Page 101 of Mother Parker
He raised his hips as he slammed into me a couple of times before I was filled with his hot seed, branding me with its presence and marking me as his and only his.
There was no point running from it anymore.
That was what I was. Whether I liked it or not.
His.
He only closed his eyes for two seconds, two moments to catch his breath, and then he was on me, stroking me, massaging my crown, a thumb over my slit, smearing my precum, and dragging out the orgasm that had been holding off at the back of my throat.
My toes curled and my eyes rolled so far back I almost saw stars, and with a whimper that was way too embarrassing, I let go, coloring his skin milky white.
“I’m sorry,” I said, falling into the crook of his shoulders and planting a kiss as I tried to regain composure.
“What for? Iwastrying to make you come,” he replied, pulling me down, pushing his cock deeper into me as it lost some of its volume and length but none of its verve, and I’d be damned if that didn’t make me gasp.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “The way I moan. How quickly I come. How stupid I am.”
A hand crawled up to my head, grabbed a fist full of wig, and pulled me back until he could look into my eyes.
“There’snothingto be sorry for. You’re perfect. Everything you do is perfect. Everything you are is perfect. Okay? And you’re not stupid. You’re my boba boy, and with God as my witness, I’ll catch whoever is behind this bullshit, and they’ll regret the day they made you feel like that and the day they were born.”
I puffed my chest under his intense, unwavering gaze and nodded.
He pulled me back to his neck, and we stayed there, curled into each other until I felt him grow inside me again some half hour later, and he fucked me again. And again. And again.
By the time morning came, I was sure there was more cum inside me than blood, but I couldn’t be certain.
And even though I was tired and my entire body ached, I was…
I was happy.
TWENTY-ONE
HWAN
When I finally hauled ass downstairs, Elliot was already there doing the morning prep and the entire shop smelled of fresh-cooked tapioca that I gladly breathed in.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Elliot. Did you have a good time yesterday?” I asked him as I made a bubble tea for the big sleepy lump upstairs.
“It was okay, Mr. Kim—erm, Hwan,” he replied.
“Aw, I’m glad. I bet you’re stuffed full of turkey.”
He shrugged, and I put the lid on the shaker.
“Not so much. I just had a noodle cup and watched the game in my room,” he said.
“Oh wow. Really? Are you not a fan of Thanksgiving, or is it the turkey? I find it does get a bit dry, so I’m not a big fan either.”
“Uh, eh, no. No. I love turkey. But my brother isn’t really big on cooking, and he was busy and…yeah. Did you have fun, Mr. Kim?”
“Oh, I had a great time. There was so much food. So much laughter. If I’d known you were gonna spend it alone in your room, I would have told you to come with us.”
Elliot blushed, smiled, and then scratched the back of his head.
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Kim. I don’t mind.”
I did, but there was not much I could do now. I would definitely invite him over for Christmas if he would otherwise spend it eating Chinese in his bedroom.
