How We Are: A MFM romance

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Ezra

I know everything there is to know about Cain, I always have. The sun burns through the curtains, warming and lighting Dominique's exposed skin. She shifts, the cover slipping down her body.

Cain shifts toward me, pulling my head into his chest.

I know everything about Cain. He likes silence, cooking, the smell of meat cooking on the grill, and the taste of clarified butter on top of a seared sirloin.

He likes the sound of a Smith and Wesson when it cocks, old school music played softly, and me.

And now...

He reaches a hand, shifting me over his enormous chest, pushing me close to her, and throwing his arm over her waist.

And now her. I think he also likes her. We're pressed together because of him, her body curving into mine. I'm the only one awake.

I'd leave but it's nice his warmth and the smell of his skin. I kiss his chest before looking away.

"What's the matter?" He murmurs behind me. I glance back.

"Nothin'."

He says nothing, quietly stewing behind me. "Fucks sake, Ezra."

He slips out of bed, not bothering to cover himself. "You told me to fuck her, now you're mad that I fucked her. Whaddya want from me?"

"I never said I was mad."

"Mmtch." He rolls his eyes, musing his hair quietly cursing to himself. He turns on the shower, so I slink away from Dominique and follow him.

"I'm not mad," I insist.

He grumbles but doesn't really respond, washing in the shower.

"I just think...you like her is all."

"'M not supposed to?" He grunts. "I know you don't want me to ever like anyone else, Ezra. And I don't. But don't ask me to fuck people and I get mad when I like 'em. Fucking maniac."

Well...I didn't ask him to fuck her though. He asked me if he could. And I...dubiously said yes because he wanted to.

He wanted to.
He wanted her.

"Aw...daddy, am I going to have to live with mommy now," Dominique facetiously calls, getting into the shower like she belongs there.

She leans up to kiss him. Cain pushes her away gently. "You can't."

"Why?"

"You can't have what he doesn't have. That's just the rules. He gets everything first."

My stomach flips. That's right. He's mine.

"Come," he calls.

I smile, shimming into our small shower. Cain kisses me, then kisses her. Then he turns his back to both of us, using the shower.

"Get clean," he grunts at me.

"That's why I'm here—"

"Your ass. Prep it. When I come home, I'm gonna bury myself in that tight ass, so have lube and condoms ready. Dominique, go home."

"Aw...why can't I join?"

Cain doesn't dignify that with a response. He's not used to people asking follow-up questions. He's the owner of Luigi's and the head chef. He's my owner, too. So there's no one to talk back to him. He's...well as he would put it, a cocky little shit. Dominque gives up her protest. It doesn't seem that she cares much either way. She seems to enjoy the drama, and she surely enjoys the sex. Enjoyment. Entertainment, that's what she's after. And hell, Cain and I are a freak show, so she picked the right place. The crowded shower fills with her humming some noncommital tune before she gets out, and without a word, leaves.

Cain glances back with a grunt and shakes her head. I shiver dramatically relaying his silent sentiment. "Cold as ice, isn't she?" I lean on his shoulder. "We should've known she would be when she didn't like me. I mean c'mon...I'm me."

Cain shoots me a look of disdain, but his lips turn up, and just like that, we're Cain and Ezra, two men with names from the bibles, and lives from hell. We only have each other. I stare at his back. Sometimes I wonder...if he weren't so ginormous if his name would be Abel. If he'd be a kinder, more outspoken version of himself. Cain reacts to the fear people have of him, staying silent, and fading into the background. I put my arm around his. 

"Do I have any other tasks today?" I prompt him.

I'm starting to annoy him, I can tell from the tick in his jaw. It brings a smile to my lips. Nothing is more amusing than annoying Cain. Except, I think fucking Dominque. I'll put that third. 

"Don't get on my nerves," he rumbles, pushing me away, his large hand softly colliding with my face, smashing my cheek. "You failed."

I chuckle and almost forget that he only used to like me, and now, I might have competition. Instead, I bury my face in his back and tell him to come home soon. He doesn't dignify it with words, of course, grunting instead, turning the now ice-cold water off and tossing a towel onto my head.

"You'll catch your death of a cold," Is all he says, before he dresses and leaves for work.