A Midnight Blunder
Qiang POV
Oh my god, why did I offer Marcus a hook-up?
What the actual fuck was I thinking? Thank fuck he turned it down.
At least that’s the logical response. I’m completely ignoring the weight of disappointment that’s sitting in my chest. Because I should not have thrown that out there, and he absolutely should have said no.
And I one-hundred percent should not be disappointed about that!
We want two different things. He wants a shot at something deeper, and I cannot–absolutely cannot–do that. It’s been four years of an absolute ‘cannot.’
I didn’t start the hook-up life with the intention of only having that.
I figured with time, my heart would be ready to move on, but I never met anyone I wanted to keep enough to bother.
And now, it’s a second skin, so deeply a part of me that every atom in my head is screaming to stop this.
But the kicker is, for the first time in over four years, it feels like my heart is in complete disagreement with my head, and my poor dick is just pissed off at the whole thing because I’ve denied it completely for months now.
And it’s not like it’s because I feel like I’m cheating or wronging Marcus in some weird ass unspoken agreement of fidelity that doesn’t exist whatsoever. No, because that would at least make a modicum of sense to me.
Instead, it’s because I don’t want anyone but him now. When scrolling through hook-up apps, I just keep passing by every profile because none of them are him or even closely resemble him enough to trick my head into even considering it. Clubs, nothing. Parties, nothing.
If it weren’t for the fact that my body instantly starts reacting every time he’s in the vicinity, I would think I was broken or something.
It’s not fucking normal. I mean, I know from my brother that it actually is completely normal for some people, but it’s absolutely not normal for me at all. This is a first.
Even with Kingston, I could still find other people attractive and interesting and react to them. I obviously never acted on that while we were together because that’s a fucked up thing to do to a person, and I’ve never been the kind of person to do that, nor will I ever be.
But I’m not even with Marcus, and it’s like every other prospect has just faded into the background of ‘never mind, I’m good’.
Even more frustrating is that I thought I had this shit wrapped up. I had a million logical reasons, and my head was fully screwed on, just the way I needed it to be when I moved into this house.
I’d like to pretend that Marcus slowly wore me down into the spiraling mess that I am now; that it was a slow process that chipped away at me one flirty remark at a time.
It was not. It was one fucking smile, the moment he opened the door to help me carry my stuff in on that first day, and I was right back where I was from the beginning with him.
And then, like a puff of smoke, he was barely ever around.
Tonight was the first time I’d spent any time with him at all, except for when his parents came to visit.
But even though he was around more during that weekend, it was in a large group, with everyone competing for space with everyone, so it wasn’t really time spent with him.
It was honestly the same vibe that we’d danced around during most of the summer after I’d completely shut him down.
But tonight opened up a whole other can of worms. Like I know I’ve been ignoring the low thrum of jealousy every time my brain plagues me with thoughts of what he’s been getting up to at those parties he’s always at.
I keep shoving the thoughts away because one, I have no business dwelling on those things, and two, I have absolutely no right to be jealous.
And the fact that I know I’ve been fighting jealousy has been messing me up because it’s a firm reminder that I’m feeling things I have no business feeling for someone I have no business feeling them for.
But after tonight and watching Imani eye fuck him, and knowing she’s probably his type, and he might have even been more into her and the flirtation if I hadn’t been sitting right there, had that jealousy flooding so hard it was impossible to mistake it for anything else.
I keep telling myself that I’m done with this; that I don’t want this or need this in my life, but then I get hit with a wave of jealousy, or he starts flirting with me, and it becomes almost impossible to resist him.
He has no idea the power he has when his voice gets all deep and rumbly and sexy.
It’s like a hypnotizing drug, and I can’t seem to stop falling for it every time he’s in my sphere for more than thirty seconds.
My phone dings with a text, pulling me out of my spiral.
I need to stop thinking about this shit and go to bed.
There’s just one huge problem, and it’s that even with all the spiraling and rationalizations happening, the memory of Marcus’s flirty smile when he so rudely shoved that full-blown image of me gagging on his cock into my head has my dick throbbing almost painfully, begging for a release.
I groan at the thought because it’s not like it’ll be the first time I’ll be giving in and touching myself to Marcus’s gorgeous fucking face taking up all the space in my head, but I keep trying not to do that before it becomes a habit.
I grab my phone, hoping the text message will be a distraction, but as soon as I see the name, I flop backward onto my bed and scream into a pillow like the drama queen I am.
You forgot to say goodnight.
Of course, it’s him. I know it’s a simple text that offers nothing in inflection at all, and I don’t know if it’s my horny wound-up self, or simply knowing Marcus like I do, to know it’s most likely the case, but I can practically hear the tease in his voice as I read it.
I lift my phone in the air and respond to his text.
If it takes me three tries to get through it because my fingers keep shaking and my body is practically quivering with arousal, then no one needs to ever know that but me.
Pretty sure we both said goodnight.
I point out, hoping it comes out as snarky rather than breathlessly needy. It’s not like he can hear the quiver in my voice, which would be audibly obvious if I spoke aloud right now.
Did we? I guess I’m still stuck on how pretty you look when you blush.
Jesus fucking Christ. How does he say that shit with a straight face?
I can’t actually see his face, but there wasn’t a hint of hesitation or regret earlier when he let that word fly freely and uninhibitedly.
I tried to steal the word from him because it makes every part of me light up.
I’ve been called pretty before, a million times over, and it’s never made my entire self light up at the praise, making a huge part of me want to smile widely and strut in front of him while preening my feathers.
I swear on my life, it’s a fucking sickness.
Goodnight, Marcus.
Goodnight, Pretty.
And fuck me sideways if the stupid flirty petname doesn’t come through with a sexy as fuck picture of him attached.
He’s lying in bed, all snuggled up and relaxed for the night.
The blue undertone of his dark brown skin stands out beautifully against his midnight-blue durag, which matches the satin pillow his head rests on.
The primary focus of the picture is the beautiful smile adorning his gorgeous face, but there’s enough bare shoulders for me to assume he’s shirtless, and that’s not a thought that’s helping me at all.
I close my eyes and try really hard not to imagine what he looks like shirtless, nor remind myself that he’s only a couple of doors away, and especially try to ignore the small rationalization in the back of my head reminding me that all I need to do to get a taste of him is a simple kiss.
A simple kiss that would be everything except simple, just because I know how much I want it and how much I absolutely cannot give in to it.
I need to get a hold of myself. I’ve missed kissing in general.
Of course I have, but I never wanted to kiss a person enough to really feel torn about not giving in to the desire of it.
But now? Oh fuck, now, he’s ruining years of fucking habits, and I haven’t even broken any of them yet. Yet… fucking dammit!
I open my eyes again, searching for a distraction, but completely against my reasoning or will, I lift the phone to stare at his picture again.
He’s so fucking sexy, just lying there like that, and I know he knows exactly what he was doing by sending that picture.
It’s completely innocent and the hottest pic I’ve ever been sent in my life.
A dick pic would have been less scandalous than this fucking full-on invitation of knowing that all I’d need to do to find out if he’s lying in his bed half-naked or fully naked is ask, because we both know exactly where asking would lead to.
My imagination runs wild with images of what his body might look like right now.
The toned dips and planes that I’m sure he has.
As much as I’m opposed to jocks, I don’t think I’ve ever fully convinced myself that I’m not attracted to them.
All that muscle and the grace they’ve gained from the coordination that’s so necessary in competitive sports.
And while Marcus doesn’t flaunt it at all, he doesn’t hide it either.
His clothes are always form-fitting enough to show off the muscle tone without being vulgar.
Enough to offer substance to the imagination.