Marquise

She does as I command and when her tremors subside, I pull my fingers from her drenching tunnel and suck them clean. She sags back on the desk to regain her composure. “I don’t share.” I tell her once again, while holding the side of her face so she is looking into my eyes. She touches my face in response and rubs our noses together.

“You don’t have to share me, Marquise. I don’t want anyone but you. But you can’t cancel appointments every time someone speaks to me. You are being unreasonable, and what would your brothers think?” I know she is right, but so what.

“Doesn’t matter now does it? Your desk is coming in here.” I can tell she wants to argue, but she takes a deep breath instead.

“Look, can we talk about this later? You have another appointment in five minutes, and I need to collect myself. By the way... I can move my desk, myself.” She walks out with her shoulders back and her attitude prevalent and justified.

I don’t know what has gotten into me. Ever since I met her it has been harder and harder to keep myself in check. Shaking my head, I walk to the window and look down. All the people down there are going about their day, living their lives with no clue that there are people, children in the world suffering and seeing things that would forever change them. The first few years after my parents had adopted us, I spent it angry. Mad at the people who hadn’t been through what I had. Pissed at the other kids, whose life was seemingly perfect and knowing there is something unjust about being the one chosen to endure what I did. It took me years of therapy, extracurricular activities in karate, and boxing to release the aggression and affection from my mom and dad to overcome the anger.

I close my eyes and try to calm myself. I take a few deep breaths and sit with my head between my legs. All the memories come flooding back to me. I begin to shake my arms and roll my neck trying to push everything back down. After a few minutes, I turn towards my desk, inhale, and exhale one more time. Time to get back to work.

“Mr. Roades, you have a phone call on line one.” My cock sits up at hearing her voice. I clear my throat and answer.

“This is Roades.”

“This is your mother. I am calling to invite you to dinner on Sunday and let me be clear to you my dear son. This is not optional. Love you.” She hangs up before I can say anything. Well shit. Guess we are going to dinner.Chapter SixteenChrissyDay FourteenAfter Marquise told me that we were going to dinner with his family, I freaked the fuck out. For the last fourteen days more and more things have arrived, and now I have a full closet. But that doesn’t help me decide on a damn thing to wear. Marquise is already ready to go, and I have been keeping him waiting for over an hour now. Everything he’s gotten for me is really nice, but I don’t know what to wear.

“Fuck it,” I mumble out loud, after realizing that I am being stupid. Picking out a pair of jeans, some black ballet flats, and a loose-fitting grey tunic, I call it a day.

After I grab my purse, we leave. The drive to Winnetka isn’t one I’ve made before. I’ve never left the main part of Chicago before, but it’s nice. I definitely prefer the hustle and bustle of Chicago to this quiet village.

“Ummm… is that the house from Home Alone?” I ask, as we pass a house that looks similar to the iconic movie house.

“It is,” he says, never taking his eyes off of the road. He looks good in his dark jeans and black button up shirt. So fucking good. I reach my hand out and place it on his thigh.

“You okay?” I ask, wondering if he’s still mad about Friday. It seems as if I am beginning to doubt myself again. After he finger fucked me in his office we left early, after his last appointment of the day. For two days now he hasn't touched me, at least not sexually. In his sleep he has reached for me and I’ve woken up entangled in his arms, but he hasn’t given me what I need. He’s created a monster and needs to deal with it.

“Yeah, Chrissy. I’m good. Kind of anxious for you to meet my parents,” he says tersely, causing me to flinch my hand back into my own lap.

“Anxious or ashamed?” I whisper.

“What?” he asks, turning into a long driveway. There is no house yet, but the driveway is long and winding. “Why would you ask me that?”