15. Preston
PRESTON
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
Why the hell am I even hard at this moment?
I release a huff as heat spreads across my spine and rises up to my ears.
It just doesn’t make sense that I seem to get the most random erections around Marcus.
He’s a man.
An infuriating man I hate with everything in me.
Does my dick get the memo? Apparently not, judging by how much thicker it’s growing the more he glides his cock against mine.
The friction is maddeningly rough, and despite the clothes separating us, the sparks of pleasure coil through me with a sort of titillation that steals my breath.
My heart lurches, and my entire body is tightening, sending all the blood rushing to my groin.
“Mmm.” The noise that rips out of me is too needy for my ears, too foreign.
It’s just not me.
I simply refuse to believe that I am releasing such a noise.
But then he does it again, sliding his clothed dick across mine in one harsh, controlled movement. “You’re awfully responsive to a mere fly’s touch. You should see your erotic face, it’s a sight to behold.”
“Stop looking…”
“But I love looking at you. Not more than I love touching you, though.”
But why?
Why does he love touching me when my own skin creeps me out? It doesn’t even feel like it’s mine half the time, so why does he look at me as if I’m whole?
“If I reach into your pants, will I find you leaking for me, baby?” He thrusts his fingers up and down my tongue in the same rhythm as he’s rubbing all over my cock.
And it’s truly obnoxious how hard I find it to concentrate. It’s like my sanity is being confiscated, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Or maybe there’s nothing I want to do to stop it.
Because even though he’s imprisoning my wrist above my head, I could still fight it off, not to mention there’s also my free hand that’s currently lying uselessly by my side.
Someone call the police—I’d like to report an imposter that’s invaded my body.
“Look at your cock throbbing for mine.” He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “Such a good little slut.”
“Fuck you…” I mumble, but it comes out as a moan because my dick is aching, and precum is dripping all over my boxer briefs. My balls draw tight, demanding actual friction.
“Go ahead, baby. Get our cocks out.”
My eyes widen, but I remain still, then shake my head once.
No way in fuck will I personally participate in whatever fucked-up shit this asshole gets off on.
Well, I get off on it, too, but actively participating in gay sex is a fuck no.
“You’re the only one with a free hand,” he continues stroking, his thighs and cock so glued to mine, it’s impossible not to breathe him in.
The notes of leather and forest turn this a lot more erotic than they should.
“No.” The word slips out in a weak murmur, my hand twitching uncontrollably beside me.
“No?” He tilts his head to the side, a dark smirk painting his infuriating lips that I’m totally not watching. “In that case, we can continue this torture all night long.”
The rubbing motion slows, becomes less forceful, and offers barely any friction.
I mumble a noise, but I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be. A cry of frustration, maybe. Whatever it is, I need more.
And Marcus takes it as an invitation to slow down further.
This motherfucker.
He must see the death threat in my eyes, because he chuckles, the sound low, vibrating off my skin. “You can end our misery any minute now, baby. You know you want to.”
I try to look away, but he keeps my head in place with his grip on my jaw. “Don’t hide from me.”
There’s that order again. The way he speaks with that firm edge should send my senses into overdrive. I wait for my brain to be flooded with static until I can’t hear my own thoughts.
I wait.
And wait.
But it never comes.
If anything, my body is so overrun with pleasure, my brain doesn’t have the capacity to even be in charge.
Fuck this.
I unbutton my jeans, fumbling for a bit before I finally free my cock. A low grunt rips out of me, and precum is coating my fingers as I roughly jerk myself up and down in uncoordinated movements.
The entire time, I tell myself it’s not about this prick—it’s about me coming. All I have to do is pretend he doesn’t exist, so I close my eyes and tug on my length with forceful strokes.
A tsking sound fills my ears as his fingers in my mouth thrust all the way back until he’s choking me.
I try to spit them out, but he tightens his grip on my wrist and jaw. “Don’t be selfish, my prince. Get my cock out as well.”
My eyes roll back, and I think I’ll come.
Fuck.
Am I really thinking about coming at the prospect of being choked to death?
This dangerous desire for pain will send me to an early grave.
Since I seriously don’t want to die right now, I reach for his jeans, my fingers shaking as I gag and gurgle.
It takes me longer than needed, but I finally pull out his cock. We’re standing so close together, his length presses against mine as soon as it’s out of its confinements, his crown shoving itself against my groin.
And it doesn’t feel bad.
I…I don’t hate it.
“That’s it.” His fingers ease from the back of my throat. “Wrap your hand around us. Make it good.”
I try, but that’s kind of impossible, considering how criminally huge we both are. I can barely fit my cock while my fingers graze his.
My eyes trail down, stealing a look, and the view leaves me parched.
We’re both so hard that angry purple veins extend across our skin, and my precum is drenching his jeans in a fucking mess.
The scene is shamelessly vulgar.
It’s almost too raw, too intimate to witness.
And it’s me and a man.
A man’s cock is all over mine, and it’s making me throb so badly, I’m about to burst.
It’s not even like the time in the locker room, where he did everything, and I made myself believe I had no choice. Or that I at least wasn’t looking at his face.
This time, it’s my hand on our cocks. Mine.
“You struggling, baby?” He speaks so close to my mouth, I inhale his words instead of hearing them. “Our cocks are so huge, it’s a hassle to fit us anywhere, isn’t it? Let me help.”
He crowds me, pushing me firmly until my back is blended with the bricks. He releases my wrist, only to press his palm against mine on the wall. And the crazy motherfucker actually threads his fingers through mine as if we’re…what?
Fucking lovers?
I’m about to punch him to the next planet, but I get distracted.
Because he’s thrusting his cock against mine through the curl in my fingers. A bolt of pleasure strikes down my spine as all my blood rushes to my dick, precum spurting out.
“Look at you leaking all over the place.” The vibration of his deep, gruff voice against my skin drags me closer to the edge. “What a mess.”
He licks that spot behind my ear, and I get on my tiptoes, squirming.
“My mess,” he growls in my ear.
And my balls draw up.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the relentless, rough yet firm pace at which he’s thrusting his cock against mine, or his words, or the way he’s touching me, but I’m so close.
Every time his crown bumps against my groin, a rush of scandalous pleasure sparks in my bones. I can’t help the moans and groans that rip out of me.
“Mmm, fucking hell. You feel so good, baby.” He bites on the slope of my neck, close to my jaw, and I grunt as pain mixes with pleasure. “It’s as if you’re not real.”
Am I not…?
The question is a jumble of words and emotions as I tilt my head, my eyes drooping shut. It’s better if I’m not real and this isn’t happening, but why is every particle of my being fighting against the idea?
“But it is real. You and I are so very real,” he mumbles against my skin, licking and nibbling on my neck as if he’s thirsty and I’m the only oasis in the desert.
I’ve never witnessed this level of intense physical touch before, and here I thought I was the shit with the ladies.
But the harsh reality is that I’ve never touched them the way Marcus touches me, like he’s… worshipping my body.
And now, I’m thinking of all the other people who’ve gotten this as well.
I tighten my grip on our cocks, and he grunts deep in his throat, then bites me again, the asshole.
My breathing is so heavy and chaotic, I don’t know how or what to think.
“That’s it. Thrust your hips, baby. Make yourself come all over my cock.”
I moan, not caring in the slightest that I’m basically fucking my cock against his, my crown shoving itself on his groin, leaking precum everywhere on him.
“I know what you need,” he speaks low in my ear, then bites down on a sensitive spot on my neck as he thrusts his fingers to the back of my throat.
The pain sends me over the edge.
I release the most animalistic noises, mumbling nonsense as I come on his cock, jeans, and groin.
I’m marking him.
That’s all I think of as jets of cum cover him.
I go on for so long, I don’t think I’ll ever stop coming. The whole time, Marcus is thrusting brutally against my cock, and the rough friction makes my lips open wider.
“Fuck… Mmm, I could do this all day.” The jerk of his hips matches the thrusts of his fingers in my mouth.
“I could fucking devour you.” Thrust. “Mold you into my perfect prince.” Thrust. “Until there’s nothing left…
” Thrust. “Until you’re fully…” Thrust. “Completely.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Mine.”
My spent cock twitches as he groans deep in his throat, sinking his teeth in the space between my neck and collarbone. Then he steps away a little, pulling his fingers from my mouth, and grabs his cock.
“You’ll take my cum, baby, yeah?” He points it toward my deflating one and comes in waves, drenching my hand and cock with his thick cum.
My mouth is sore, my balls are spent, but I can’t help watching with parted lips as his cum mixes with mine, some of it dripping on the asphalt.
The vulgarity of the view should wake me up to the fact that we’re outside.
Why are we outside in the first place?
Marcus pulls away from my neck, releasing my hand that he’s been holding this entire time—and I fucking let him. I should probably be more mad about that.