Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Wick
I pushed my way through the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Strobe lights pulsed, illuminating fleeting glimpses of sweat-slicked skin and ecstatic faces lost in the pounding rhythm. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of perfume, cologne and something else—the electric crackle of lust, of primal desire unleashed.
Just another night at Eclipse. Another night of chasing oblivion, of trying to drown the chaos in my head with overpriced vodka and willing flesh.
It had been almost a week since the wedding. Almost a week since I’d had my hands and mouth all over Meghan, since I’d watched with a mix of arousal and soul-crushing shame as Marco did the same.
I’d spent the past few days avoiding Meghan’s calls, burying myself in work and whiskey, trying to pretend that night had never happened. That I hadn’t crossed a line I could never come back from. But I couldn’t erase the memory of Meghan’s skin against mine, of the broken sound she’d made when I’d tasted her. Couldn’t forget the rasp of Marco’s stubble against my jaw, the heat of his body pressed to my back.
Christ, what the fuck was wrong with me? I’d spent years denying my attraction to Meghan. I’d convinced myself that way my heart raced when she smiled at me, the way my skin hummed when she was near, was just the product of our long history, our tight bond. But that night had shattered every lie. Had forced me to confront the terrifying depth of my desire—not just for Meghan, but for Marco, too.
It was so fucking frightening I could barely stand it.
I flagged down the bartender and ordered another vodka tonic. The momentary numbness was blissful as I knocked it back in one desperate gulp. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. I needed...fuck, I had no idea what I needed. To forget? To understand? To crawl out of my own skin and leave the suffocating weight of my confusion behind?
I slammed the glass down and signaled for a shot of Patrón. Vodka wasn’t going to cut it tonight. I needed something stronger. The tequila went down like fire, burning a path to my stomach. I welcomed the pain, the momentary clarity it brought. Anything was better than the chaos raging inside me.
I shoved away from the bar and fought my way into the middle of the dancefloor, craving the crush, the mindless oblivion of losing myself in the crowd.
A blonde in a barely-there dress caught my eye and smiled an invitation. I pulled her close, my hands skimming her curves as we moved together. She ground her ass against me, and I tried to let the friction, the primal rhythm, consume me. Willed the pounding bass to drown out the screaming in my head. But even here, I couldn’t escape myself. Couldn’t outrun the ghost sensations of Meghan’s lips on my mine, Marco’s fingers digging into my hips.
A few moments later, strong hands glided around my waist and a firm chest pressed against my back. “Fancy seeing you here,” Marco whispered. His lips grazed the shell of my ear, and I was instantly hard.
I released the blonde, twisting myself in Marco’s hold and putting a hand around his throat. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarled, giving his neck a warning squeeze.
Marco just smirked, even as his pulse hammered beneath my fingers. “I could ask you the same thing. Where’s Meghan?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re not together?”
“No, we’re not fucking together. I thought you two were together.”
Marco shook his head, his signature smirk transforming into a scowl. “I haven’t seen her since the wedding.”
Fuck.
Here we both were, mindlessly grinding against each other in a packed nightclub while Meghan sat at home alone. But I couldn’t seem to put a stop to it.
Marco rolled his hips, pressing his erection against my thigh. I hissed in a breath, my grip tightening reflexively. God, I wanted him. Wanted his smartass mouth, his shameless touches. But more than that, I wanted to free myself from the crushing weight of denial.
“I can’t do this,” I protested, even as my traitorous body arched into his. “I can’t be this.”
“Can’t be what?” Marco’s hands slid down to grip my ass. “ Yourself? The man who wants to fuck his best friend’s sister? Bi? Which one, Wick? Or is it all three?”
I made a choked noise, my eyes slamming shut. He had me pinned, stripped bare, with nowhere left to hide. I was so tired of hiding.
“I’m not gay,” I rasped.
Marco’s stubble scraped my jaw as he leaned closer. “But you want me. Just like you want her. Don’t you?”
My walls were crumbling, my resistance eroding with every second, every shared breath. “Yes,” I said in a cracked whisper, a dam inside me bursting. “Fuck, yes.”
He captured my mouth in a demanding kiss, his tongue delving deep. We rutted shamelessly on the dance floor, uncaring of the eyes on us. “Bathroom,” Marco panted against my lips. “Now.”
I nodded frantically, no longer capable of words. He seized my hand and towed me off the dance floor, shouldering through the crowd with single-minded purpose. We burst into the men’s room, and he slammed me against the bathroom wall, his mouth crashing over mine, stealing the breath from my lungs. His tongue plundered my mouth, tangling with my own in a slick dance that sent heat sizzling through my veins. He tasted like top-shelf whiskey and sin. I couldn’t stop myself fisting my hands in his shirt and yanking him closer, desperate for more.
We ground together, hips rolling and cocks rubbing through too many layers of clothing. The rough denim of his jeans rasped against my straining erection, the friction just shy of painful in the best fucking way. The thick ridge of his cock was hot and hard against my thigh .
“Fuck, Wick. You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”
A thrill of dark anticipation rippled through my gut. I wanted him. Wanted his hands on me, my cock in his mouth, my body pressing him down into the mattress until he forgot his own fucking name.
He fumbled with my belt, clumsy with urgency. When he finally got it undone, he yanked down my zipper and shoved his hand inside my boxer briefs, wrapping his fingers around my aching dick. I groaned at the contact, my hips bucking into his touch. He stroked me roughly, and I saw fucking stars. My head thumped back against the wall.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Marco swiped his thumb over the leaking slit, smearing pre-cum down my shaft. “Let me hear you, Wick. Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make when you’re about to lose it.”
“Fuck you. I don’t—I’m not?—”
“Not what?” His grip tightened to just shy of painful. “Not gay ? Not into me? ‘Cause the way your cock is leaking all over my hand says different.”
I snarled, torn between the desperate need to come and the instinctive urge to shove him away, to deny the truth of his words. But then he was dropping to his knees, yanking my jeans and underwear down to my thighs. The sight of him kneeling at my feet, his dark eyes looking up at me with raw hunger, shattered the last of my resistance.
“Do it,” I said, my voice alien to my own ears. “Fucking do it, Marco. Suck my cock.”
Marco’s lips curled in a wicked grin, his tongue darting out to wet them. “Thought you’d never ask. ”
He swallowed me down, taking my cock so deep the head nudged the back of his throat. I cried out, my hands flying up to fist in his hair and hold him in place. My hips snapped forward of their own volition. He gagged a little but didn’t pull off, just relaxed his jaw and took it, letting me fuck his face with shallow, desperate thrusts.
The wet heat of his mouth was incredible, like sinking into a hot, tight cunt. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as his tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, tracing the ridge of my cock head. Blinding pleasure sparked through me. I wasn’t going to last. “Christ, your fucking mouth,” I gripped his hair tighter. “So goddamn good, Marco. Gonna make me come.”
He hummed in approval, the vibrations shooting straight to my balls. His hands gripped my ass, kneading the taut muscle as he urged me deeper, drawing me into the clutching heat of his throat. Muscles contracted around the head of my cock as he swallowed convulsively, trying not to choke on my length.
I looked down at him, on his knees with his lips stretched obscenely around my dick, saliva dripping down his chin. It was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. He looked debauched, wrecked, like he’d been made for worshiping cock. My cock.
A fierce possessive thrill shot through me. Because he was mine now, wasn’t he? Mine to use. To fuck. To ruin for anyone else.
I thrust harder, fucking his face with deep, punishing strokes. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he struggled to breathe. The filthy, wet sounds of his slurping echoed off the tiled walls, and anyone who walked in would see exactly what we were doing, would hear me grunting and Marco gagging on my dick.
The thought ratcheted my arousal higher until I was balanced on a razor’s edge, my balls drawing up tight to my body. Marco sensed how close I was, and he doubled down, sucking harder, taking me deeper, swallowing around the sensitive head until I was seeing spots, my thighs trembling with the strain of holding back my orgasm.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” I tried to pull out, to spare him the indignity of swallowing my load. But he just grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he looked up at me through his lashes. That look finished me. I came with a hoarse shout. My cock jerked and pulsed as I shot spurt after spurt of hot cum down Marco’s eager throat. He swallowed it all, working his tongue along the underside of my shaft, milking me for every last drop until I was shuddering and twitching with the force of my release.
When it was finally over, when I was spent and boneless, he pulled off with an audible pop, licking his reddened lips like a satisfied cat. He rose to his feet, his hands smoothing up my thighs as he pressed close, nuzzling into the side of my neck. “Fuck, that was hot.” His breath ghosted over my sweat-damp skin. “You’re delicious, Wick. Knew you would be.”
I shuddered, my spent cock twitching at his words. I felt naked. He’d exposed all the dark, secret parts of myself I’d tried so hard to hide. And yet, I’d never felt so free, so alive. Because this was me, wasn’t it? The real me, the one I’d buried beneath layers of denial and self-loathing. The me that wanted Marco, that craved his touch, his kiss, the press of his body against mine.
The me that was definitely into men.
The thought sent a thrill of fear through me, chased by a heady rush of exhilaration. I’d spent so long running from this truth, from the desires that had always simmered beneath the surface. But now, with Marco’s arms around me, his hot breath in my ear as he whispered filthy promises, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever tried to deny it. This was who I was, who I’d always been. And maybe that was okay. Maybe I didn’t have to be ashamed anymore.
Marco tucked me back into my pants, zipping me up with surprising gentleness. As he smoothed his hands over my chest, straightening my shirt, his lingering touch was almost reverent.
It struck me that this was the second time in less than a week that Marco had gotten me off without asking for anything in return. A fact he seemed to read on my face.
“You wanna suck my cock?” The taunt was delivered with a low purr against my ear. His hips pressed forward, the hard line of his dick digging into my hip through our clothes. “Return the favor?”
My mouth went dry at the thought. Do I want to? God, yes. But nerves tangled my tongue, words sticking in my throat.
Marco chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t choke on it, Wick.”
Then, his expression sobered. He cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You need to talk to Meghan. She’s hurting. You’re hurting her needlessly and I don’t want that for her. For either of you.”
“I...I don’t know how,” I managed, my voice strangled. “It’s all so fucking confusing.”
“Welcome to my world, Friedman. You think it’s been easy for me, wanting you both? Knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll always be the odd man out?”
I blinked. I’d been so wrapped up in my own inner turmoil, I hadn’t stopped to consider how this was affecting him .
He curved his hand around the back of my neck. I shivered at the contact, my skin prickling with awareness.
“Talk to her, Wick. She needs you.” Marco stared into my eyes, his gaze intense and penetrating. The connection between us fizzed and popped with tension. Eventually, he dropped his hand from my neck and took a step back. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the bathroom.
I slumped against the wall, my legs suddenly weak. What the fuck just happened? Did I really just get blown by my best friend’s sister’s fuck buddy in the bathroom of a nightclub? I ran a shaky hand over my face, trying to collect myself.
Marco’s words echoed in my head.
Talk to her, Wick. She needs you.
Meghan.
Beautiful, strong, incredible Meghan.
The woman who had been by my side for years, always there with a smile and a joke when I was down. The woman who set my blood on fire with a single glance. The woman who deserved so much better than my cowardly indecision.
Damn him. Marco was right. My refusal to confront the truth was hurting Meghan. She had laid her heart on the line multiple times. And what had I done? Pushed her away out of my own fucking fear and confusion.
I thought about the pain in her eyes when I’d rejected her, the way her voice had broken on that final, whispered “Please.” It killed me that I was the cause of her suffering. That she was out there somewhere right now, thinking I didn’t want her.
Nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted her with an intensity that scared the shit out of me. I yearned to lose myself in her, give in to the desire that had been building between us for years. Meghan understood me. She saw through my bullshit, called me on my crap, but loved me anyway. I couldn’t imagine my world without her in it.
My mind made up, I pushed off the wall and strode out of the bathroom. I had to find Meghan. I had to make this right. Even if it meant risking everything. Even if it meant facing Emmett.