28. Preston
PRESTON
It’s warm.
The house.
The room.
The hand that’s wrapped snugly around mine.
And…the man himself who’s clutching me tight, pulling me closer.
My gaze keeps flitting to his big hand that’s cradling mine, fascinated with the sight of the protruding veins and the defined fingers.
I’m holding hands with a man.
And it feels intoxicating.
I’ve been hard since I grabbed onto him with all my might on the back of his bike.
And no, I’m not going to overthink that. Or what’s going on in my starved body right now.
We’re just not going to think about this, brain, got it?
Doesn’t mean I’ll stop feeling like I’m being ripped out of my own skin, though. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop hearing my heart thumping loudly, almost spilling out of my chest.
I’m scared he’ll hear the deafening sound or feel my skyrocketing pulse. What if he believes he’s got me exactly where he wanted? If I’m no longer a conquest, wouldn’t he get bored like all men do? I sure would, so what if that’s what is happening here? Then what—
My thoughts are interrupted when he shoves me into the room, releasing my hand. As I stumble inside, I refuse to honor the feeling of loss that follows the absence of his hand from mine.
Marcus removes his jacket, tossing it over the chair, then unbuttons one cuff of his crisp white shirt, his bruised knuckles making him look dangerous. “Strip.”
I swallow thickly, mostly because of the dead tone, but also due to the morbid feeling of excitement that just flashed through me.
“Can’t do it yourself?” I shoot back.
“Shut up.” He rolls the cuff of his shirt to his elbow in methodical, controlled movements. “I don’t want to hear your voice unless it’s in agreement. We’re not playing tonight. I’m punishing you for your behavior in the parking lot.”
It’s because I punched and kicked him, isn’t it?
He was the one who came to the club after I clearly told him we’re only arch enemies in public. Though a niggling feeling tells me that’s not really the reason why I lost control.
He ignored me.
After he fucked me, he just ignored me.
You ran away, too, in case you forgot, the only sane demon in my brain whispers.
Yo, some other demon better gag him. Stat.
“I’m saying this for the final time.” He unbuttons his other cuff. “Strip.”
I turn away, removing my jacket in the meantime. It’s just sex. Who the fuck cares? Not me.
“No.” The single word he says falls like a whip on my back. “Turn around.”
I grind my jaw but then force a smile as I face him, pulling my shirt over my head.
His darkened eyes flash to my exposed chest, lingering on the center, where I’m barely tethered together.
And I hate just how much his attention makes me shiver.
I purse my lips. “Happy now?”
His dark gaze snaps to mine. “Drop the attitude.”
“Tough shit, I come with the attitude.”
“That you do,” he grumbles.
“Should’ve picked your battles.” I unbuckle my belt, then unbutton my jeans, pulling them down my legs.
It isn’t until I’m standing in front of him in boxer briefs that I realize I’m willingly getting naked for him.
Whoever the fuck the imposter is who’s invading my insides needs to be exorcized. Now. Thanks in advance.
Marcus juts his chin in my direction, his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles seeming about to rip out of the fabric. “All of it.”
I hook a finger beneath the band of the boxer briefs, pulling down slightly to reveal my V-muscle, but not my groin. “You going to join me anytime soon, or do you only get off on watching others strip like a pervert?”
“You get off on stripping for me.” He tilts his head to the side. “I can see you getting harder by the second. You like being watched by me like a little slut?”
Heat rises to my ears, and I’m about to release the band, but he shakes his head once.
“Either strip completely or leave, Preston. We’re not playing your hard-to-get games tonight.”
This asshole.
This motherfucking little bitch.
“I told you not to fucking threaten me, Marcus.” I pull down my boxer briefs anyway, suppressing a groan as my engorged cock bobs out.
Because hell no. I’m not leaving without sex tonight. Call the horny police.
I’ve already been having serious withdrawals over the past week. I’ve been blaming my extensive sexual life over the years, but really, if it were just about sex, I could’ve easily found a willing body.
But I was pathetically uninterested in anyone who’s not this major prick standing in front of me.
“I’m not threatening you.” He takes a step forward, his eyes darkening on my cock. “I’m punishing you.”
I swallow, the sound hanging in the thick air as he bends and grabs my belt that I abandoned on the floor.
My lips part when he straightens again, looping the leather around his hand in a slow, methodical movement, his heated gaze on me the entire time.
Why does that look…hot?
“Kneel facing the bed.” His words caress my skin before they register in my brain.
Instead of overthinking, I turn away from him and drop to my knees, my head resting on his sheets.
They smell like him—leather and warmth.
It’s just so warm, I can’t help inhaling deep.
“Ass in the air.” His rough words slip beneath my skin and rush straight to my balls.
Fuck, why is this side of him such a turn-on? Honestly, what’s happening right now? Me—being ordered around and forced into this position?
Seriously, will the real Preston please stand up?
Thwack.
I jolt as red-hot pain explodes on the backs of my thighs. Heat rushes through me in its wake along with something a lot darker—arousal.
Pretty sure precum is coating the tip of my cock.
“I said.” He slides an arm beneath my stomach, lifting me up.
“Ass in the air.” His palm falls on my ass cheek hard, and I gasp as a rough voice leaves him.
“Mmm. I missed the look of your skin wearing my marks. You do wear them so well. Tell me, Preston, how many hits should this unblemished skin take for your travesty tonight?”
My lips tremble as I grab two fistfuls of the sheets. The belt really hurts—I can feel my skin throbbing even worse with his heat so close.
But I love it. The pain. The fact that he gives it to me without holding back.
Thwack.
I grunt as my ass cheeks explode in the aftermath of the hit, and my cock physically jerks despite the absence of any other stimulation.
“Ungh…fuck…”
“That’s not a number.” Thwack. “Try again.”
“F-five.”
“You think that’s enough after you made me watch you flirt with someone else?”
Thwack.
I jolt, my ass pulsing despite the pain, but not more than my dick that’s basically spurting all over the place. “That’s not…fuck… I wasn’t flirting.”
“Then what were you doing when you were smiling at her?” Thwack. “Ruffling her hair?” Thwack. “Being so fucking unguarded?” Thwack. “Is she your type, Preston?”
“She’s a friend…”
“A friend who’s your type? So soft and pliant and smaller than you?”
“No.”
“Then what is your type?”
“I don’t have one,” I lie through my teeth. Sure, I didn’t have one, but now, my type is starting to look a lot like this bastard.
“No?”
I cry out as he grabs a fistful of the bruised skin, and a spark of pleasure and pain rushes straight through me.
“You do have a type, baby.” Thwack. “It’s me.”
I’m a leaking mess now, my cock so stimulated, I’ll come if I just—
As I’m about to rub my cock against the edge of the bed, Marcus pulls me back with a handful of my ass. “No, you’re not coming yet. If at all.”
“Fuck…” I lift my head and look sideways at him. He looks like a sex god, leaning over me, belt in one hand and my ass in the other. “Don’t edge me, asshole.”
He slaps my ass, and I release a sound that’s between a moan and a groan. “Ask nicely.”
“P-please.”
“Please what?”
“Let me come…”
“You want me to jerk you, baby?” He reaches his hand with the belt below my waist, barely grazing my dick with it.
“Yes…yes…fuck!”
“How about I wrap my lips around your huge cock? You love that, don’t you? You let out all these needy noises when I take you deep and suck your cum dry.”
“P-please…”
“Mmm. You are making a fucking mess, so maybe I should take care of it.”
He pulls his hand away and stands up straight, then I hear movement.
He appears in my peripheral vision, opening his side drawer and fetching the lube.
I swallow thickly, somewhat disoriented by the pulsing of my ass and cock. The pain and pleasure are so closely intertwined, they feel like one and the same.
Marcus slides back to his previous position, and when I look behind me, my eyes widen.
Because fuck. As he slides his jeans and boxers down to his knees, the striking daisy and dagger tattoo isn’t the only thing that’s exposed.
There’s also his very hard, purple-veined cock.
Is he…that hard because of me?
Or maybe because he whipped me? Probably the latter, considering the guy is a certified sadist.
I’m such a masochist for finding it hot. Not the fact that he’s hard—though that’s making me twitch—but the fact that he got hard because of hurting me.
Only me.
Marcus’s eyes are molten lava as he says in gruff words, “Show me.”
“Show you what?” I whisper, my aroused voice unrecognizable in the silence.
“How much you want me to make you come.” He pours lube on his cock and jerks himself a few times, and my mouth waters. “Crawl back toward me. If you feed your ass to my cock, I’ll let you come.”
My lips falter. “You’re…sick.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Is that a no?”
I’m throbbing so hard, I can’t think straight. I could probably just jerk myself off, but I wouldn’t enjoy it like when he does it.
There’s just something about the way he touches me that makes me buzz out of my fucking skin.
My body’s trembling a bit as I release the sheets and get on my hands and knees, shifting back hesitantly.
“That’s it.” His gruff words vibrate along my spine.
I crawl back steadily, staring at the floor, but when I glance behind me, he’s watching me with eyes so gray, they’re verging on black.
“Do you have any idea how you look right now? You look like my very good boy.”
“If you dare tell anyone about this—”
“Shh. Don’t bring others into what we have, baby.” His words are firm. “Fuck them, okay?”