Josh rode my cock until my legs shook and threatened to give out. He smiled wickedly and his hazel eyes gleamed a darker hue as he worked me until I thought I would die if I didn’t come. The smooth way his body moved had to be illegal, because I was surely addicted to him as others were to narcotics.
“Josh,” I said between gritted teeth. I needed more friction and for him to move faster. I. Was. Right. There. Josh laughed wickedly the moment I came inside him. My orgasm was a slow roll through my body until I shattered into a million pieces.
I don’t remember falling to my knees with Josh wrapped around me, but that was how we ended up. He cooed and kissed my face as I returned to the land of the living. “Look who’s back,” he said lovingly.
“I think you nearly killed me,” I told him.
“No, that’ll be my reverse cowboy. I’m only going to bring that bad boy out on special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries.”
My heart rate tripled when Josh mentioned anniversaries, as in he planned on having them with me. “Who are you and what have you done withmyJosh?”
“I’m stillyourJosh,” he said. It was one of the sweetest exchanges we’d ever had. I was impressed on how far we’d come in a relatively short time. Then he said, “So try to avoid getting framed and sent to prison for this Nate Turner case. It would bemurderon our sex life.”
“There’smyJosh.”
BEFOREIKNEW IT, Gabe and I were boarding a plane to Miami for Meet the Parents Week. An itty-bitty part of me expected Internal Affairs to ban Gabe from traveling due to his shady past in Miami. Okay, that was a huge exaggeration on my part because I had no clue what the deal was in Miami. A few months ago, I would’ve taken it personally that Gabe didn’t trust me with the story. I knew him enough to know that he did trust me and would tell me if he could. Gabe was a man with a lot of integrity; if he was told not to discuss the case then he wouldn’t discuss the case.
I wasn’t thrilled with the early departure time because the guy beside me in seat 11A kept me up half the night before our trip. Apparently, vacations, or the fact that I was meeting his folks, made Detective Sex on a Stick very horny. Limping up to meet his parents after a night of Gabe liberally using my ass wasn’t my idea of a fun time. Luckily for him, and my sore ass too, he splurged and bought first class seats for us so I could stretch out and be as comfortable as one could be on a plane.
I enjoyed the convenience of flying, I loved taxiing down the runway and lifting off, but I didn’t like air turbulence or landing. The flight was quick and devoid of much air turbulence, which made me happy because I was already anxious about meeting Gabe’s mom and dad. I didn’t want anything to amplify my tension and turn me into some spastic version of me for when the big moment came.
My spirits soared the minute we grabbed our luggage from the little spinning thing–I could never remember the correct name–and headed toward the airport exit because I could see through the windows that the weather was glorious. Gabe promised me that both the air and water temperatures in Miami in February would be in the ’70s. I expected Gabe to veer over to the rental car agencies, but he kept walking toward the exit.
“There they are!” His exuberant announcement had me looking around for a celebrity or something. Who was it? Britney? Cher? Beyoncé? My heart rate was already accelerated from anxiety and I worried that I’d have a heart attack or stroke out before I got to meet Mom and Pop Wyatt. Next thing I knew, Gabe powerwalked his sexy ass over to an African American man and a Hispanic woman with their arms open wide to embrace him.
“My baby,” the woman said when she wrapped her arms about Gabe.
“Welcome home, son.” The declaration was followed up with a hearty back slap.
I had followed behind Gabe at a more leisurely pace wondering once again if I looked presentable enough to meet Al and Martina Wyatt. To Gabe this might’ve been a simple introduction, but to me it waseverything.Gabe had gone from being mysomethingto myeverything.The swift changes to my life were both terrifying and exhilarating, and depending on the day, I either embraced or denied it. That day I chose to embrace it because his parents looked at me with huge, welcoming smiles on their faces when I approached the trio and I forgot to be afraid.
“Mom and Dad,” Gabe said reverently, “this is Josh.”
The Wyatts didn’t bother with formal things like handshakes, they were huggers. Martina snatched me up first and smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and love; her hug was as equally as warm. Al smelled like sunshine and strength when he pulled me in against him; his hug was equally as firm. I was happy that the slap on my back wasn’t as sharp as the one Gabe received.
“We are so excited to meet you,” Martina said. Her smiling lips trembled for a second before she bit them.
“He looks surprised to meet us,” Al said. “I bet Gabe neglected to mention he was adopted again.”
“It shouldn’t matter what race my parents are,” Gabe told his father.
“It’s his way of testing people.” Martina looped her arm through mine and the four of us made our way to the exit. “Let me tell you that plenty of people have failed him.”
“We don’t give a lot of thought to our family dynamics,” Al said. “Miami is such a melting pot of diversity and our situation isn’t unique, but we’ve learned that others aren’t quite as open-minded.”
“Their loss is my gain,” I said, earning a huge smile from Martina.
I learned fast where Gabe got his love of classic cars from when Martina and I followed Al and Gabe to a gleaming, cherry red Cadillac convertible that had to be from the ’60s. The white top was down and the white leather seats were as clean as if the car had just rolled off the assembly line in Michigan. I worried that I had packed too much for a week–okay, Gabe said I did– but I got over it the minute Al opened the trunk of that monster. Hell, I could’ve fit Princess inside the trunk.
“Sweet ride, Mr. Wyatt,” I said.
“None of that mister stuff. Just call me Al,” he said. “Nice to see that you found one that can appreciate classic cars when he sees one.” My appreciation of classic cars came more from envisioning my sexy boyfriend driving them, or better yet rimming and fucking me over the hood, but I didn’t think that Al wanted to hear that.
“HelovesCharlotte,” Gabe said. At least I was the only one who picked up on the slight fluctuation in his tone or saw his wicked smile in the wide back seat of the car.
“I bet,” Al said. The humor in his voice said I wasn’t the only one to pick up on that after all.
“You must be hungry,” Martina said once Al had maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto a street. “I thought we’d go back to our house for a while and visit before we drop you off at the rental car agency.”
