Marcus leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Tell her you’ll call her back,” he whispered. “Then come for me.”
Thank God. “Sarah, I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She laughed. “Okay, babe. Get some rest. Bye.”
“Bye.” I hung up fast, my cell clattering to the floor.
Marcus laughed low against my neck. “Good girl.”
He thrust his tongue harder, thumb relentless on my clit. I rode his face shamelessly, moaning his name, hips grinding down.
“Get off for me, pretty girl,” he growled. “Come all over my face.”
I shattered for him. My pussy clenched as I cried out and came. Marcus worked me through it, drawing out every tremor until I was shaking, and slumped against his chest.
He took one last, long lick over my pussy and gave a soft kiss on my clit. “So fucking hot,” he murmured. “Talking on thephone while I tongue-fuck you. Listening to me like my good girl.”
I laughed weakly, breathless.
The so wrong it’s right edge, and the risk of being caught only made it hotter. I was fucked up for loving it, that was for sure.
But I wouldn’t change a thing.
Chapter Twelve
Lila
The decision to go public with our relationship didn’t come in a single, dramatic moment. It crept over us softly, when both of us were ready and comfortable.
We were tired of hiding. Tired of the constant calculation, the paranoia, and the way every glance from a neighbor felt like an accusation.
It started with a conversation on the couch one Sunday evening. The house was nearly all packed with only things we absolutely needed left out. Marcus had already found a place, a little three-bedroom cottage style home on five acres. I’d gone to take a look at it. A fixer-upper, that’s for sure, but it was beautiful.
We’d been curled together under a blanket, some old crime show re-run flickering on the TV we weren’t really watching.
“I’m ready for forever, baby. For our happily ever after. I’m ready for us to live together. For us to always be together.”
I tilted my head to look at him. “I want that, too.”
He exhaled. “So we go slow. We tell people we trust.”
I nodded. “Mom. She’s the only one I’d tell right now. She’s the only one who deserves to know.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “You’re right, sweetheart. We start there. I’ll handle the house. You worry about work.”
The next afternoon, I asked Mom to meet me for coffee at the little place downtown. It was the one with the mismatched mugs and too-loud espresso machine. She arrived in yoga pants and a hoodie, hair in a messy bun, and hugged me as if we hadn’t just seen each other.
She was so beautiful, and I couldn’t deny that happiness looked good on her. It didn’t excuse any of the shit that had happened or what she did to Marcus, but she was my mom and always would be.
“Okay, honey,” she said as soon as we sat down, voice soft but searching. “You look like you’re carrying something heavy. What is it?”
I tried to smile, but it felt fragile. I thought about prolonging, changing my mind and the subject, but in the end, I just spit it out. “It’s… about Marcus.”
Her brows drew together, immediate concern deepening. She waited, patient, the way she always did when I was little and had something hard to say.
I took a deep breath. “I’m with him.” I cleared my throat, looking down, fidgeting with my napkin. “Together.” I let that word hang between us in a long, awkward pause. “Romantically.” I finally looked up at my mom.
Silence stretched long and heavy but most of all painful. Her face paled, eyes widening slowly as the words sank in. She set her coffee down with trembling hands.
