Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“ O uch, shit.”
Malcolm pressed his lips together to prevent his laughter from spilling but still snorted out of his nose at Bull shaking out his hand.
He got a mock glare in return, but Bull’s chocolate eyes melted at the sight of him, just like they’d done every time he’d glanced at Malcolm ever since he’d pulled on Bull’s shirt.
He squirmed into the plush couch, his skin heating in all the places Bull’s come had coated him an hour ago. “Don’t maim yourself over there.”
Bull grunted and turned back to his project: a mostly completed, massive cat tower. “Why include instructions if they aren’t going to make sense?”
“At least you read the instructions,” he offered, snickering again at the dry look he received in response. “Can I help?”
He shook his head—just like he had the other two times Malcolm had offered—and went back to work. “I got it, baby. You just relax.”
Warmth seeped through him at the familiar words.
He’d said them—or a version of them—each time Malcolm had volunteered to help with the tower, and when he’d attempted to go out to the truck with him to collect the rest of his purchases, and when Malcolm had tried to insist he could help with making food after they’d cleaned up in the bathroom together.
Each time Bull refused—calling him baby or baby boy in the process—and instructed him to relax or to just let Bull take care of him, it did things to Malcolm’s insides.
Turning his guts into a pile of marshmallows, for starters.
Was this how some people really treated their… Huh. What were they? They hadn’t gone on a date or really spent time together in a get-to-know-you capacity like he had in the past before taking the step of being in a relationship with the woman he was seeing.
And yet, Malcolm knew what his cock tasted like. And how it felt to rub against the beast while Bull whispered in his ear how sexy he was. And that when Bull squeezed his ass, his hands were so big his fingertips dipped between his cheeks, and that excited Malcolm so much he came all over himself.
But he didn’t know as much about Bull as he wanted to. A horrible thought occurred to him, and it must have shown on his face because when Bull glanced over, he immediately started to rise, concern etched in his brow.
“What’s wrong?”
Malcolm covered his face and groaned. “Oh my god.”
“Baby, tell me what’s happening.” There was a firm command in his voice, an edge of dominance that pulled at something in Malcolm’s chest, loosening the words despite his embarrassment.
“I’ve made you come twice, and I don’t know your real first name!” he cried, dragging his hands down and pulling at his face, then flopping onto his back. “I’m such a slut.”
Bull snorted, coming to stand next to the couch and tower over him.
Since Malcolm had stolen his shirt, he only had on the well-worn jeans with holes in the knees.
The rest of him was bare to Malcolm’s ravenous eyes, his gaze lingering on those pierced nipples every time they caught the light and the tantalizing happy trail that led to the monster in his low-slung jeans.
“Come here,” Bull said, smiling at him and offering a hand.
Malcolm took it without hesitation and let himself be pulled upright and then maneuvered back onto Bull’s lap after he sat down against the arm of the couch. They were about the same height, since Bull was slouched down a little, and he liked that he could look right into his eyes.
And he had a feeling it was going to become his favorite seat in the house.
“My first name is Mark,” Bull said.
Malcolm pulled a face. “You don’t seem like a Mark.”
He shrugged and ran his hands down the sides of Malcolm’s thighs, teasing at the edge of his T-shirt where it had hiked up a little and bringing goose bumps to the surface. “You can take that up with my moms, but it’s probably because I’ve gone by Bull since high school.”
“Oh yeah? That’s a long time to go by a nickname. I guess it makes sense you seem to personify that instead of… Mark.”
Bull laughed at the exaggerated way he said the name, like it really was strange and not a perfectly normal one.
Why was his heart beating faster over his reaction?
It wasn’t like he’d never made someone laugh before, but Bull was usually so serious and reserved it felt like he’d broken through a shell and found a new layer to him.
And that… made him really happy.
Smiling, Malcolm settled against him more fully and rested his hands on Bull’s warm chest, loving that he could touch his skin, be close to him and just talk, and it felt so easy.
There was no awkwardness between them now that they’d cleared the air.
He wasn’t sure if it was because they had known each other for months or if it was because Bull was a man instead of a woman.
Maybe his brain was hardwired to be nervous around women but relaxed around men?
Or, a small voice in his brain whispered, it’s because Bull so easily took charge, even in simple instances, like a conversation about his name.
Instead of letting Malcolm spiral or downplaying his feelings, Bull had just smiled, climbed on the couch, and cuddled him as he answered the unspoken question.
“Yeah,” Bull said, a small grin lingering on his face. “The guys on the football team started calling me that, and it spread to the rest of the class, then to everyone else. My whole family has called me Bull for nearly two decades.”
“But the team started calling you by that because of the size of your dick, right? Not because of how big your body is?” Malcolm couldn’t help but confirm, leaning forward a little more.
Bull rolled his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Ollie,” Malcolm confessed without hesitation. He was sure his new friend wouldn’t be mad. “It was literally like the first thing he said to me.”
Bull sighed heavily, his big hands sliding up to Malcolm’s hips and staying there, his grip light but noticeable through the thin shirt. “Six sure has a wild one with him.”
That seemed like an understatement to Malcolm, but he didn’t want to talk about them. “It’s true though, right?”
“Yes, it’s true. Most people assume it’s because of how—” He gestured at himself in a vague way.
“Tall and muscular, you are,” Malcolm finished, and for some reason, Bull started to blush a little.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” Malcolm asked and clapped his hands on Bull’s massive shoulders. “Look at these beasts. You’re built like a tank.”
That made Bull laugh for some reason, but he just shook his head at Malcolm’s questioning look. “I was always the biggest guy in the room, taking up all the space. Luckily, my moms let me play any sport I was interested in, which was pretty much all of them, so my size became an asset.”
“Did you play any sports in college?” He could totally imagine Bull moving around campus, embarrassed at all the attention he got by being some star footballer.
“Uh, no.” Bull cleared his throat and glanced away. “I played in some rec leagues, but I wanted to focus on my classes. Marv’s the smart one. Shit like school always came easy to him, but I had to work hard to get my degree.”
Malcolm frowned and slid his hands over Bull’s traps, up his neck, and then clasped the sides of his face, his long stubble brushing against his palms, nearly distracting him.
But he persevered, tilting Bull’s face up and saying, clearly, “Marv isn’t the smart one.
You’re smart too. We all know you’re basically running Bo’s, even if your mom does come in sometimes. ”
God, it should not have been so sexy for a man his size to blush and smile like Malcolm’s assurance embarrassed him, but he also liked hearing it.
Before he could argue—which Malcolm could tell he was about to do, no doubt downplaying the very real work he put in at Bo’s—he doubled down.
“I’m serious, Bull. Just because you’re not an accountant doesn’t mean you’re not smart and don’t have skills.
Your mom wouldn’t be getting you ready to take over the business completely if she didn’t know for sure you could handle it. ”
“I guess,” Bull said slowly, but he hesitated, brows furrowing in concentration.
Malcolm let him have the time he needed to figure out what he wanted to say, absently brushing a thumb over one of those brows and then across his cheekbone before letting his hands settle at the top of Bull’s chest, his fingers tracing over his pronounced collarbones.
“I’m not sure I’m cut out to take over at Bo’s,” he confessed in a soft, hoarse voice, and Malcolm got the feeling it was the first time he’d ever said the words out loud.
“Why would you think that?”
“I do a lot now, you’re right, but that’s with the safety net of having her there. Once she retires…”
Malcolm tilted his head and smiled at him. “I don’t think Sally and Bo plan on moving out of town, do you?”
“No.”
“So even when she’s retired, if you ever have a question, I think that means you can call her.”
Bull rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it won’t be the same.”
“You’re right,” Malcolm said. “I don’t mean to mitigate your fear here.
I’m just trying to give you a different perspective.
” He waited until Bull nodded before continuing.
“It’s okay if things don’t run exactly the same way once Sally leaves.
When that happens, it’ll be your business.
If you want to change the hours or the menu or renovate the dining room, you can. You can do anything you want.”
Bull made a face like he couldn’t conceptualize the idea of actually changing his mom’s restaurant.
He supposed he understood that. He knew Sally had opened the place when Bull and his brother were young, and they’d basically grown up there.
It probably really was difficult for him to imagine changing anything about the place.