Preston
This is not what I meant when I mentioned ending the dangerous fixation.
But hear me out. This motherfucker Marcus has so much audacity that needs to be dealt with and eradicated once and for all.
Appearing in my town. In my club. Right under my fucking nose?
Yeah, that’s unforgivable.
And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that he was here with Danielle.
I’ll deal with that spy he planted by Kane’s side later, but for now…
I slam Marcus against the wall of the narrow alleyway at the back of the club. The light from the lamppost shines so dimly, no one will see when I turn him into a corpse.
The asshole is smirking at me with that provocative look in his eyes that seems to work every fucking time.
What is it about this prick that grinds my gears?
A question I asked Dr. Duret after the mini freak-out I had on her couch. In pure Dr. Duret fashion, she remained completely calm and said I need to look inside myself for the answer.
Which is a heck no. We’re not opening that Pandora’s box that’s dormant somewhere in me.
What I can do, however, is fuck my problems up. Works like a charm every time.
I tighten my grip on Marcus’s throat as I lean close into his space. But then I pause because now I’m drenched by his overpowering scent.
Fuck—the way he smells is addicting.
It’s been only a few days since I last saw him, but it feels like forever ago. And usually, logically, I shouldn’t give a fuck.
I certainly couldn’t care less about the girls who are vying for my attention.
But that’s the thing, no? He hasn’t been vying for my attention since the locker room. He didn’t even send a text after the game like he did the other time.
Not that I wanted him to, and anyone who says I was checking my phone in the locker room is spreading fake news.
The point is, there’s been no trace of him, and to that, I truly say good riddance.
But then he had to show up with fucking Dixie on his arm in my goddamn town.
“Is this your way of saying you miss me?”
A slight strain coats his roughly spoken words due to the choking, but he’s not fighting, letting both his arms rest on either side of him.
In fact, he’s been strangely cooperative since I grabbed him in the club. It can’t possibly be because he recognizes his stupid mistake.
So why the fuck is he not trying to hit back—
No. Forget it. I won’t allow the degenerate to sneak into my head and send me into an endless loop of nothingness.
I plaster on a smirk. “Funny way to refer to attempted murder, but sure, if it makes you die faster, you can think I missed you.”
“I don’t think. I believe.”
“Your beliefs need a better proof system.”
“Oh? I’m sure it’s perfectly fine. You, on the other hand, seem to be bothered by something. Care to tell me what it is?”
“Aside from your stupid face?”
His eyes taper with a hint of amusement. “Yes, aside from that.”
“Why don’t you dig into your actions and figure out what you’ve done wrong?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Hmm. I’m drawing a blank. Can I get a hint?”
He’s smirking and I want to punch it off his face, but that would make me look like a barbarian while he’s just treating this like a joke.
Two can play this game.
“Not sure. It could have something to do with the way you appeared in my town.”
“Your town?”
“It’s certainly not the rat-infested town you come from.”
“I come from here, too, you know.”
“No, you don’t.” I tighten my grip on his throat. “You and I don’t run in the same circles, Osborn. Don’t delude yourself into thinking you can belong here just because of your last name.”
Something flashes in his eyes, it’s brief and barely discernible, but I see the hint of uncontainable rage that simmers under the surface. Marcus has always had that energy on the ice. Many people compare him to Jude and Kane—he possesses Jude’s brutal violence and Kane’s knack for strategizing.
But I think that’s not quite it.
Because, unlike Jude or Kane, he’s completely unreadable, and he always seems to be bottling up something so far and deep, it’s impossible to find his true motives, even if you delve into him.
That’s why I’ve never managed to get inside his head.
And my competitive streak with a dash of self-destructiveness is demanding that I do.
By whatever means necessary.
Marcus grabs my wrist and twists, forcing me to release him as pain explodes across my arm. Then he slams me against the opposite wall.
“Why can’t I belong here?” His voice is calm, unnaturally so, and the smirk is gone, leaving only a blank expression that betrays nothing.
“Let go!” I try to kick him, but he twists my arm farther in the opposite direction, just like Kane did to his earlier, threatening to break it.
“I asked you a question, Preston. Why can’t I belong here, hmm?” He leans closer to my face, still twisting my arm, and I refuse to fucking beg for him to release me even as my joints scream in pain.
I know that if I make one wrong movement, if he applies just a little more pressure, my dominant arm will be in a fucking cast, and this goddamn asshole will be dead.
“If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll castrate you, Marcus.”
“No, you won’t. My dick is one of the few things you like about me.”
“I don’t—”
“Shh. Shut your mouth.”
“You fucking—”
“I said shut it, Preston. Don’t change the subject.
” He’s speaking so close to my face, I can see the dark flecks in his eyes, which have gone so dark, so devoid of feeling, I might as well be facing a monster.
One who matches me so well, it’s pulling at the strings of the side of me that I keep tucked close to my heart.
The side full of bad decisions and impulsive actions that I’ll regret come morning, and then I’ll be beaten to near death by Lenin.
“Tell me why I can’t be here.” Marcus’s voice is terrifyingly monotone, emptied of anything human.
I’ve never heard someone speak like they’re missing the entire concept of feeling.
“Is it because people like you made the rules and decided that people like me can’t belong in this grotesque, power-hungry game you all seem to love playing?
Or maybe it’s because you think we’re mere pawns to be used and discarded as you wish? ”
I let out a long, humorless laugh. “A pawn? Don’t overestimate yourself.
A pawn is to be cherished and used correctly so that it’s only sacrificed at an opportune moment, whereas you’re worth less than a fly.
You can buzz round and round and round…” I snap my fingers in his face.
“…but one hit and I could silence you forever.”
“Could you now?” His voice has darkened, his grip tightening, and it takes everything in me to keep the groan of pain buried deep.
Maybe it’s not the greatest idea to provoke him when my literal dominant arm is at risk of being crippled, but if he thinks that will stop me from putting him in his place, then he doesn’t know who the fuck he’s messing with.
“Try me.” I speak so close to his face, I realize too late that his mouth is a few breaths away from mine.
And now, I’m looking at his lips, and I shouldn’t look at a guy’s lips, but I notice something—or maybe a couple of things.
Both his lips are full and perfectly molded, but the upper one is slightly pouty and lifted. He also has a well-defined dip in the middle, as if it were carved with the utmost precision.
I want to bite it.
Sink my teeth into the soft flesh, tear the skin apart, and make him bleed.
No, fuck. I don’t want to bite Marcus’s lip.
Where the fuck did that ridiculous thought come from?
I slide my gaze to his and pause, because his gray irises have nearly turned black as he also stares at my lips.
Another man is staring at, downright devouring, my mouth with his eyes, and it should make me want to jump out of my skin with disgust.
I search for feelings of disturbance but find none.
If it’s not discomfort, then what’s the reason for the heat coursing through my veins?
It’s warm tonight. That’s why—
My eyes widen when he reaches his free hand toward my mouth. I can see it in slow motion, as if time has stopped, and his hand is moving in a parallel universe.
It isn’t until it makes contact with my face, his fingers cradling my jaw, his thumb on the corner of my lip, that I realize something.
He was deliberately moving slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook me or something equally ridiculous.
“This mouth doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, does it?” He jams his thumb between my lips, forcing my jaw open as he presses down on my lower teeth.
So what do I do? I bite him, of course. My teeth clamp down on his thumb so hard, I think I’ll dislodge it.
I’m a rabid dog that way. Mess with me and you’ll go home with a missing limb.
Anyone with any morsel of sanity would pull out their hand.
Not Marcus, though.
This insane motherfucker’s face is shadowed in a dark gleam as he keeps pressing down on my teeth with the same strength I’m using to bite him.
So I try to spit his thumb out, shoving my tongue against it. In a fraction of a second, Marcus uses the slight change to yank my jaw open, then slides his middle and ring fingers inside my mouth.
This motherfucker—
I’m about to bite his fingers clean off, but he glides them all the way to the back of my throat and slams my arm above my head on the rough stone.
Nausea churns my stomach, and my eyes water. I wait for the wretched memories to flood me.
And wait.
And wait.
They don’t.
I’m too overstimulated to get stuck in my brain.
“This is what happens when you run your mouth, Preston.” He thrusts his fingers farther, angling my jaw with his thumb and index finger for a better angle. “Next time, I’ll be pumping my thick cock down this pretty throat.”
I let out a groan, trying to bite his fucking fingers off, but the way he’s stretching them inside my mouth forbids me from breathing correctly, let alone biting him.
“Shh…relax for me, baby. Don’t let the gag reflex win.”
“Fuck you…” I mumble around his fingers, but I’m not sure if he hears it.
Marcus laughs under his breath, the sound as absent as his nonexistent manners as he drives his fingers all the way to the back of my throat.
My gag reflex kicks in, but he pulls back. “Breathe slowly through your nose. Don’t choke.”
The order triggers two different feelings. The first is that I’m so going to beat the shit out of this asshole for daring to speak to me in that tone.
But the second, the one I can’t seem to understand, is making my body looser, my inhales and exhales deeper.
It’s a survival mechanism, right? My body recognizes that I need to stay alive to beat the crap out of this asshole.
That’s all.
“Good boy.” The gruff words fill my ears like a strange aphrodisiac.
A ghostly chill trails down my spine, cold and as intimate as death’s kiss.
“The feel of your hot little mouth is making me so hard, baby.” He presses his front to mine, his muscular thighs and the unmistakable bulge between them glued all over me.
Oh, fuck.
“What do we have here?” He rubs his erection against my growing one. “Looks like your cock is getting excited, too.”
He licks my lower lip. “How about we fix that?”