Last night, when he’d hurt me and denied me and then overworked my cock until I was desperate for him to stop and told him as much. Last night when he’d known I wanted to find that line and push against it until he was sure enough he could drag me past it. Last night, when I collapsed in his arms, most certainly nothing more than a pile of rubble, something in desperate need of care and restoration.
“I’m starting to.” He smiled against my lips. “And that’s why I’m going to leave you in bed and come back with some coffee.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Riggs hesitated, then left.
I listened to the soft pad of his footsteps until they were drowned out by the sound of the sink turning on, the coffee carafe being filled. Reaching for my phone, I found a reply email from my boss confirming my absence, and a series of text messages from Lincoln.
Lincoln
Feeny misses you.
He was very worried after you left on Tuesday.
Now he’s worried that you’re not answering my messages.
He hopes you’re with Riggs.
He also hopes you tell your brothers about him soon so I don’t have to keep the secret.
He suggests I put you on Friend Finder so when you don’t answer me I don’t have to panic worrying you’ve been kidnapped.
I mean, he doesn’t want to worry. I’m fine.
But seriously.
Sighing, I sent him a Friend Finder invite and a text.
I was with Riggs. Am with Riggs. I am okay.
I know I was not myself on Tuesday, but I’m good.
I know what it’s like to not feel right about your life.
As long as you’re being safe while you try to make sense of it.
I am.
I reached up and pressed my fingers against what was definitely a hickey on the side of my neck and groaned. There was no way whatever it was would clear up before dinner tomorrow night, and I’d go from having to explain a tattoo to needing to explain a tattoo and a hickey.
“Fuck,” I cursed, setting my phone back on the nightstand and staring up at the ceiling.
I listened to the sound of Riggs moving around the kitchen, humming a song under his breath, and then the gentle pat of his footsteps as he returned to the bedroom. He had two mugs of coffee in his hand, and he sat down on the edge of the bed and passed one of them to me.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just checking in with a friend who was worried I’d gone missing.”
He made a thoughtful noise and nodded. “Does this friend know about me?”
“He does. He just didn’t know I was with you last night.”
“Does he know…the sort of relationship we’re developing?” he asked next.
I liked Riggs framing it that way, seeing this thing between us as something in flux made more sense than the hard and defined lines of a relationship like Marshall and Silas.
“In vague terms. He’s also kinky. And in love with my brother.” At the confession, Riggs scrunched his face up and I laughed, sliding up the headboard so I could drink the coffee without spilling it all over my chest. “I know, but they’re perfect together, and we don’t…”
