26. Marcus
MARCUS
Harsh breaths fill the air.
Mine and Preston’s.
The heady, sweet smell of sex and cum—and especially him—wraps me in a cocoon tighter than his embrace.
And it is tight.
He’s all pressed up against me, our slicked skin glued together as he digs his fingers into my back painfully.
Not sure he realizes what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter. I’m busy enjoying the fact that he wrapped his arms around me a bit too much.
It’s like a present. Preston has never really been proactive about touching me—he’s only kissed me twice of his own accord, and for one of them, he was drunk and high.
And then this.
Naturally, I won’t put an end to this, even if it hurts and I can’t breathe properly with my head buried in his neck.
I fall into the rhythm of his frantic heartbeat thrumming against mine as his harsh breaths echo in the air. He lets out a small, sated noise like a sigh, and my cock twitches inside him.
No sense of boundaries for that one, apparently.
Though I can’t really blame him. It’s the first time in my life I’ve been staggeringly desperate to fuck someone.
Get inside them.
Own them.
I’ve never worked this hard for a hole in my entire existence.
Never tolerated so much push and pull, temper tantrums, and rejection.
I tell myself that’s the only reason this fuck felt special—because I finally conquered Preston Armstrong.
If I follow that logic, this morbid fixation and disturbing obsession should vanish right about now.
I wait and wait, and fucking wait as I breathe him in.
Nope.
No disappearing in sight.
If anything, my cock lengthens inside him, demanding round two. Now.
A muffled groan tears out of me. Just what is it about Preston fucking Armstrong that makes him impossible to resist?
Is he actually some sort of a fucking fairy in human form? He’s obviously ethereal in some way.
His fingers unwrap from around me in a sudden jerk as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to hold on too tight…” His voice is stripped raw, a tad vulnerable.
Not as vulnerable as when he talked to me earlier with a tear sliding down his cheek, but it’s close enough.
“I don’t mind.” I lift myself up slightly, planting my elbows on either side of his face so I’m not crushing him.
But I don’t leave too much space, our abs still pinning his deflated cock and my own still twitching deep in his warm heat.
And now, I’m staring at his gorgeous face and his swollen, parted lips.
If I had the power to stop time, this would be the moment.
He blinks twice. “You…don’t?”
“Should I?”
“Yeah. No one enjoys being held on to like…that.”
There’s a strange type of mixed irritation and fascination in his voice, and it’s intriguing to see the two polar emotions blend.
“Is that what you’ve been told?” I stroke a strand from his forehead to behind his ear.
I expect him to flinch like he does sometimes when I touch him this gently, but he seems to be preoccupied with what I said. So I leave my fingers on his face, caressing his beautiful skin with my knuckles.
“What I’ve been told?” he repeats.
“Isn’t that the case? Someone probably ordered you not to hug like that. Maybe they said it’s annoying?”
His lips part before he seals them shut again. “It is annoying.”
“It’s not. It’s how you show affection.” I brush my mouth against his trembling lips once, twice, three times, and he just lets me, shivering beneath me.
On the fourth time, I whisper against his skin, “I like that you’re showing me this side of you.”
He squirms, and I don’t think it’s discomfort, not entirely—embarrassment, maybe, considering the redness creeping up his neck. My theory is confirmed when he slams his forearm against the center of my chest. “Shut up.”
“Don’t be shy.”
“Who the fuck is shy?” He face-palms me. “I’ll choke you with your own arrogance.”
“My biggest fear.” I chuckle against his hand, and I think it trembles before he removes it.
“It better be.” He clears his throat before he looks to the side. “Aren’t you going to…”
“To what?”
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pull out.” He grunts out the words, his skin brightening to a deep shade of red.
“Hmm.” I roll my hips. “I like it here just fine.”
“You—” He bites his lower lip, but I can hear the faint moan he was trying to kill. “How the hell are you even getting hard this soon?”
“You are, too.” I rub my stomach over his thickening cock, and this time, the moan rips out of him loud and clear.
“I’m hypersexual,” he says with a dismissive tone.
“Maybe I am, too.” I’m not. If anything, I can go without sex for months.
But the thought of not touching Preston for mere days makes my body tight with pent-up frustration.
Technically, what I told him isn’t a lie. I am hypersexual when it comes to him.
Apparently, I’m Preston-sexual.
Something dark and gloomy settles deep in his eyes as he murmurs, “Why?”
“Do I need a reason to be hypersexual?”
“Yes, you do.” His tone is dead, almost as if it’s coming from underground.
“What’s yours, then?” I ask in a low voice.
He shrugs but says nothing, looking to the side to where my trophies are, blatantly hiding from me.
Shutting me out.
I liked it better when he was showing me his vulnerabilities as I pounded him into oblivion. Now, I’m faced with this cold, inflexible persona that only knows how to shove me away.
“Can you get off me?” he murmurs. “I need to clean up.”
“I’ll do it.” I pull out slowly, feeling my cum slipping out of his hole, the sensation erotic as fuck.
But not as much as when his ass clenches around me as he moans softly.
I can’t help the groan that leaves me as I reluctantly straighten and stand up.
The view that greets me when I pause at the foot of the bed is straight-up porn.
No—it’s better than porn, since that’s never evoked these types of feelings. As if I’ll burst out of my skin any second now.
Preston lying in my bed, his damp golden hair spilling on my pillow, that serpent coiling all over him, his legs wide open as my cum trickles out of him.
My eyes must be darkening, because his widen and he starts to close his legs.
No idea what comes over me, but it all happens in a fraction of a second.
I lunge at him, grab him by the waist, and flip him over so fast, he has no clue what the fuck is going on.
Then I straddle his calves, and lie on top of him, my fingers pulling on his ass cheeks.
“What are you doing—mmfuck!” His words end on a choked moan when I dive straight in, lapping at the cum still escaping his hole.
“Jesus Christ…holyfuckingshit…” He writhes beneath me, and I can tell he’s growing hard, because he keeps rutting and thrusting against the mattress.
“Stay still,” I say against his opening, digging my fingers into his flesh. “I need to eat my ass properly.”
“Jesus…” he moans, and it’s muffled because he’s hugging the pillow, burying his face in it.
“Mmm.” I groan, then thrust my tongue inside him, fucking him ruthlessly.
And damn it.
He tastes of my cum and something so heady and Preston, it muddles my brain.
“Marcus…fuck…that f-feels so good…”
My own cock throbs at the stutter. The way he sounds so needy and turned on seems to be what brings me pleasure.
I’m the only person Preston would ever allow to see this side of him—looking so pliant and aroused and at my fucking mercy.
Just me.
“Why…fuck… Why does it feel so good?” He grunts, lifting his hips, feeding my mouth more of his ass. “Your tongue…oh fuck…fuck!”
I release a noise of approval, my fingers holding him in place as he bows his head farther.
“Don’t think.” I pepper kisses on his clenching hole, then slap his ass cheek, making him grunt. “Just feel.”
Then I dive back in, eating his ass roughly, slapping him in the meantime, because he loves the pain, my prince. It’s making him rub against the mattress frantically.
“Unghh. Yes, yes…right there…”
“Mmm.” I groan.
“I’m…I’m gonna come…”
Slap.
Thrust.
I all but fuck him with my tongue as my palm meets his ass, spanking him just like he loves it.
Preston’s glorious body caves beneath my touch. He squirms and moans, probably too sore and sensitive for something this intense, but I don’t stop.
Not until he’s shuddering in my grip.
“I’m coming…holy shit…ungh…” His entire body goes still, red creeping up his neck and ears as he spasms and jerks his hips, his ass clenching around my tongue.
I release a rough grunt, kneading his bruised ass as he collapses on the bed, still hiding his face in the pillow.
When I finally pull away, I groan at the view of his cum on the sheets.
I release a rough rumble. “You’ve made such a mess, baby.”
“You made it,” he says in a murmur, his voice muffled. “Take responsibility for your actions.”
“I plead guilty.” I sit at the edge of the bed and stroke his hair.
A satisfied noise rips out of him, and I keep running my fingers through his hair for a while. “Are you not going to look at me?”
“Go away,” he grumbles like an adorable asshole, still sounding out of breath.
I reach into my drawer and grab a piece of candy. Even though I unwrap it right beside him, he doesn’t look up.
“It’s okay to enjoy having your ass eaten.” I fist his hair. “I certainly loved devouring it.”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll make you.”
“Make me.”
He lifts his head, but before he can say anything, I throw the candy in my mouth, then seal my lips to his.
Preston’s eyes widen as I thrust the candy onto his tongue, then toy with it a bit until the taste of him and my cum mixes with the mango flavor.
The mixture makes my head turn, and it definitely catches him by surprise, because he remains frozen. And I fucking go for it.
I shove the candy against his tongue, massaging it there for a bit, making him swallow everything.
When I pull away, leaving the candy in his mouth, his neck is a deep shade of red.
Whatever tantrum he was about to throw seems forgotten now as he sucks on the candy. If anything, he seems so real and raw, I want to fuck him again.
But I won’t. He must be sore, and I can’t go crazy the first time.
First. The realization hits me like a car crash.
I am Preston’s first guy.
And last.
I will be his last fucking anything.
The idea should jar me, but as I watch him suck on the candy, still lying on his stomach like a fucking erotic marble statue, it doesn’t. Not really.
If anything, I’m annoyed he had sex with others before me. It pisses me off that many have seen his stunningly naked body.
“Seriously, what’s with the candy?” he asks, pushing it to the side of his mouth until it forms a ball shape in his cheek.
“It’s a secret.”
He narrows his eyes. “Nobody keeps secrets from me.”
“I’m happy to be your first in so many things, baby. Such as tonight being your first time with—”
“Keep talking and I’ll smack you.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Why do you have such an irrational fear about being gay?”
“It’s not fear. I’m simply not gay.”
“So what do you call tonight?”
“Sex. Happens all the time all over the world. Means nothing.”
My jaw grinds, and that monster lurking inside me rears his head as I force a dark smile.
“You having sex with a guy for the first time does not mean nothing. You and your gibberish internalized homophobia fought this tooth and nail, but the side of you that’s been craving me won.
You took my cock up your ass and came with just my tongue in your hole. That’s not nothing.”
“If I say it’s nothing, it’s fucking nothing.” He crushes the candy between his teeth, the sound echoing around me like a gunshot. “You hear me?”
His eyes are harsh.
No, not harsh. Yes, there’s that hardness he defaults to at any sign of conflict, but it’s a mask, hiding something deeper and more fucked up. The same sense of terror from earlier comes back, but instead of crying, he’s revolting.
Letting aggression take over.
His eyes are shifty and his body’s too tight, as if he’s about to splinter into tiny pieces right before my eyes.
I stand up swiftly, then walk into the bathroom and close the door.
My hand covers my face as I force deep breaths.
In.
Out.
Breathe.
I need to calm the fuck down and keep myself from lashing out. I can push him to face everything he’s trying to avoid, can make him fucking cry if I choose to.
If I just let my passive-aggressiveness and people-reading skills loose, I’ll have him bawling at my feet in ten minutes.
But the sad reality is—I won’t do that to him.
I don’t want to fucking hurt him, and I certainly don’t want to push him so hard, he’ll bolt and never come back.
There’s noise from the bedroom, and he’s probably doing that—bolting. Even though I clearly told him not to treat me like a booty call.
And that violence I know so well is slowly rearing his head, demanding I punish Preston. Tie him the fuck up to my bed if I have to.
Instead, I walk into the shower and turn it on cold. If I follow him in my state, I’m just going to let myself loose, and my real self is a toxic, vengeful asshole.
One I don’t want to release on Preston right now.
I stay under the water for what seems like forever, until my extremities are cold and blue.
When I step out of the bathroom with a towel around my middle, sure enough, Preston is gone.
The room smells like him, and I can still taste him on my tongue, but he’s not here.
I run a hand through my hair, cursing low in my throat.
The asshole.
The goddamn fucking—
I let out a long breath, trying to remain calm. Because why the fuck am I letting this get to me?
It was just a fuck, no?
Only, it wasn’t. Or I wouldn’t be feeling like I was abandoned or treated like a dildo.
I grab my phone from my jeans that I clearly left on the floor, but they’re now neatly folded and placed on the chair along with my shirt and boxer briefs.
Why would he even do this?
If he’s going to pretend he doesn’t give a fuck, he should go all the way, be a dick like he truly is.
My fingers pause when I find a string of texts from him. Most of them were sent throughout the evening, from when I was heading to the arena.
Preston
Fine, you win. I’m texting first. Don’t ignore me.
I clearly told you NOT to ignore me, Marcus. You know how easily I get murderous.
Not that I’m threatening you. Is that why you’re mad? Because I threatened you in the rink?
Great. I’ll just hang around in your inbox. My new favorite place.
That was sarcasm.
He stopped for a while, then about an hour later, he sent new ones.
Preston
Are you seriously training with Dicky and co? You’re supposed to be training with me.
Yes, I’m outside the shitty arena. You better come out.
I’ll murder your entire team, Marcus. You know I will.
Wait. You’ll probably hate me more if I do that. Fuck this shit.
Fine. I’ll go to your place. You better come right now and not make me stand in that hazardous neighborhood for long.
He stopped for a bit, then sent a lone text around the time I was riding.
Preston
If you stop being mad, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.
And then I find the text he sent just now.
Preston
It’s better if we’re nothing, Marcus. Believe me, you don’t ever want to be something with someone like me.