25. Preston
PRESTON
If anyone asks me how the hell I made it here, I wouldn’t have the answer.
It just happened.
Blame my brain.
My nonexistent sanity.
And this asshole of a man I can’t seem to possess the physical ability to resist.
No idea how the fuck we ended up in his room, because he was kissing me all the way up, devouring my face, pulling on my hair, helping me get rid of my wet clothes.
They were littering the stairs as he shoved and pressed me against the wall, touching me everywhere, kissing anywhere his lips could reach until I was shaking.
But God fucking dammit. I thought I was intense, and I am. You should see me when I kill. Even Jude says I turn into this manic person with zero fucking chill. But that’s mild compared to the force of nature that is Marcus Osborn.
He doesn’t just kiss me, he seems to be on a mission to own me, his fingers digging into my jaw or fisting in my hair, his tongue not only warring with mine, but taming it.
His hands don’t just remove my clothes, they strip me bare as he thrusts them into the fabric of my soul, toying, curling, on the verge of spilling my insides right before his feet.
It isn’t until he shoves me onto the bed, my hard cock pointing toward the ceiling, that I realize I’m fully naked and he’s still wearing his jeans and a damp white shirt that sticks to his taut muscles.
I prop up on my elbows as he watches me while unbuttoning his jeans, his breaths ragged and rough in the silence, only punctuated by the pouring rain outside.
His damp dark hair falls in haphazard strands across his forehead from how much I pulled and raked my fingers through it.
“You know how you look right now?” His low-spoken words send a shiver down my spine, and I have to force my eyes from his jeans to his face.
“Don’t say I look pretty,” I grumble, that familiar tightness churning my stomach.
He tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”
“I just don’t want to hear it,” I whisper. “Not now.”
I’m scared if he says it while looking at me with those dark, hungry eyes, I’ll be thrown back to that room of stars where I couldn’t breathe.
The idea sends a rush of nausea up my throat.
“Hmm” is the only sound he releases as he lifts his shirt off and tosses it somewhere behind him.
Then I watch with a harsh, choked breath as he pulls down his jeans and boxer briefs in one go, then kicks them away, standing in front of me completely naked.
It’s mind-boggling how he strips without hesitation, as if he’s never had to hide a damn thing his entire life.
It’s unfair.
What’s more unfair is just…how sculpted he is. I’ve felt Marcus countless times before, behind me mostly, and have a sense of his developed muscles and taut physique.
But feeling it and seeing it are worlds apart, because fuck me all the way to hell, how could a man look so…beautiful?
He’s a fucking man, I chastise my own brain as he’s about to drool all over the guy. There are no soft curves or round tits or anything that usually appeals to me.
All my eyes zoom in on are hard muscles, defined abs, a sculpted waist, and thick, muscular thighs.
And I realize this is basically the first time I’ve seen him naked. I’ve only ever seen his ass and his cock that’s currently hard and pointing in my direction.
However, it’s the rest of him that makes my breaths stumble.
Namely, the tattoos.
Yes, plural.
The chain I saw a hint of starts at his neck, a glint of metallic ink curling over his chest and down his ribs and abs, breaking cleanly at his groin. Right in the middle of his defined V-line, the chain ends with an arrow that points straight at his cock.
It’s an extremely hot tattoo.
My attention is drawn to another large tattoo along his left thigh—the one I often see in the locker room, but not entirely.
It’s a slim dagger that’s buried deep in a blooming daisy. And I find myself wondering why a daisy?
That’s not important, though.
What is important is the state of my cock that’s been twitching like an uncooperative little shit since I started my viewing session of Marcus.
He’s all man. Masculine, rugged, and with fucking tattoos. Every inch of him a story I’m not supposed to want to read. And I hate that I want to.
“Are you done ogling me?” The rumble of his voice snaps me back to that dark smirk tilting the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
“I’m not ogling you.”
He taps the corner of his lips. “You might want to wipe that. You’re drooling, baby.”
I reach a hand to my mouth, intending on bleeding the fucker dry for embarrassing me, but I find nothing. My hand drops as I glare at Marcus, and he just bursts out laughing.
The sound is easy but deep, like a rumble in the darkest pits of my broken soul.
But I don’t get to focus on that as he stalks toward me, killing the distance inch by each agonizing inch. “You know what will happen now, my prince?”
I remain quiet, not knowing what to say, feeling so out of my element but also getting distracted by his glorious naked body as he reaches into his side drawer.
This is not normal.
It’s just a body. A man’s body. I’ve seen countless of them.
And yet none of them have made my fucking cock leak the way it is right now. The transparent precum slides like a goddamn tear down its length.
Marcus grabs a tube from his nightstand, and a weird sort of fire ignites in my stomach.
“Not sure,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “But you’re certainly not going to have your way with me in the same place you’ve fucked others.”
A sly grin curves his lips.
“I’m not joking.” I start to stand up. “I’m bored, anyway. I’m leaving—”
The words are barely out of my mouth when he slams me back down with a shove to my chest, knocking the living breath out of my fucking lungs.
And apparently, being manhandled like a slut gets my cock throbbing. The masochistic little bitch reports for duty by getting all fucking excited, pointing in Marcus’s direction.
But since he’s hovering, his stomach far away, I can’t get the friction my cock is begging for.
“You can’t come and go as you wish, Preston.” His voice has darkened, his eyes looking almost black. “This is not how it will go.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I decided I’m not doing this on the same bed you fucked others.” I push at his chest with both hands, making him sway. “Now, back the fuck off.”
He grabs both my wrists and slams them on the pillow above my head, his muscles coiling and bunching up. “If you’re jealous, just say it.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are for me to be jealous over you?”
“Isn’t that what’s happening here? You’re obviously so hard, you’re leaking a mess all over the place.
You want this as much as I do. But the thought of you being just another one of my conquests pisses you off.
It’s like a jab to your nonsensical pride.
” His mouth hovers a few inches from mine until I taste his words.
“What if I told you there were no others in this bed?”
“Really?”
“Really. I don’t fuck in my mother’s house.
That’s a red line.” He drops a soft kiss to the slope of my throat, then bites down hard, and I groan deep.
“Next time, instead of throwing tantrums,” he speaks as he kisses his way down my collarbone and chest, then licks my nipple, “tell me exactly how you feel.”
His teeth clamp down on my hard tip, and I let out a deep grunt, my cock twitching like crazy. Fucking hell, am I about to come like a preteen?
“Is that clear?” His eyes meet mine, his stubbled chin scratching my sensitive nipple.
“Huh?” I mumble, because, really, I’m fighting for my breath here. Don’t expect me to pay attention.
“I said.” He nibbles on my other nipple, then bites down. “You’ll communicate properly instead of throwing temper tantrums.”
I jerk, my spine bowing as the spark of pain and pleasure lengthens my cock. The relentless edging is making my skin so sensitive, and when he licks my assaulted nipple, I’m moaning like a fucking whore.
Jesus Christ.
I need to stop this and run far, far away. Never look back again.
Change countries. Names. Try to stop whatever the fuck Marcus is doing to me—
He nips on the tattoo in the center of my chest, and it feels as if he’s pulling me open, bloodied fingers tugging on my insides like they’re marionette strings.
I only release a breath when he licks his way down my abs that tighten and clench. My stomach churns as goose bumps cover the wet trail he leaves in his wake.
“Answer me, my prince.” He stops so close to the purple tip of my cock, releasing my wrists to grab my hip, his finger digging into the serpent’s head as if he’s squashing it.
“Okay,” I say, not really sure what I’m agreeing to, because his wicked mouth is so fucking close and I need that wet heat.
“Such a good boy,” he purrs as he maneuvers me. And it is a maneuver, because I don’t do anything. I don’t know what to do, and I’d rather just let him handle it.
I bite my lower lip when I realize that I…what? Trust him with my body?
The answer comes to me as he pulls my legs open, settling between them, squirting lube in his palm.
Yes. I most definitely do.
“Let me make this hole dripping wet.” He thrusts two fingers in me as he fists my cock and sucks on the tip.
I throw my head back, a low grunt ripping out of me. “Fuck…yes…more…”
My ass clenches around his fingers, welcoming him in like all the other times he’s done this. My body caves, falling into the feeling so easily, I should be offended.
He pops me out of his mouth. “You like my lips wrapped around your thick cock, baby?”
I swallow, because why the hell does he have to talk like that? That dirty mouth of his is driving me mad.
Marcus curls his fingers inside me until it’s uncomfortable, and sparks of pain ripple through me, but my whore of a cock naturally likes it, considering the glistening precum.
“Answer me, Preston.” He adds another finger, stretching me so much, I moan. “Do you like my mouth around your cock?”
“I don’t care.”
“If you don’t care.” He thrusts his fingers. “I’ll assume you don’t need me to give you head ever again.”
This motherfucker—