Then of course, the burned biscuits sex:
“You never like my theories, Ennis,” Ellery persisted, his voice rising. “Maybe they’re just a little too close ta the bone.”
“Shut the fuck up, just let me eat an forget it.”
“I don’t think so.” Those slate eyes were piercing him, daring him, provoking him, and he scrambled up out of his chair, white hot with anger, gripping onto sharp elbows, glaring into his face.
“I said shut up,” he growled, his breath hot on Ellery’s face, and he in turn was seized, Ellery’s long fingers digging into his upper arms, as he forced his mouth on Ennis’s, prying his lips open with his tongue, pulling him into a hot kiss that was half rage, half passion, and Ennis responded automatically, his hands letting go the elbows and crushing him into a bear hug, a surge of lust making him hard once more, fueled by a helpless anger that had no proper outlet.
He fumbled his pants open and pulled Ellery up to his feet, marching him to the sofa and pushing him down onto his knees, then tore his briefs down , already thrusting blindly with his hips, then grabbed his cock, aiming it back into him with a savage thrust, then tightening his hands over his hips and riding him savagely, not stopping until he came with a strangled groan, feeling Ellery’s body shudder with orgasm beneath him.
He pulled out, slowly, feeling guilty and ashamed of his rage, running his hands down Ellery’s ass as if to console him after a rape, then backed away a step.
“Sweetheart,” Ellery said softly, his voice pitched with the husky tone of satisfied lust.
“Whut?” he asked, his heart thudding.
“Doughboys are burnin.”
Taking Chances, Chapter 88