Page 73 of Bull's Boy

Dale the Landlord was a man of average height with a body that looked like he probably played sports in high school and college, but he was well into his fifties now, with a horrible comb-over, a goatee, yellow teeth, and small, mean eyes. They sure as shitwidened, though, at the sight of Bull. He scrambled back a step, hands going up instinctively.

Bull had to give him credit—that was a good fucking instinct.

He pulled his arm back and let it fly, punching the guy square on the jaw and knocking him back against the wobbly banister. He was half-disappointed it didn’t give way to let the creep return to ground level the fast way.

“Ow, fuck!” the guy yelled, holding his face. “I swear, I was just kidding!”

“No, you weren’t,” Bull said, stepping out onto the tiny landing and crowding the man back against the loose piece of two-by-four this guy thought was an acceptable railing. “Malcolm’s moving out immediately. Don’t ever try to fucking contact him. Do you understand me?”

Dale nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Or my fist hitting your face will be the least of your fucking worries.”

Face slack with shock, Dale was scrambling down the steps before Bull even finished threatening him. Bull stood there, watching him the whole way until he hopped in his old beater van and sped away.

Rage was still simmering inside him, that one punch barely enough to take the edge off. He shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders a few times before turning and stepping back into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Malcolm’s eyes looked about ready to fall out of his face, and his lips were parted in shock.

“We’ll worry about packing up your stuff later,” Bull said, glancing at his watch. “We need to get going.” When Malcolm didn’t move or blink, Bull took a step toward him, his anger lessening as worry for his boyfriend took its place. “Baby, are you okay? Did that piece of shit touch you or something?”

He gently gripped Malcolm’s chin, tipping his face up so he could study him better. His touch seemed to jolt Malcolm out of whatever it was that had him frozen.

He blinked a few times, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Bull raised his eyebrows. “Punch a guy who asked you to whore yourself out for him? The same guy who couldn’t be fucking bothered to change a light bulb for you? Baby, he’s lucky all I did was punch him.”

Malcolm made a muffled sort of groaning sound, and then he dropped to his knees, fingers attacking Bull’s belt buckle.

“We don’t really have time for this,” Bull said, his dick starting to fill out down his left pant leg.

Malcolm moaned and pressed kisses against the hardening shaft through his jeans as he worked to get his pants and underwear out of the way. Once he had tugged everything down to Bull’s knees, he wasted no time, sucking Bull’s tip straight into his hot mouth.

Bull grabbed the back of his head and groaned. “Fuck it. We can be late.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Malcolm wiped at his mouth discreetly and then tugged on his rolled-up shirt sleeves. “Can you tell?”

Bull glanced at him as he met him at the front of the truck, holding out the same hand he’d just used to punch his landlord to hold Malcolm’s. Balls tightening, Malcolm threaded their fingers together, and he decided he was possibly the dumbest man on Earth for showing up to his shitty brother’s engagement party rather than letting Bull suck him off in return. Or, better yet, go get boxes so they could start packing up his apartment.

Because apparently, he was moving in with Bull.

After he’d caught his breath, with the taste of Bull’s come still on his tongue, he’d tried to say it wasn’t necessary, that they really hadn’t been seeing each other long enough to live together.

Which was bullshit, and Bull called him on it immediately, reminding him they’d practically been living together since they first started seeing each other.

He’d stopped trying to argue after that because there was no point. Bull was right. They both knew it, and moreover,Malcolmwantedto live with him. He didn’t want to keep running back to his apartment to grab things or feel like he was a guest with no say in certain decisions at Bull’s house.

Bull had tried to make him feel welcomed, including him in everything from what groceries to buy to the color of the new towels he’d recently ordered, and every step of the way, Malcolm had done his best to remember itwasn’this place. Since it was Bull paying for the groceries and the towels and everything else, it should be his decision.

But now they would be combining their lives—including their finances. He’d be able to truly contribute to the household necessities.

They wouldn’t just be seeing each other anymore; they’d be taking the next step to becoming each other’s family.

“Can I tell what?” Bull asked, leading the way across the street to Malcolm’s parents’ house.

It looked exactly the same as it had since he was a kid: baby blue siding, white shutters, petunias in the flower beds. It always gave him a weird sense of déjà vu coming back there, like just stepping across the threshold sent him back in time to when he was a miserable kid or an angry teenager, just wanting to fit in with his own family.

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