I look up at him, making sure he can see his cum pooled onto my tongue, then I pull it back into my mouth and swallow down the salty, but somehow a little bit sweet, liquid.
Colt scrubs a hand through his hair and heaves a breath. “God, that was fucking hot.”
I carefully rise to a standing position, wearing an absolutely ridiculous smile and I know it, and he brushes his thumb over my lower lip.
“No more of that until after dinner, got it?”
Giving him a wicked smile, I nod. “Yes sir, Mr. Fowler.”
I press a kiss to his lips and turn on my heel, heading straight for my room, and that little bullet.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Colt
I like to think of myself as a well-composed man, one not easily shaken, especially by things that I would find trivial if they were happening to someone else. I’m not well-composed tonight at all. Walking through the restaurant with Rowan on my arm, I find myself grinding my teeth against each other, every muscle in my body tense.
Even as we’re seated, I have trouble concentrating on the wine list in front of me, my eyes choosing instead to flit toward the entrance every few seconds in anticipation – and fear – of my son approaching.
I eventually settle on a cabernet sauvignon and order a bottle to be brought to the table.
“Colt!” Rowan whispers as she snatches the menu from my hand. “That’s a two-thousand dollar bottle ofwine.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her.
“You’renotfine.” She rests a hand on my knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “He’s gonna be okay.”
She sounds so confident, it could almost convince me, if I hadn’t lived through the fury that came with introducing him to my last serious girlfriend.
He was much, much younger, but I will never forget how upset he was. He went weeks, barely speaking to me, playing his music and video games as loud as he could; ignoring any request to turn down the volume, and he took all of his meals in his room, most of which he hardly touched.
My son isn’t easily upset, but when something truly bothers him, he feels it deeply. He always has. It wasn’t until I ended that relationship that he returned to his normal cheery, chatty self.
When the eye-flitting pays off and I finally catch sight of Emmett walking toward our table, I stand to greet him with a hug, clapping him on the back before we part.
“I ordered a cabernet,” I tell him, “but feel free to order whatever you’d like.”
“Nah, cab’s good,” he says, moving to his seat. He chuckles when he notices Rowan at the table and moves to give her a hug as well. “Hey,” he greets her. “I didn’t know this was a business thing.”
“Oh,” she titters.
She wipes her hands on the front of her dress – the blue one we purchased on our trip – and I can tell the wall of confidence she’d had when we got here is starting to crumble.
We make awkward, nervous small talk for several minutes as our wine is poured, and I hope to god Emmett doesn’t notice just how awkward it is. I feel like I could pick up my fucking butter knife and cut clean through the tension at the table.
After placing our dinner orders, Emmett and I tuck into our wine and Rowan sips on her lemon water, probably wishing that it was alcohol; I would be, at least.
“Emmett,” I clear my throat, “I think I should tell you that Rowan and her sister have been staying at the house.”
My son’s brow furrows. “Oh,” he says. “That’s...kinda weird. What for?”
“I had some trouble at home,” Rowan chimes in. “It got unsafe and I was scared.”
“Right. And she gave me a call and asked for my help, so I—”
His eyes narrow as he directs his now burning gaze to Rowan, and I watch as her hands start to tremble. “Dropped everything to help her.”
“I— you could say that, sure,” I answer.
