Chapter 19 Freddie
Freddie
I know, in theory, that we’re both millionaires. In reality, it hasn’t changed my life much. I bought a house for my parents, who were still living in the council housing flat I grew up in, and then one for DJ’s parents. Because I can do those things now.
But still, I sometimes forget. It’s nice for things like finding and buying a new place, which Marlon did in record time, but I mostly still wear my old clothes and go to the same restaurants.
Marlon’s flat though… that’s full-on millionaire shit.
“Damn.” I can’t help but be impressed as he leads me through his new place.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, dark brown wooden floors, beautiful, brand new white furniture, plants and paintings and all kinds of expensive but not gaudy-looking stuff, and it feels… grown up.
Nothing like my place, stuffed full of old furniture and cozy carpets inherited from Hadidja’s parents.
I like it, even though I don’t imagine I’ll spend a lot of time there going forward.
Hadidja is completely cool—and happy for me—about the whole Marlon situation, but I don’t want to put her through having to hear our sex noises.
Besides, I think she’ll be making her own sex noises with her girlfriend soon enough, and I’m happy to leave them to it. It would be like hearing my little sister boning and I’m perfectly fine never experiencing that.
Marlon practically glows with pride as he stands in the middle of his huge living room, flooded in sunlight. “It’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Don’t tell me you did all this.” I look around, wide-eyed. Marlon has good taste, he always wears nice clothes, but this is something else. This isn’t something a twenty-one year-old could do. Right?
“What, you don’t believe in me?” He shoves me as we make our way into the kitchen.
More white furniture, matte black appliances, open space.
Then he snorts before I can make a snarky observation.
“Of course I didn’t do this. None of it.
” He leans against the spacious kitchen island, giving me a perfect view of his muscular body.
Fuck, and he’s so beautiful. I could stay here and stare at the way his shoulders look in his sleeveless shirt for hours and not get bored.
“Freddie. Freddie!”
It takes me a moment to find my way back to reality.
Marlon is grinning at me. “Enjoying the view?”He stretches, putting himself on display for me even more, fluid, languid movements making my mouth water.
“Mar,” I breathe. “Fuck.” I move toward him without any conscious thought, wanting to be near him, wanting to hold him so this can all feel real.
I sometimes still can’t believe how lucky I am.
Marlon could have anyone he wanted. He’s beautiful and smart and considerate and so much more relaxed than the chaos gremlin that lives inside me. And he’s mine.
Marlon laughs into the kiss, but makes no effort to rid himself of me. Good. This time, I don’t try to make it anything more; just an exploration of his mouth, telling him without words how happy I am he gave me a chance.
Eventually, he breaks the kiss, though he does it ever so softly. “I could do this all day,” he says with a happy little sigh that makes my intestines sing. “But if we don’t start soon, I don’t see any stripping in our future.”
“You make a compelling argument. But you know we could just skip the painting, take our clothes off, and hire someone else to do the work, right?” I know I agreed to help him, but how can anyone expect me to be productive when he looks like this?
His hands wrap around my waist, keeping me close. I breathe deeply and try to imprint the feeling on my memory. I am so fucking gone for him. I had no idea it could be like this. So easy and so perfect at the same time. It’s almost terrifying.
“Shut up,” he says, eloquently, and stifles my grin with a kiss. “I had all the other walls done, but this is a last minute thing and I figured I could do it myself rather than wait for a painter to come round.”
“Sure. And you needed an expert, so you asked me to help you.” I mock salute him. “I’ve painted a total of two walls before, so this should be easy.”
Marlon sighs. “You know what? Maybe we should call it off. I’ll message my painter guy and ask him to come round when he can.”
“Excuse me?” I didn’t want to paint that dumb wall, but now he’s questioning my capabilities, I’m affronted. “I can do a perfectly good job, thank you very much.”
Marlon still looks doubtful. “It’s all right,” he says with a little shrug. “Really. I can live with a white wall for a couple days longer.”
“No.” My jaw is set. He’s triggered my competitiveness and I am not going to back down from this challenge. “Hand me my brush.”
“You want to paint an entire wall using a brush?” I don't appreciate the note of horror in Marlon’s voice. “How about a paint roller?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and glare at him, only half joking. “You want me to help you or what?”
The corners of his mouth twitch but he keeps a straight face. Barely. “Sure,” he says, in the dry tone I’ve come to love so much. “I can maybe ask Clara for one of her make-up sponges, too, if it helps.”
Oh, fuck him very much. I glare even more intensely.
Marlon stares back for a second, two—then he giggles.
Shit.
I laugh too. The mental image is just too ludicrous. Maybe I am a bit ludicrous, and maybe—just maybe—I’m not the right person to help with this kind of project. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I almost mean it.
“No, you’re not.” Marlon shoves me, playfully, and I pull him close and tangle my fingers in his short hair.
“No, I’m not.” I don’t feel bad about it, either. It’s a beautiful place, one way or another, and he’s right: keeping the wall white for another week or two won’t kill him. And we can use the time for much better things than painting.
Like admiring how good he looks in his washed-out t-shirt and loose-fitting shorts, his pale skin with only the tiniest bit of a tan. My beautiful English rose.
I probably shouldn’t call him that to his face.
We kiss and I melt against him, losing myself in the touch, in the closeness.
Marlon reduces me to a puddle of goo on the inside and he can never know just how much of my heart already belongs to him, or it might scare him away.
Instead, I pull myself together and scramble for the usual flirty tone he’s come to expect of me.
“You mind getting those brushes anyway? They’re new, right?
I’d love to discover all your ticklish spots with them. ”
Marlon opens his mouth to argue with me, then pauses and finally closes his mouth again. Oh, shit, he’s into it. I love it. I can get him all riled up and then have him fuck me with all his pent-up desperation. Fuck yes. It will be so good.
“Okay.”
It’s just one word, but I’m already buzzing with excitement.
Marlon tries to pull me towards the bedroom, but I dig my heels in. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I spotted an amazing rooftop terrace out there,” I say. “We should go there.”
I revel in the horrified look on his face. “For sex?” His voice breaks ever so slightly on the last word and it’s delicious. Marlon is so uptight, sometimes he needs someone to unravel him.
“For the best sex there ever was,” I say, just to be a dick. “For the first time you’re topping me, after the best foreplay the world has ever seen.”
Marlon rolls his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth is unmistakable. “You know,” he says. “Not everything is a competition.”
I pull him close to me and slip my hands under the hem of his t-shirt once more, spreading my fingers wide to reach as much of him as I can.
“No?” I dip my head and suck, gently, on the soft skin just underneath his jaw.
“All right then, I’m sure you won’t mind me saying I’m much better at topping than you are. ”
He stiffens and I do my best to hide my grin as I continue kissing his neck, slow, leisurely, open-mouthed kisses trailed over his pale skin.
He does mind that. Because he’s a competitive bastard just like me, even though he doesn’t always want to admit it.
You don’t get to where we are, at our age, without being full to bursting with ambition and a hunger to win.
“Fuck you,” Marlon finally grits out and wrenches his neck away from my mouth.
“Yes, please.” Heat collects in my stomach as I think about it.
Think about Marlon looming over me, his tall, muscular body covering me completely, taking me.
A small moan tumbles out of me, but I’m not done riling Marlon up just yet.
“Bet you have a nice view from out there,” I tease.
“We could maybe even see the arena? And then give your neighbours a show.”
“Enough.” Suddenly Marlon’s hand is on my neck, a vice-like grip, and he yanks me backwards. Yes. Shit. Holy hell that’s hot.
I hiss and moan again, apparently all the encouragement Marlon needs. He still holds me, like a wayward cat, marching both of us to the bedroom. I’ve never seen him this bossy except on the field and I fucking love it.
“You want me to fuck you?” It’s clearly a rhetorical question but I whimper my approval anyway. Marlon lets go of my neck, only to reach for my chin instead and angle it up so he can look into my eyes. “Then we’re doing it my way.” Something fierce blazes in his eyes and I swallow drily.
Not coming seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do earlier, and like a fun challenge for myself, but I regret it now. I’m so bloody hard, just from being manhandled like this. I’m not sure I’ll survive Marlon touching me anywhere below the neck.
“We’ll be on the bed,” Marlon says, “and I will fuck you, and you will shut your bloody trap except to moan my name.”
“Fuck,” I hiss and jerk, so turned on thinking is becoming difficult. “Yes. Yes, Marlon, fuck.”