Lincoln and Smith had both gone home early Saturday afternoon, and Marshall and I had spent the rest of the weekend together in varying stages of undress. I’d texted Lincoln to check in, much the same way he’d texted to check on all three of his brothers, but I hadn’t seen my best friend since he’d left.
“Let me know when you decide,” he said simply, dropping another kiss on the opposite corner of my mouth. “There is no right or wrong answer.”
Heat burned my cheeks, and I had no idea how it was soeasy for him to read my mind. To guess what my worries or concerns were before I gave voice to them.
“I’ll let you know,” I promised.
One last kiss, and then he was gone.
Without my Dom to oversee me, I flung myself face-first onto the bed and screamed into the pillows. My entire body was alive with want, and I was desperate to know how I’d even lived before meeting him. I’d had plenty of partners, a fair amount of sex, a decent helping of kinky sex, but everything I experienced with Marshall Covington felt like it was happening to me for the first time. Like everything that had come before him was child’s play or a poorly planned rehearsal for some main event I hadn’t even known was coming.
I gave myself five minutes to roll around in his sheets, then I finally forced myself out of bed and into clothes. I really didn’t have a lot to choose from at his house, so I definitely had to go home before meeting Cory for a lunch interview at twelve in Brentwood. Before leaving, I tidied up a bit, wiping down the places he’d smeared water across mirrors and counters in the bathroom, tossing his wet towel into the hamper on top of his dirty underwear. I debated starting a load of laundry, but I wasn’t going to be there to move it to the dryer so decided to not. That was another piece of the relationship we hadn’t discussed beyond making meals and cleaning dishes.
Domestic servitude.
I didn’t love the idea of being a housekeeper, but I did get hard if I thought about cleaning up after Marshall. I’d have to talk to him about it next time I saw him.
With the house straightened up, I headed home, where I found Lincoln sprawled on the couch with one leg flung over the back and his tablet propped on his chest.
“That can’t be comfortable,” I said.
He dropped the tablet down to look at me. “I’m more flexible than you.”
“I guess.”
I set my bag down by the back of the couch, then climbed on top of him and situated myself between the wide spread of his legs. He only had on a pair of underwear, which was very usual, and the heat between his legs instantly made my hip start to sweat.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” I asked, swatting his pad out of the way.
With an amused noise, he set it on the table and threaded his fingers into my hair, handling me so differently from the ways Marshall did.
“I spent it all here,” he said. “On the couch just like this.”
“You haven’t moved an inch.”
“Not even to eat.”
“No food?”
“Not even a crumb,” he teased, chuckling under his breath. “How is Marshall’s brother?”
“Fine as far as I can tell.”
On Saturday morning, Smith had emerged from the guest room looking far more put together than he’d been upon his arrival. He’d accepted a mug of coffee, drank it, then been on his way. Marshall assured me it was very characteristic of his youngest brother to act that way, but the text message check-ins over the rest of the weekend had led me to believe otherwise.
“That’s good,” Lincoln said. “How was the rest ofyourweekend?”
“Very sexy,” I said, moving to alleviate the building pressure in my dick at the thought of it.
“I’m sure.” He patted the top of my head affectionately. “I like him. For you, I mean. I like him for you.”
“I like him for me too.”
“Has he admitted he’s in love with you yet?” Lincoln asked, hand going still in my hair.
“No.”
A gentle tug on the strands he’d wrapped around his fingers. “And you?”
