Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JEREMY
Istare in wonder at Marcus’s silhouetted form while he pulls me along the beach, our fingers intertwined. In the moonlight, he looks like a wild beast, his dark hair blowing chaotically around his face, which is all shadows and angles.
My brain keeps replaying our encounter with the cop. It’s the first time Marcus didn’t push me away.
Something sharp scrapes my foot, and I hiss in pain.
Marcus stops, concern furrowing his brow. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I stepped on a shell or a stick or something.”
As if I weigh nothing, Marcus sweeps me into his arms, bridal-style.
I yelp in surprise, my hands gripping his shoulders instinctively. “I didn’t say I can’t walk, you brute!” I shriek as he hauls me toward the nearest log.
He shakes his head. “You should have worn shoes, Jer,” he admonishes like he’s talking to a naughty child.
It’s the third time he’s shortened my name, the first two times when I made him come in his pants.
The sound of it on his lips again tugs at something in my chest. No one has ever called me Jer except my mother, and it makes me feel even more vulnerable than being carried around like I can’t take care of myself.
I hate pity.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap as he drops me onto the log, knocking the breath from my body. “And you could be a bit gentler.”
Marcus squats in front of me, and I can see the outline of his sizable dick through his wet sweats. I avert my eyes, hoping that he can’t see me blush, but he cups my chin, turning my face toward his.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re blushing?” he asks, raising a thick eyebrow.
Why is this infuriating man so fucking hot?
I jerk my face away from his grasp. “I’m not blushing. I’m flustered because of the way you just manhandled me like a caveman.”
“Oh?” He clears his throat pointedly. “In my experience so far, you like being manhandled, Starlight.”
“Why are you calling me that?”
He smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“And you’re a brat. Now, hold still.” He picks up my foot, gently brushing sand from my heel as he inspects the cut. “It’s bleeding.”
“No shit. And you’re making it drip up my ankle.” I yank my foot from his grasp, and he gives an exasperated sigh.
“What’s your problem?”
“Once again, you. Stop treating me like a child!” I shout.
“Stop acting like one!”
I grit my teeth and lean forward, getting in his face. “I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. I don’t need anyone to baby me, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”
Marcus surprises me when his fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture alarmingly tender. “And I’ve taken care of people my whole life, so we’re at an impasse.”
My anger fizzles at his words when I remember everything he’s told me about protecting his siblings from his dad, and I drop my gaze, feeling like an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. When I look back up at him, his eyes are soft. “I know you were just being nice. It’s just . . . people treat me like I’m helpless because I’m small, and I hate it.”
Marcus’s lips twitch with a ghost of a smile. I want to kiss him again so bad. “We may not know each other that well yet, Jeremy Hart, but if I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you’re anything but helpless. You’re small, but mighty.”
I swallow a laugh and lean back, letting the cool air blow over my overheated skin. My hair is almost dry, but the salt water and sand have made it stiff. “Let’s get back. Just don’t carry me again.”
He nods. “Fine, but you shouldn’t walk on it. You’ll get debris in the cut, so lean on me.”
I concede and hobble the rest of the way to the beach house with Marcus’s arm firmly around my waist.
By the time we reach the stairs, my good foot aches from putting all my weight on it, and I’m sweating. I stumble on the first step, and Marcus gives me a tolerant look.
“Jeremy . . .”
“Okay, okay, crouch down.”
He does as I ask, and I hop onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He smells like pine trees and the ocean, and I resist the urge to bury my nose in the nape of his neck.
“So I can’t carry you,” he grumbles as he stands, “but a piggyback is okay?”
“I’m on top,” I say with a smirk. “It feels more like my choice.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my whole body.
Please don’t get hard. Please don’t get hard.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, kid.” Marcus shakes his head. “For someone so small, you sure carry a lot of pride.”
“Is that some sort of gay joke?”
We reach the porch, and he squats, lowering me gently to the ground.
I limp to the sliding-glass door, tug it open, and shuffle inside. Marcus is close behind me, a protective hand on the small of my back. When I get to the bathroom, I stop him at the door.
“I can take care of it,” I say firmly.
He looks like he wants to protest, but nods reluctantly, and I close the door.
I pull my shirt over my head. It’s damp and sticks to my skin, and sand sprinkles to the floor, making a mess on the white linoleum.
I grimace, but it can’t be helped. Short of getting undressed on the porch, we were bound to bring in half the beach on our skin and clothing.
I carefully peel off my sweats, but the leg gets caught on my injured foot, and I topple, crashing to the ground with a cry.
“Fuck!” I stare dejectedly at the blood mixing with sand on the tile just as Marcus bursts through the door.
“Jeremy? Are you okay?” He drops to his knees by my side.
I raise my hand. “I’m okay, Marcus.”
“Please, just let me help. At least let me get you undressed and into the shower.”
I flush. “Just help me with my sweats.”
He reaches for me, and I’m suddenly aware that he’s in nothing but his boxers. I stare at his huge biceps as they bunch and stretch while he carefully peels my soggy pants from my legs. Then he reaches for my boxer briefs, and my brain short-circuits.
“N-no! Please don’t take them off.” My fingers slide under my waistband, rubbing the raised skin protectively. Marcus freezes, his brow furrowing with frustration. “I’ll get in the shower with them on. Please.”
“Okay,” he says quietly, though he’s obviously confused.
He starts the water and then takes my hand to help me to my feet, and I step into the shower, releasing a contented exhale and let the warm water heat my chilled body.
But when I turn away from the spray, I come face-to-face with Marcus, who has apparently stepped into the shower with me, still in his underwear.
He’s watching me closely with an odd look in his eyes, and then he kneels, his gaze never leaving my body.
“W-what are you doing?”
“I want to clean your foot.”
“I can do it.”
“Of course, you can. But it’s a weird angle, and I don’t want you to fall again. So just let me.”
“Fine,” I say hesitantly, my eyes dropping to my waistband to make sure my scar is still hidden. I take a deep breath and blow it out.
Just let someone take care of you, Jeremy. For once.
He lifts my foot and inspects the bottom, then reaches for the bar of soap, sudsing up his fingers. He glances up at me as he touches the cut, cleaning it gently.
“It’s not very deep,” he murmurs.
Despite the sting, his touch feels good, and it’s making my balls tingle.
I swallow, trying to fight the feeling, but it’s difficult when he’s on his knees, his face inches from my hardening cock.
He finishes quickly, but his fingers don’t leave my skin, trailing up my ankle and along the ridge of my calf muscle.
“I’m good now,” I say, trying to keep the quiver from my voice. “I promise.”
“Your skin is so perfect,” he marvels as he traces over my knee.
I’m starting to get obviously hard. “Marcus . . .” I hate the way his name comes out all quiet and needy.
He releases my leg and places it over one of his shoulders. Water cascades over his hair, getting caught in his lashes as he blinks up at me, his eyes hooded. He reaches for my boxers again, and I tense.
“Do you trust me, Jeremy?”
I realize that despite our animosity at times, I do trust him.
I nod, but fear still grips my stomach as he reaches for me.
Instead of taking off my underwear, he places a firm hand over my fabric-covered cock.
I hiss as he presses his palm against me.
Then, his fingers slide into the fly of my boxers and grip my dick, pulling it free.
I choke on a groan as he runs his hand along my length, pleasure making my cock feel hot and heavy. He stares at my length bobbing in his face, licking his lips while he hesitates.
“You don’t have to,” I rasp. But I really want you to.
“Just . . . tell me if it feels good.” And with a determined look in his eyes, he takes my head into his mouth.
“Fuck,” I moan, my back hitting the wall as I slouch, pushing farther into his warm mouth.
He grips my thighs and starts to suck. My leg tightens over his left shoulder when his teeth scrape over the sensitive underside of my cock, and while I can tell this is his first time, everything feels unbelievable because it’s him.
“Mmm,” I hum, weaving my fingers into his hair to guide his head up and down. “Just like that, big guy.” I’m shaking with restraint when all I want to do is fuck his face. “You’re taking my dick so well.”
He seems to gain confidence from my praise, sucking me deeper until he gags.
He releases my length with a cough, but the sound drives me wild, and I can feel my balls tightening.
He gives me a shy look as he wipes water from his eyes, which I didn’t even know Marcus could pull off because nothing about him is shy.
I run my fingers over the top of his head. “Relax your throat, baby.”
His eyes are red and probably tearing, but it’s hard to tell under the shower spray. He leans forward, taking me deep again. His gag reflex is minimal this time, and I see fucking rainbows.