Page 155 of The Story of You

Then he fucks him.

Holy shit. They’re hot together. Darius’s hair—long on top—waves with his movements, my tags bouncing along Asher’s back from around his neck. He’s been boxing more and while I can’t see every line in the near-darkness, I can see the bulge of his sculpted ass and his balls slapping against Asher.

Asher tosses his head back, meeting Darry’s thrusts. Darius is in charge. I don’t think he likes to be—for this—much, but he’s enjoying it now. Digging his fingers into Asher’s hips. Slamming his cock in hard and fast.

“That’s it. Take it. You like my cock in there, baby?”

“Mmmmhhh, yeah.”

Asher’s another person. He’s soft and tender. Vulnerable. His sharp edges are blunted.

“You’re mine. Mine. If you ever think of leaving, I’ll tie you to this fucking bed. Understand?” Darry says.

Asher’s the loud one now. “Yes. Yes, please. Sir … I need to come so bad.”

That sir is for me.

I’ve been riding the edge since this began. “Go ahead. I wanna see you both come.”

With a steady hand, I stoke slowly and let myself fall over the edge watching Darius speed up and Asher let go. Come pours over my hand, Asher comes untouched, and Darius makes sounds I’ve never heard before. They both collapse; I let my head loll back.

Darius pulls out and come drips everywhere as he crawls to my left side and slots himself in, unconcerned with the mess still on him. Asher has the wherewithal to grab the towel he left at the end of the bed, and I’m rewarded for my patience with him when he crawls to theotherside of me as Darius and I scoot over until I’m in the middle of the bed.

Asher wipes off my come-drenched hand and gives a cursory once over to his dick before tossing the towel on the floor.

“Fuck, we’re disgusting,” Darius says. “We’re going to need rules—I’m not sleeping on come every night—but we can do that tomorrow.”

With Darius curled into one side of me and Asher curled into the other, we finally drift off to the Land of Nod.

And no one wakes up screaming.

ChapterForty-Two

Silas ~ June 2009

Things have been quiet. After the mysterious package, I made myself call Uncle Pax.

“Did you have this sent to us?” I was holding the shirt in my hand. He couldn’t see it, but if he sent it, he’d know what I’m talking about.

“I’m sorry, Silas. You’re going to have to catch me up.” That voice. That’s where Uncle Pax and Father are the most alike—even with identical features—in their voice. It brought me back.

I shouldn’t have closed my eyes so many times.

Butterfly. Butterfly. Butterfly.

My hand around my cell phone shook. I told him about the package. The handwriting. The dark-haired delivery boy.

“Jesus. I can’t explain it, Silas, but please let me look into it for you.”

My trust is thin at best with those near and dear to me. Unfortunately for Uncle Pax, my trust for him can never be repaired for reasons that aren’t his fault. But I knew he’d probably look into it anyway no matter what I said. He’s a Randall and that’s what Randalls do.

“Do what you will. I have my people on it.”

“I am here for you and Darius and Oliver, Silas. What he did to you—”

“Shall never be spoken of again.” I had to tell him. He needed to know why I’d run off with Oliver. I think he would have helped us either way, but what that help looked like depended on what had happened.

He believed me though, even without proof. That and what he did for us are the only reasons I offer him any respect at all. I don’t have to, but I’m wired to. It would gnaw at me if I didn’t.