29. Preston
PRESTON
“Stay tonight.”
That’s what this little shit said.
It wasn’t an order, or a threat, but was almost like a plea.
And I stayed. Like a goddamn idiot.
This was such a horrible idea that I’ll be murdering my brain seppuku style.
I just need to google how.
And while I’m at it, I should ask the search engines how the fuck to stop spiraling, because I am. Slightly. Okay, a lot.
I didn’t take my meds today, and that might’ve sort of had something to do with my overreaction in the parking lot. Marcus kind of tired my body out with the whipping and spanking and back-to-back fucking, so my brain had no capacity to start that familiar rhythm.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
It starts again, slow at first, but then it gains momentum.
Because Marcus is asleep and I’m not.
Will not.
I pretended to fall asleep earlier after we took a shower and he sucked my cock so good, I was basically blabbering as I came down his throat.
I’m starting to feel shitty because he drops to his knees all the time, taking my cock in his mouth like it’s nothing, but I’ll never, ever do that.
If I weren’t such a selfish bastard, I would’ve at least refused the favor, but hey, my dick likes Marcus’s mouth a bit too much to say no.
And really, can I ever refuse anything he gives me?
I stare at his sleepy face. He’s lying on his back, having fallen asleep hugging me from behind, but I disentangled myself because the feel of his skin makes me hard.
Yes, after coming at least five times tonight. Sue me.
Honestly, with Marcus, I’m not even fucking around but still finding out.
Now, I’m lying on my side, my head propped on my palm. The only real position I can take in this small bed that barely fits us squished together.
I can’t help watching his gloriously naked body. He put on boxers, and the sheet covers his middle, but I can still see the intricate links of the chain sliding down his neck, side, and torso.
Then there’s the daisy and the dagger, the ink glinting under the soft light of the side table—the one he kept on because I asked.
He did so without questioning me about it or making a joke. He just nodded and wrapped his hands around me from behind, then brushed his lips along the sensitive skin below my ear, whispering, “I’m glad you stayed, baby.”
So I couldn’t really perform my favorite hobby—running away.
Not when he hugged me like that. Talked to me like that.
Need to call my daddy and ask for tips on how to never grow soft and stupid, because really, Marcus won’t want me to stay.
Not if he knows I’m not safe for him.
That’s why I’m refusing to sleep—so he doesn’t touch me all of a sudden and I don’t accidentally fucking kill him.
But not sleeping isn’t a perfect solution, because I keep looking at the daisy and the dagger, and that doesn’t help the static flooding my brain.
All sorts of jumbled scenarios are flowing in, and the most prominent thought is that Marcus totally got that tattoo for a girl.
And it wasn’t his mom. Yes, there are a lot of plants and flowers in his house, but they’re mostly roses, so his mom prefers those. If he got it for her, it would be the generic rose, and he wouldn’t have put it in such an intimate place that can only be seen when he’s naked—or almost naked.
Who the fuck made such a huge impression on this unfeeling, inflexible, grudge-holding bastard that he tattooed her on him?
Sure, it could be some cool tattoo he thought of, but nah, nope. When I asked him, he had this disgustingly nostalgic look in his eyes before he buried it under lock and key and said it was a secret.
And he gave me a fucking ultimatum—knowing the meaning of my tattoo first. Something I’ll take to the grave, but honestly, I’m considering lying just so he’ll tell me.
Because I asked his ex-girlfriend Dallas—away from Kane, because he’s already suspecting something is up lately, and I don’t want to end up being questioned.
Anyway, I asked Destiny’s Child if she knows whether or not Marcus had a girlfriend he adored so dearly who could have loved daisies. I told her the reason I wanted to know is so that I can use her against him, of course. Defra said she’d never put the girl in danger even if she knew.
“Have you met Marcus?” She looked at me incredulously in class. “That guy is not capable of love.”
“Didn’t stop you from dating him.”
“A mistake I will never recover from. Do you know why I dumped him after only two weeks?”
“You came to your senses?”
“That and he tried to share me with his teammates.” Her lips snarled.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He said it was something about how he enjoys watching his fuck buddies being railed by others.”
I wonder if he shared the girl he got the fucking daisy tattoo for.
My fingers twitch and I picture a knife in my hands as I slash and stab and erase the fuck out of that tattoo until it’s all bloody and messy and unrecognizable—
Jesus Christ.
Why the hell am I letting those gory thoughts loose? And what is this…feeling? The damning need for possession, to chain him to me so he’ll never have a way out.
I’m the one who said this is just sex, but who the fuck was I kidding?
There’s no way in hell I’d allow myself to be used like a greedy, little slut if it were just sex. I also wouldn’t have let him touch me so intimately, hug me…
Fuck—I let him hug me.
It still feels odd, and my skin prickles, and sometimes it really hurts worse than any of his lashes, but he doesn’t like it when I keep a distance.
I think if I continue to do that, if I keep running away, he’ll just abandon me.
Like Mom.
I squirm, and the bruises on my ass and thighs burn like hell. Marcus did lather them with some ointment earlier, but they’re still deliciously painful.
With a muffled moan, I shift a bit so I can watch him closer. The slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw—they all look so proportionate.
A wild strand of hair falls on his forehead, and I gently push it away, leaving my hand there. It burns a bit, like every time I touch him, my body recoiling against the notion of being so close, but I can’t stay away.
Can’t stop.
Even if I feel like I’m being split open by my demons from the inside.
And despite their groaning and moaning and slashes of pain, I just don’t move, letting my fingers linger on his warm skin.
Have I ever been this fascinated with a girl I fucked?
The answer is hell no. Never laid in bed with them or touched them.
Now that I think about it, sex used to be a mindless release. A way for me to let go of tension, holding the same importance as killing and slashing.
But it was all temporary, something that lasted for the moment, then quietly vanished.
Yes, I loved fucking—the power, the tying up, the animalistic thrusts, but it was all so very…empty.
Sex with Marcus is a whole different beast, all too intense and overwhelming, and just…not empty.
And I have no clue how the fuck to deal with that.
I feel like one day, he’ll touch me too deep, somewhere beyond the physical, and I’ll just collapse like a house of cards. Or maybe explode quietly and unceremoniously like a fucking bubble.
But that’s not for here or now.
Ignore. Pretend everything is fine.
Surely, he won’t notice since I’ve always been a master of living behind the perfect facade.
Surely, this will all be over before he ever gets too close.
That idea restricts my throat as I just stare at him.
Marcus looks so peaceful when he’s asleep…no tossing and turning, no night terrors. Normal, I guess.
He shifts and I pull my hand away as he blinks his eyes open. For a second, he stares at me, and his lips curl into a lazy smile.
My chest kind of shifts, a thud falling somewhere in its depth.
Fuck.
Is a simple smile supposed to make me feel like I’m on the edge of myself?
Marcus stares at the clock on the wall that shows it’s three in the morning, and a frown replaces the smile.
No, bring it back. I prefer the smile.
“Having trouble sleeping?”
His voice is husky with sleep, and that’s not supposed to sound hot. Just saying.
He sits up, the mattress shifting and groaning under his weight as he reaches out to my boxer briefs and kneads my ass. “Is it because of this?”
“Ow!” I swat his hand away. “Get over yourself. It’s not.”
“Thought so.” His voice rumbles. “You’re a slut for pain.”
“Shut it.” I clear my throat. “You should go back to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”
“Nah.” He leans his back against the headboard and ruffles my hair. “I’ll keep you company.”
“You don’t…have to…” I trail off because I’m choking on the words. “I’m used to it. I’ve never really slept well anywhere.”
His brows dip farther. “Not even at Jude’s place?”
“Nowhere,” I whisper, my throat closing again as if fighting the words.
As if the words are about to detonate me with them.
I sit up beside him, our shoulders pressed together as I force a smile, shaking off the discomfort. “Jude buys me all sorts of sleep-aid shit, and it doesn’t really work, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that. He’s just trying his best to help out with my fucked-up sleeping habits, you know.”
“Seems like a busybody.”
“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Don’t call my best friend a busybody or I’ll cut you into pieces so tiny, no one will recognize you.”
“Best friend?” His tone is a bit cold.
“Uh-huh. He’s my ride or die. Kane, too, but, like, Jude and I have always been a bit more similar, you know.”
“You’re not. Your personalities are worlds apart.”
“Yeah, but we had the same shitty upbringing, with a dash of mommy issues, sponsored by a sprinkle of stoic daddies.”
“I have that, too.”
“You have what? A normal mom?”
He narrows his eyes. “A stoic dad. In fact, it’s worse since he’s never wanted me.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.” I swallow. “I know you probably can’t avoid coming into our world, but you’re older and big enough, so you can defend yourself.”