Read Online The Foster Family by Jaime Samms - Free Book Online Page B

and peeked under pot lids in the kitchen. It looked like we were having some sort of pasta for dinner if the tomato-and-meat concoction in the pot on the stove was any indicator. It smelled like heaven, and I realized exactly how hungry I was and how long it had been since I’d eaten. My stomach snarled a warning, and I replaced the lid. I was ready for a good meal, but I was also covered in garden dirt.
    “Hello?” I called, peering through the doorway to the rest of the place.
    “Shower!” Malcolm called from deeper in the house. “Everything you need is on the vanity.”
    “Um.” I frowned and glanced around. “Okay?” I wandered down the hall off the kitchen and glanced through half-open doors, looking for the bathroom. I found it one doorway before what I figured had to be the master bedroom at the end of the corridor. That door was partially open too, and I thought that was probably where Malcolm’s voice had come from. I tiptoed toward it and slowed when I heard the low moans coming from inside.
    I should have stopped. I should have turned around and gone to the bathroom, closed the door, and minded my own business. I should have. Of course I fucking well didn’t.
    Just through the crack of space between the door and the frame, I could see Malcolm standing near the bed in a tank top and trousers, his feet bare. Another few steps showed me Charlie, kneeling in front of him, gazing up at him. He still looked tired but not so wrung out as he had in the driveway. Malcolm stroked a hand through his hair and smiled.
    “You want it, don’t you?” he asked.
    Charlie nodded, folded his hands in his lap, and continued to watch him in silence.
    “You know the rules.”
    Another nod as Charlie rose fluidly to his feet. Without a word, he began to strip and fold his clothes neatly and hang them over the back of a chair. He was gorgeous, even performing such a menial task. Wide shoulders, muscled arms, and thick thighs came into view a little at a time. Judging by the look on Malcolm’s face, I was not the only one appreciating the slow reveal.
    When he turned from the closet to face Malcolm, Charlie had only his boxer briefs on, and the vision of his round ass made my mouth water.
    “All of it,” Malcolm said.
    “The boy….”
    A slow grin spread over Malcolm’s face as he palmed himself through his pants. “So not my concern right now.” He cupped Charlie’s chin and stroked his thumb over his lips. “Right now, you are the boy. Strip.”
    Charlie dropped his gaze. “Yes, Sir.”
    His ass without the shorts was much better.
    “Kneel.” Malcolm’s voice dropped a register, and Charlie obeyed without further hesitation. The hairs on the back of my own neck rose in response to that low, firm tone.
    “Now me,” Malcolm ordered.
    Charlie silently unzipped his lover’s pants and worked them off his hips, pulled them to the floor, and folded them precisely to lay them on the chair. Then he waited, head bowed.
    The tableau burned itself into my brain. Charlie was a beautiful man. And he was hardly demurring at any time, even now. But he was completely subdued under Malcolm’s gaze. Knowing just the little of him I’d observed, I knew this quiet, contained persona had to be a choice.
    I imagined myself in his position, and immediate tension corded through the muscles of my shoulders and back. My nerves hummed a warning along my limbs and I took a step back before I even thought to move.
    “God, I love you like this,” Malcolm said softly, and his pleased tone cradled the thoughts of flight in my head, stilling the wings fluttering in my chest, and I didn’t leave. “Are you tired?” he asked Charlie.
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Too tired to pleasure me?”
    Charlie shook his head. “Never, Sir. May I?”
    Again, Malcolm lifted his face, a hand under his chin. “You may open your mouth.”
    Charlie’s clear blue eyes never wavered from Malcolm’s face as he parted his lips. “Thank you, Sir.” He closed