Oh well. Such is life. I’m used to hiding my truest self away from everyone by now. Well, besides her anyway.
Given when she texted me last, she should be home any minute, so I head into the kitchen next to start ladling us both some supper from the crockpot. I don’t care if it was hot as balls out there today, hoofing it door-to-door in the hot June sun, Lo’s crockpot lasagna always hits the spot—something I’d never dare say in front of my nonna. I rifle around in the pantry, hoping our growing boy didn’t scarf up the garlic knots as an after-school snack already.
Good news: Brody either didn’t want them, or he didn’t find them. My bet is on the latter. He may not be my biological son, but he sure does have a carb-tooth like mine.
Just then, the front door swings open. Lo sweeps in, setting her bag and keys down in the entryway. Her gaze settles below my waist, upon stepping into the kitchen. “Oooh, I like that one! Works well with your olive skin tone too.”
I shimmy a little, letting the fabric sway on my thighs. “You think so?”
She steps into my side, giving me a gentle squeeze. “I do! You look great in it, babe.”
I give her a lop-sided grin. “Thank you. Anywho,” I hum, changing topics and swatting her ass playfully. “Go get out of your fancy work clothes. I’ll dish you up some supper. We can eat, and you can tell me how your day went.”
She fixes me with a snarky grin. “You got fancied up tonight, why can’t I be?”
“Do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me when I can’t get sauce stains out of your blouse. I may be the laundry wizard in this house, but my magic only goes so far.”
She pops a shoulder. “Alright, fairpoint there.”
“That’s what I thought. Go get changed.”
As she walks off, she continues talking. “So, we’ve got the house to ourselves,” she notes. Then, because she is who she is, she—just as casually as if she were talking about the weather—adds, “Wanna sit on my dick tonight?”
Her strap-on. She’s referring to her giant, purple strapless strap-on.She—not me, mind you—named it Eggplant Earl, and yes, she thoroughly enjoys pegging me with it.
“I mean, I guess…” I respond.
She pops her head out of the bedroom, her hair now up in a loose messy bun, and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not twisting your arm, Marcus. I’m going to go to town with my toys either way. The question is, do you want to get off too?”
It has been a few months since my side-guy, Micah, and I broke off our arrangement, so yeah, I guess I do. But I know Lo, and she wants more certainty from me than my nonchalance. Enthusiastic consent, for obvious reasons, is huge in our house—in all facets of our lives. “Yes. I wouldloveto sit on your dick tonight.”
She steps out of the room wearing nothing but one of my old band shirts, which she practically could swim in. Though she’s roughly eight inches shorter than my six-foot-four—still, fairly tall for a woman—she’s built a lot more modestly than I am. Where I’m all bulk (and probably a few too many pastries), she’s slightly curvy with an hourglass figure. Don’t get me wrong, she’s taken some self-defense classes at the gym, so she’s got quite a bit of musculature as well, but she’s—I dunno—shaped like a woman, for lack of a better description.
Duh, Marcus.Sheisone, for crying out loud. One who used to absolutely radiate confidence and body-positivity for herself until she was preyed upon and had that self-assurance ripped away by someoneunconscionably vile. Seeing her bury herself in the baggiest, most unflattering clothing after that—hiding her stunning self away—made me both sad and angry for her at the same time.
It wasyearsbefore she was comfortable enough in her skin to start wearing more form-fitting clothing again, let alone to seek out intimacy. Getting Lauren past her touch aversion was painful to go through—watching her struggle to ask for and receive physical affection—but she insisted that we keep plugging away at it. We’re now at a place where she initiates it on her own, and I am constantly in awe of the work she puts in to better herself.
Eventually, she did break down and state that she was ready for sex again, not just self-care with her toys, but she only felt comfortable with doing itwith me. And she only wanted to do it if she could top me, likely so she could feel in control of the situation. Understandably so.
Her pegging me is one hundred percent something I got on board with though, because, while Icouldgo both ways, I very much enjoy bottoming. This tends to shock the guys I’ve slept with too, though I’m not sure why. If I had to venture a guess, it’s because no one can picture a man of my stature and build not chomping at the bit to be the top. Well, guess what? While I don't mind topping, this bear prefers bottoming, and I’m all about taking norms and tossing them right in the trash.
Secretively, of course. Because in reality… I’m a great big scaredy cat.
Lauren’s concerned expression drags me out of my thoughts, and back into the present. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looks down at the shirt. “Are you looking at me like that because I’m wearing your shirt? I hate to break it to you, but in case you haven’t noticed, I wear them literally all the time…”
“Lo, you know I love it when you wear my shirts. Makes me feel all possessive andgrr.”
She snorts. “You are not agrr-inggrizzly. Sorry, not sorry, if that bursts any bubbles, but you’re a big, soft teddy.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you calling me pudgy and hairy?”
Her lips thin and she rolls her eyes. “No, I was commenting on your personality. You worry about your appearance far too much for a man who is as attractive as you are, you know?”
I scoff.
