Soft, yellow lights were on inside my duplex. I suspected that Ben the Perfect Bottom had found his way inside again, breaking and entering, needing me, wanting me inside him. Perhaps the boy-thing wanted to land a Daddy more than I had given him credit for, making me a part of his s****l bucket list, attempting to conquer me. Sometimes young men were like that: needy to achieve things with older men, and selfishly wanting to explore places (like my bottom or mouth) where they needn’t belong. Sometimes.
I parked the Jeep on the front street and made my way inside my half of the duplex. To my surprise, Ben Sinclair wasn’t visiting. Three chiseled cowboys with blond hair and blue eyes decorated the living room, one of which was bare-chested with golden skin, a ripped stomach, and brown n***
