More than anything, I liked that he knew we were going to go. I liked that he already knew better than to argue with me, and I liked that he let me be in charge. I’d worried it would only work when I had him beaten and laid open, but he was in his own space, completely free of my control and he still agreed. He still complied.
“Let’s go see what kind of toys you have, Golden.” I pulled him off the couch and gave him an easy push out of the living room. I followed him to his bedroom and straight to his closet. He opened the double doors up and dug out a small box, dropping it on the bed for my approval.
“I don’t want a toy,” he grumbled, the only fight he would give me. “I want you.”
“You’ve had a lot of me, don’t you think?” I flipped the lid off the box and peered down to see the ways Golden liked to get himself off when he was alone. “I’ve spent a lot of time inside you this week.”
He let out a breath.
“Why do you want to come?” I asked, mentally trying to decide if I was going to let him or not.
“Because I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin,” he muttered. “I haven’t felt right in the head since Sharp handed me that folder with your damn face in it. The only time anything makes sense is when…”
He trailed off, but I knew what he meant because I felt the same. My life had been turned upside down when I got stabbed at the bar, and the only thing that seemed to be right since then were the times I’d been with Golden. It didn’t make sense, and it definitely wasn’t healthy, but it was all we had.
The decision made, I picked up the box and cradled it in the crook of my arm.
“Hands and knees,” I said, pointing toward the bed. “Pants off.”
Golden kicked my sweats off his legs, pulled off his shirt, and climbed onto the bed. He looked like sin on his hands and knees, that round ass of his on display, teasing me with the shadow of his well-fucked asshole. He was a fucking sight. I pulled what I needed out of the box and climbed on the bed behind him, kneading his ass in my hands.
A deep groan tumbled out of my mouth and I leaned close to him, burying my nose in his crack and taking a deep breath. I shivered, the smell of him was utterly intoxicating. I kissed him next, a soft press of my lips against my favorite part of him. Golden shivered and I kissed him again, this time with tongue.
I loved eating ass.
I loved eatinghisass.
The way Golden writhed and bucked when I slurped and sucked at his hole was almost enough to get me off untouched, but I liked the pain of a prolonged erection. To me, it was a reminder and a promise of what was to come. I spit and licked him until saliva dribbled down his thighs, then I leaned back, petting a hand down the back of his leg.
I’d picked a plug for him, not too long, but long enough I’d hoped, with a thick middle that would make Golden whimper when I pushed it into him. I sucked the plug into my mouth to get it wetter, then aligned the blunt tip with his hole and pushed. The silicone slipped into him with ease, and when that wide part stretched his pucker, Golden fisted the sheets in his hands and moaned like he was getting fucked.
The toy slid into him, settling as the flared base tucked itself away between his cheeks, eliciting another soft gasp.
“Do you feel that, Golden?” I whispered, kissing the end of the plug and giving him a quick slap on the ass. “That’s not an orgasm unless you make it one.”
He rocked his body, shifting on his knees and trembling as the plug pushed against his prostate.
“Though…” I climbed off the bed. “Not so much an orgasm as an emptying. Come on. Get up and get dressed.”
“Please,” he whimpered, dropping his head onto the pillows. “I asked if I could come.”
“And the answer is no,” I said, adjusting my cock in my pants. I wanted to take him apart and fuck him back together, but not until I knew without a shred of uncertainty that my dad wasn’t responsible for the hit on him….or the one on me.
“And frankly, Golden, you’re not going to get a chance to come again until we figure out who wants us both dead, so the sooner you get your ass in gear, the better.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Foster
Ididn’t want to go to Sage’s parents’ house.
He’d asked me not to carry because his mama didn’t like it, but the idea of walking into a room with the man we both at one time thought wanted him dead went against every instinct I had. My instincts had kept me alive this far, and I didn’t want to go against them now, but Sage was adamant. The compromise had been my 1911 stayed home and my Ruger remained in his glove box. We’d switched back at some point, his Sig Sauer locked in a safe in his closet, and I would have been lying if I said I didn’t miss the feel of it in my hand.
He pulled into the driveway of a large white house and cut the ignition, giving me a cautious look across the console.
“What?” I asked.
“You look like you want to shoot someone.”
