“Hey.”
“Hmm.”
“Hey,” I hate when he doesn’t look at me when I’m talking.
“Hmm?”
“Justin!”
“What?” His neck snaps back and his wide eyes look at me with a mix of worry
and anger. All I can do is smile.
“Come here.”
“What?” Has all the moaning made him deaf? We have fucked a lot this weekend.
“Come. Here.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but then clicks a few buttons on his computer and stands
up. He crosses the room with a sway that falls somewhere between
I-want-your-sex and you-aint-gettin’-anymore tonight.
I’m sitting in my desk chair and I swivel to the side and spread my legs wide
as he gets close. He comes to stand between my thighs, looking down at me with
defiance and curiosity.
“Yes?” he finally asks after moments of comfortable silence pass.
“Just wanted to make sure you were still whipped.” I push back from him and
spin my chair away, pretending to return to the work I was doing before I
interrupted us both.
He smacks the back of my head, “Fuck you, Brian!” He’s laughing.
He pushes on my chest, sending me and my chair flying backwards into the wall.
I notice that his hand cupped the back of my head just before impact. He
doesn’t want me dead after all.
He straddles my lap and gets right down in my face, “Let’s have a little talk
about who’s whipped in this relationship.”
“Relationship?”
“Yes, relationship.” His eyes hold mine firmly, daring me to deny what I know
to be true.
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