Talking like this didn’t trigger him. He was clear on my intentions, clear about who I was, and who we were to each other.
“T-two fingers.” He moaned, his nails digging into my forearm. “N-no more than two fingers.” It typically took at leastfour to get him ready. He wanted a tight squeeze. He wanted to choke on his pleasure as I entered him.
