Page 224 of The Holy Grail
“And I love you.”
With the feeling returning to his legs, he decided to get up and join Evan in the bathroom. As Malcom got off the bed, Jules grabbed a corner of the ‘sex’ blanket and began wiping herself off, blowing him a kiss as she did.
Evan had already gotten the bath water running and was adding Epsom salts when Malcom came in. Silently, he went to the double vanity, and as he stood there, gazing at himself in the mirror, he could see Evan watching. Malcom was a little surprised he didn’t look any different, because he felt like a completely different person, and wondered if he looked different to anyone else.
Finished with the salts, Evan came to stand behind Malcom, hugging him from behind. “Are you okay? You look like you’re trying to figure something out.”
“I am, actually,” Malcom murmured. “I feel profoundly different, and yet, I don’t look any different, do I?”
“Yes, you do. You look more … confident. More comfortable in your own skin.” Evan met Malcom’s eyes in the mirror. “Even if you can’t see it, I can.”
As they stood there, entwined and naked, Malcom wanted to believe it, more than anything. “That was …” he trailed off, every word coming to mind sounding trite. Great? Wonderful? Amazing? All garbage words to describe a life-changing experience. “Thank you,” he finally said, instead.
Evan didn’t know whether to be amused or bemused. “You’re welcome,” he returned, only to add, “But what exactly, are you thanking me for?”
“For giving me my first ‘bottom’ experience,” Malcom said simply. “I’m glad it was you.”
“Me, too. And I can’t wait to give you your first ‘top’ experience, too.”
“You really want that?” Malcom asked. “I know you don’t bottom very often—”
“No, I don’t, but I absolutely want you to fuck me. A fully interactive triad, remember?”
Then, turning slightly, Evan pressed his lips firmly to Malcom’s, kissing him as an intimate lover, which is how Jules found them a few moments later.
“Which one of you is going to get me off?” she wanted to know, leaning against the doorjamb
“Who says it’s only going to be one of us?” Evan countered with a knowing smirk.
“Hmm … good answer.”
Chapter 75
What an asshole
“How have you been since Monroe died?” Lauren asked Malcom, her expression full of compassion.
It had been two days since the funeral, and more than a week since the last session with Evan, and Malcom felt extremely jittery, mainly because he’d been sleeping for shit. Last night, he’d actually started baking cookies after Jules fell asleep, and when Evan got home at 3:00 a.m., he’d had to force Malcom to go to bed.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t be forced to sleep.
To his horror—and mortification—Malcom felt his eyes prickling and before he could stop it, a few tears gathered and fell, which he angrily wiped away. “These aren’t because Monroe is dead. It’s because I’m exhausted and feeling really pissed off, which isn’t a good combination.”
“Do you want to tell me why you’re really pissed off?”
“Well, the main reason is because I’ve been doing all this work so I could tell him to go fuck himself, and he goddamndiesbefore I get to say any of it. I mean, what an asshole.” Malcom heaved a giant sigh and rubbed at his face, thankful all traces of tears were gone. “I don’t know what to do with all this anger. I’m so fucking pissed I didn’t have the balls to confront him when he was alive. He just keeps winning, even though he’s dead.”
“We never got around to talking about it, but how were you envisioning your meeting with him going?”
“Well … I pictured it many different ways, actually. In one scenario, he slams the door in my face and I don’t get to say what I want. In another, I barge into his office and tell him everything I want to say, loud enough for his colleagues to overhear—and I know that one is a bit over the top, but it was fun to picture it.”
“Of course.”
“The most ridiculous scenario, though, plays out like a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, and takes place in Monroe’s penthouse. I’m the Clint Eastwood character, wearing the leather poncho for effect, and as I’m in the elevator, heading to the top floor, that theme music is playing overhead—you know what I’m talking about?”
“I do.” Lauren’s expression was amused. “Are you smoking one of those brown cigarettes?”
“No, but that would have been a nice touch, had I thought of it,” he said. “Anyway, after I pound on his door and he opens it, I push my way in and verbally unload on him. Every time he tries to interrupt, I just talk over him, because fuck him. I say what I want to say, tell him to go fuck himself with whatever sharp object comes to mind right at that moment, then I leave, with him leaning against a wall, completely destroyed. As I’m heading down in the elevator—which I conveniently don’t have to wait for—the theme music plays again and everything fades to black.”
