I come. I come hard, begging him to come with me.
“Fuck,” he roars against my skin, and then he stands and pulls out.
“What are you...?” I cry, then feel his hot come against my back.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You needed my cock, and I fucking needed you so badly I forgot. Fuck, Tatum,” he groans, and I feel more of his hot liquid scorch my skin.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
“The hell it is,” he growls as he pulls his pants up.
“Please don’t. It’s fine. We just...” I pause, turning around and taking his chin in my hand. “We needed each other. It will be fine.”
He nods, but worry fills his eyes.
“Knock, knock.” We both hear Buck.
“Get dressed.” He kisses me and starts to turn, but I stop him, and he looks back at me in confusion.
“Angelo,” I whisper. “I’m all over your beard.”
He looks past me and into the mirror and smiles. “Good.” Then he turns and walks out the door.
The thing I love the most when I have time with Angelo is nothing is ever awkward.
I dress and head out into the living room with him and Buck as if he didn’t fuck me in a way no one will ever top or erase from my memory.
After the movie, Buck goes to bed, and I help Angelo clean up.
When I look at the door, he takes my hand. “Stay.”
“Yeah?”
He nods.
Once in his room, he strips to nothing and hands me a legacy gym shirt. “This or nothing.”
I smile. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“I’ll be in bed”—he nods—“waiting.”
“I’ll hurry,” I say from over my shoulder as I walk out.
When I return, he’s in bed.
I walk over and climb in, and he pulls the covers over me before pulling me tightly against him.
“Tired?” he asks.
“I am.” And sore.
“So sleep?”
I look up. “Is that okay?”
He nods.
I lay my head down against his chest, and he kisses the top of my head.
“Tell me about you?”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I want to know.” I look up at him.
“Put your head back where it was, and I will.”
I can’t help smiling. “Okay.”
“I’ll tell you everything I think you want to know. Then we sleep. No discussions, Tatum, got it?”
“Got it.”
“I was born and raised just north of Woodward Avenue in Detroit, Michigan, in a place known as Highland Park. Many years ago, it was a happening area in Detroit. As you saw leaving the cemetery, it’s now the slums.
“My old man, a widower, worked twelve hour shifts at a brewery to give us a home. My sister, Maria, was exactly eleven months older than me. She was tall, thin, and beautiful, like you.” He pauses and pulls me a bit closer. “My old man told me she looked just like our mother. And to me, she was kind of like a mother. She cooked, did laundry, cleaned, and reminded me to do my homework.
“As long as I can remember, she had the most even temper of anyone I had ever met, and I suppose I mimicked that.”
I look up at him, and he rolls his eyes.
“I did.”
“I believe you.” I look back down at his chest and run my fingers on top of the thin patch of hair.
He growls a bit, and although I want him so badly again, even though I feel like I can’t possibly take him, not after the pounding he just gave me, I still have this desire for more.
“Go on,” I coax.
“When I was a junior and she was a senior, things changed. She changed. She changed because of a guy. I didn’t like him, but she sure did.” He pauses, and I’m afraid he’s going to stop. Then he continues on, and I internally sigh in relief.
“One Saturday night, after Dad got home from overtime at the brewery, I watched her sit on her bed, rocking back and forth, crying. It was nothing unusual anymore. My old man told me she was dealing with ‘girl problems.’ I knew better.”
“Those closest to us often do,” I mention, knowing that it must have killed him to feel so helpless while his sister was hurting.
“It was her boyfriend, the guy I watched walk in the front door and go to her room at night when Dad was at work, totally disregarding that I was even there.” He tenses for a moment and blows out a breath.
“Months passed, and she became a different person. She was no longer calm. She was up and down emotionally, and was getting thinner and thinner.
“One night, she stormed into the house, and he followed her. I heard them fight. She accused him of cheating on her, and he told her she was being paranoid and just needed a fix. When he left that night, I looked into her room. She was staring at the ceiling, totally unaware that I was standing next to the bed, looking at her.”