Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JEREMY
Istare at the list in my shaking hand while I stand in front of Marcus’s closed office door.
I could have sent it to him by email, but I want to see him, despite the fact that I know professional robot Marcus is on the other side of that door.
Ever since I met Sabrina last week, he’s progressively become more paranoid.
Maybe I’m a sadist. I wish I could just talk to boyfriend Marcus instead. He’s less of an uptight dick.
At this point in a design job, I should be celebrating. I finished the hardest part. We’ve reached the execution stage, where I recommend the companies that can actually complete my client’s vision.
And getting here hasn’t been easy.
If anything, the last week alone has made me loathe coming to work because there’s such a stark difference between the way we act at the office and the way we act each evening behind closed doors.
Behind closed doors, which is at my apartment because Marcus never lets us go back to his, we’re good.
Really good.
But as soon as daylight touches his pillow, Marcus is up and out the door like his ass is on fire.
I’ve been trying really hard not to take it personally.
I know there’s a complicated dynamic going on with him—business and personal shit all tangled together—but what if this never ends?
What if he’ll never be ready? Where does that leave us? Where does it leave me?
And then there’s Sabrina. I know their relationship is fake. I know. But that doesn’t stop my brain from creating all kinds of horrific scenarios involving Marcus living his best life with her. The thoughts stir up all kinds of illogical jealously.
Honestly, it hurts a little—okay, a lot—and pisses me the fuck off.
So I’ve been pushing his boundaries a bit. Not in front of people, obviously; that would be reckless. But when it’s just us at work? Absolutely. What can I say? I can be a dramatic, petty bitch, and he knows it.
I finally pull up my big boy panties and knock on his door.
“Come in.”
I peek my head in. Marcus doesn’t look up, and I take a moment to note the troubled expression on his face while he types something into his phone.
I step into his office and place the list on his desk, sliding it across.
He looks up, his brown eyes like warm dappled sunlight under the soft desk lamp. “What’s this?”
“A list of recommendations for contractors and tradespeople in the order that you should contact them.” He stares down at the paper, his brow furrowed.
“Once they actually start work, I can come in and supervise if you want me to, but my interior design plans and notes are very thorough, and I’m available through text as well. ”
He looks up at me quickly. “You’re done here?”
“Well, not done, per se,” I say slowly, trying to read the emotions in his mannerisms. “I’ll do a final walkthrough when all the work is complete.
” He frowns, and I wish I knew what was going through his head.
“If you’re worried about the shorter timeline, I made it clear this job should be a priority—”
“It’s not about the timeline,” he snaps and scrubs his scruff—which is actually a short beard at this point—in annoyance.
I close the door quietly. Then I walk around to where Marcus slouches in his chair and lean my ass on his desk. “What’s going on, big guy?”
“You shouldn’t be back here,” he mumbles.
“And why is that?”
“Anyone could walk in.”
“Would that be so bad? I’m just sitting here as your friend. We’re allowed to be friends, right? So talk to me,” I plead. “Please.”
He’s really been off lately. I know he’s been meeting with Sabrina a lot, but I’ve kept my distance from them for now. Even though I know their relationship is fake, something about it still makes me feel left out.
“Does this have something to do with your father or Ryan?” I ask. “Did something happen?”
He looks up at me, and I’m surprised to see that his eyes are red and glassy. “A little. But I can’t talk about that. I just . . . don’t want you to go, I guess.” He looks down. “But maybe it’s for the best.”
I feel like my heart leaves my chest with my exhale. “What do you mean?”
“I like having you around, Jer, but I know I can be frustrating, and I’m trying, but I think I’m still failing. There’s so many people who I’m trying to please and protect, and I feel like I’m hurting you in the process, and that’s not what I want. Shit, I can’t even admit that I’m . . .”
I stare at him, waiting for him to say it out loud. He doesn’t. He slams his hands on the desk, growling in frustration.
“Finish your sentence, Marcus.”
“I can’t, okay? Not out loud, anyway.” He stands to his full height so that he towers over me.
His hand wraps around my throat, and it gives me a little thrill like it always does when he’s feral.
He leans toward me, anger and confusion swimming in his eyes.
“I don’t think you really understand. There’s a lot of moving parts and so much at stake. ”
“I don’t understand?” Rage bubbles under my skin, and my vision blurs.
“I know exactly why I don’t matter. You have a whole list of people to consider, and I’m at the bottom.
I matter to no one, Marcus. I’ve been someone’s afterthought my whole fucking life.
Just another poor kid in foster care, a burden on my aunt, or a good fuck. ”
I regret the words the minute I say them because of course he would choose his family. But I’m so tired of being second string to every fucking person who’s supposed to care about me. My feelings are getting all twisted into this relationship, and it’s getting hard not to be selfish.
Marcus’s eyes widen, and a tear trickles down his cheek into his beard. He drops back into his chair.
“I didn’t know you were in foster care.”
“It was only a year of my life,” I mutter. The worst year of my life.
Marcus leans forward, pressing his face into my side.
I sigh and sit properly on the desk, opening my legs and pulling him against my stomach.
His arms wrap around my waist, and his uneven breaths are hot against my abs, like he’s trying to suppress a sob.
His vulnerability right now is about to kill me.
“You make this so difficult, baby,” I whisper.
“Make what so difficult?” is Marcus’s muffled reply.
“This. Us. Whatever we are.” I rub my fingers through his hair.
“We’re not good together. We’re toxic. But I can’t quit you.
It’s like a sick joke.” He gives a watery chuckle at that and looks up at me.
I use my thumbs to wipe the moisture from his cheeks.
“And as much as I don’t want it to, your tantrum is making me hard. ”
Marcus glances down at my crotch and gives me a ghost of a smile. Then, to my utter shock, he undoes the button on my jeans.
My breath catches. “What’re you doing?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you wear these slutty little pants to work every day, Starlight.”
I give him an innocent look, and his gaze darkens. I lift my ass as he peels the jeans down my thighs with my boxers. My cock springs free, already weeping for him. Marcus has never let anything go this far in public, aside from that night at The Pegasus.
Yes, we’re in a closed office, but—
All my thoughts dissipate when he puts his mouth on me, gently swirling his tongue around the tip of my cock.
I whine and push toward his face, lacing my fingers into his hair.
He pauses and drops a tender kiss to my hip right over my scar.
My breath catches and my stomach flips as I stare down at him, my lips parted in pleasure.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. “Every inch of you.”
I’ve never let anyone see my damage until Marcus, hiding under long shirts or fucking in the dark. But the way he always worships that part of me has my heart melting for him daily. It’s why I can’t seem to let him go despite all his bullshit. He makes me feel cherished. Seen.
Marcus licks up my cock and takes it back into his mouth. We’ve done this often enough that he may as well be an expert at this point, but I can tell he’s rushing as his teeth scrape the underside of my cock, trying to coax my orgasm quickly. And I’m not really mad about it.
He pinches my balls and takes me so deep, I feel the back of his throat spasming around me. I tug his hair as pleasure takes over. My abs tense, and I cry out, shoving a fist in my mouth to muffle my scream as I come hard.
And that’s when I hear the door open. My head whips around, and my eyes meet Tristan’s. His expression of shock melts quickly into a knowing smirk.
“What the fuck, Tris?” Marcus roars. He pushes away from me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“My bad!” he chirps before he slams the door closed.
Marcus shoots to his feet and starts pacing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He tugs his hands through his hair. “Fuck!”
“Hey, c’mon, it’ll be fine. Sabrina knows. Why can’t Tris?”
He looks at me deadpan, and then his eyes drop down my body. “Can you put your dick away?”
“Oh, right.” I stand and pull up my boxers and jeans. “It’s just Tristan.”
“Yes, exactly. It’s Tristan.” His voice rises a few octaves.
“He’s our friend. And he’s queer.” I place a hand on his bicep, but Marcus jerks away from me. “He’ll understand.”
“The guy could have been an extra on Gossip Girl.”
“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone, Marcus.
He only ever talks to—” Panic floods my system.
“Shit!” I take off out the door, running down the stairs.
When I reach the dining room, Tris is standing with his back to me.
I hear Marcus’s heavy footfalls behind me as he comes to a stop, almost colliding with my back.
“Tris, wait. Don’t tell Marion—”
“Really, J?” I wince at her sharp tone, and Tristan turns. Marion’s face stares back at me on his FaceTime call, and she looks pissed.