I beam at him. “Not my fault you got me all excited. You know how I get.”
He scoffs and then lays out his tie. I want to fuck him on that suit. Wrinkle it a little.
Two weeks ago, Whit was hired by a law firm to work in international law. He plans on using his degree to help queer individuals living under persecution in other countries.
I’m so damn proud of him. I could burst with it. It’s a shame his parents aren’t around to see how amazing he is. Neither of them have bothered to contact their only son. Too bad for them and good riddance. And to be honest, Whit doesn’t seem too bothered by their absence. My aunt has stepped into the role of mother hen and Whit basks in the love she shows him.
“You’re asking for it,” he says, and I palm the zipper of my jeans.
“Duh.”
He stalks toward me, intent clear in his eyes.
A groan slips out of me. “Oh god.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of it,” he asks, always so flabbergasted that I’m raring to go at all hours. I mean, my sex drive has only increased with age.
“It’s you, Whit. Don’t know why you can’t get that through your super-smart brain. I’m obsessed with you.”
He reaches up and presses his palm to the back of my head, and pulls me forward.
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too,” I say, licking my lips.
“Kneel,” he says, and I do.