Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Marshall hooks his finger beneath my chin, leans over, and presses a quick kiss to my lips. My parents don’t look away like they did in the beginning, and I don’t feel the uncertainty either. I was never unsure about Marshall and me, but the situation was awkward. All that has faded to the background now—there’s nothing strange about our relationship.
“Did your boyfriend tell you I kicked his ass in pickleball?” Dad asks me.
“Did your father tell you he’s a gloating asshole?” Marshall counters.
I raise my brows, then turn to Marshall. “Is that why you were so grumpy this morning when you got home?”
“I wasn’t grumpy, and if I was, it wouldn’t have had anything to do with losing and everything to do with his incessant bragging.”
We share another round of laughter.
“Poor Marsh doesn’t like to lose,” Mom jokes.
“Well, I so rarely do, I’m simply not used to it.”
“That’s my man.” I reach over and place my hand on his leg. If we’d been alone or with someone else, I would have called him my Sir, but we keep that to ourselves around them. There’s no shame in our lifestyle, but we also want to be respectful of my parents; plus, if you ask me, the less they know about those parts of our relationship, the better.
We finish our meal, then play a game of cards before Mom and Dad are ready to go home. I’ve met a few people at school as well, who come over to hang out with Marshall and me sometimes. He makes a point to get out more now, to do more, even with people at work. There were a few raised eyebrows the first time we showed up at a work function together—I’m sure because of the age gap. But the world will always be full of judgmental people, those who can’t just live and let live, wanting everyone to spend their lives the way someone else deems it best. It’s exhausting sometimes.
“I love you.” Mom hugs me.
“Let me know when you want to meet up and get your ass kicked again,” Dad tells Marshall, who gives my father the middle finger, before the two of them embrace as well. Not for the first time, I say a silent thank-you that everything turned out well. Seeing Marshall with my dad is the best kind of joy, and I’m so damn grateful he didn’t lose that.
The second the door closes behind them, Sir wraps his arms around me. “Does my sweet boy want to play tonight?”
I tremble. “Your sweet boy very much does.”
Marshall takes me upstairs and has his way with me, making my toes curl. And when we’re finished, sweaty and sated and wrapped in each other’s arms, we talk and laugh, enjoying each other in ways that are ours and ours alone.
When my eyelids get heavy and I can barely hold them open, Marshall whispers, “Mine…always…”
“Mine always too.” And then I drift off to sleep.