“If you want to do this again, there are some things you should know.” He straightens up and sets his jaw with determination.
“Okay,” I manage to say without begging.
“It’s probably easier to show you.” Jamal stands, facing away from me, and tugs one side of his sweats down.
I’m instantly hard, devouring his back dimples that lead to his luscious ass. Then I see them.
“Jamal,” I cry, not believing my eyes and pressing my lips to his skin. “Sorry, does that hurt?” There are several small, round burn marks on the top of his cheek that match the one under his chin.
“Not at all.” He takes another deep inhale and says, “My auntie did it. My mom’s sister.”
“What?” I snap in fury. I’m tempted to curl him into my body, but I think he needs space.
“She got messed up on drugs and resented my mom for not making my bio dad pay. A fraction of his money would’ve gotten us out of the projects. She said this”—he points to the scars—“was to teach me restraint and control.” He falls silent.
Jamal said she’s dead, so there isn’t anyone for me to take this rage out on. If I could, I’d rip her to shreds, piece by piece, making her suffer.
“How old were you?” I brush my lips over his scar.
“Nine.”
“Nine? You were a kid. Why did she need to teach you anything?” I gently tug him onto my lap, wrapping my arms around his torso.
Jamal curls into me, tucking his head under my chin so he’s not looking at me.
“Being young is a privilege that many of us didn’t have. We grew up too fast and saw too many things to consider ourselves kids. Gangs start recruiting at a young age for small jobs, paying money to deliver messages or drugs. It’s easy money and gets kids in deep before they realize they can’t get out. My auntie said if I could learn to take punishment without pulling away or crying, I’d beable to avoid the gang life.” His chest heaves. “In her twisted way, she was trying to help me.”
“Help you? She tortured you and scarred you for life!” Rage boils so hot my bones are in danger of melting.
Jamal nods, and I hold him close. His shea butter scent and the feel of his braids against my chin are the only things keeping me from spiraling.
“As soon as my moms found out, we left. Couch surfing and homeless shelters. But it didn’t last long. My auntie OD’d a couple of weeks later, and we went back to the apartment. The family blamed my mom for turning her back on her sister. My mom hasn’t forgiven them for not taking my side.”
“Your mom’s a warrior, the way she stood up for you.” There’s a pang of jealousy, wishing my mom gave a shit about me.
“I’m very lucky. By refusing to take money from my DNA donor, he couldn’t control her, and she found us a new family. As a kid, I resented her for a long time,” he confesses. “I didn’t understand the problems that would come from taking money from my bio-father. I only saw the solutions it could provide.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You were young.” I rearrange him so he’s not sitting on my dick. This would be an inopportune time for a hard-on.
“But I wasn’t a kid. I love my moms, but I don’t think I truly appreciated her until recently.”
I don’t need his pity. “Glad I could show you how fucked up you’d be if you had money.” I stand, but Jamal won’t let go.
“That’s not what I mean. Listen to me.” He grabs my jaw and forces me to make eye contact.
My fucking cock loves it and plumps right up.
“I didn’t truly understand that a mother’s love isn’t a guarantee. It’s not something to take for granted. The reason we had extra security in Detroit was because Lucky’s family, especially his mom, is trash. Family can be assholes, but my moms saw what was up and protected me. I thought she made excuses for us being poor. But John is a narcissistic bastard and might have…” He trails off.
“Turned you into me,” Ifinish for him.
His grip on my face tightens. “No, I like you exactly how you are. Mostly. When you’re not being a dick.” His gorgeous, full lips turn up.
“Got it. You like me but not my dick.” It surprises me when he shoves me back onto the couch and straddles my lap.
“Now don’t get crazy. I don’t know your dick well enough to be friends. Yet.” His hand slides to my throat.
“He’d like to be more than friends.” I close the distance, kissing him, showing him how much more we could be. That adds pressure to my throat, and my cock jumps to attention, ready to salute or follow any order he gives me.
