He doesn’t seem to like to dwell on the conversation of his ex, and I have no problem getting away from it as well. It’s strange, but I feel a twinge of jealousy when thinking about someone he cared enough about to marry, even if the marriage was built on greed and didn’t work. She had him for a time and he’d cared enough to marry her.
When we get off the subject, he turns it toward me, about my life. I boo-hoo about my burned house and how it meant everything to me.
“It’s just a house,” he says when I tell him how much it meant to me. “It can be rebuilt.”
I shake my head. “It would never be the same. It was my first and my parents helped me buy it, so it’s extra special.”
“You’re close with your parents?” He looks confused. He must be wondering why, if my parents cared enough to help me buy a house, then why did he find me living in my car and not staying with them.
“I was, yes.”
“You’re not now?”
“My parents died in a plane crash. They were traveling home from their anniversary trip when the plane they were on had an engine failure.”
The crash happened a few years ago, but it’s still difficult to talk about.
He takes my hand and brushes his thumb against my palm. I look down at our touching hands and a feeling blooms inside of me. It’s a mix of emotions: loneliness, fear, happiness, and desire. I’ve felt alone for so long, and I’m so sick of feeling that way.
Though I know I’ll regret it later, I pull his hand toward me and kiss his knuckles. He takes in a sharp breath and allows me to keep kissing his hand. I wonder if the same war is waging in his head that is going through mine, that we shouldn’t be doing this, that it could wreck everything. If he does think so, he’s not trying to stop me.
When I stop to look up at him, at his reaction, he takes me by the hands, pulling me to him. The bowl of popcorn falls to the ground and scatters, but he doesn’t give it a second glance. Bitters, on the other hand, sees an opportunity for a snack and pounces on it.
All of Marcus’s attention is focused on me. My arms wrap around his shoulders, legs around his waist. It’s an awkward tangle of limbs at first until he stands and carries me into his room.
Laying me on his bed, our lips crash together, warm tongues colliding. God, his body feels good against mine, all hard muscle and sinew. I need to get these clothes off of him to see if he looks as good without them. I unbutton his shirt, fingers fumbling with excitement. He helps me with the last two buttons when I’m not working fast enough. When his shirt peels back, revealing a smooth, hairless chest rippled with muscles, it’s better than I could imagine. He’s a work of art. I stare at him in awe, my fingers tracing the ropes of muscles going up his arms. How is he so perfect? He looks as though he’s never consumed a carb in his life. I know that’s not the case because he was scarfing down popcorn just a minute ago.
He hurries to take my clothes off. Things go much easier for him, seeing as I’m only wearing a t-shirt and boxers with nothing underneath. As soon as my shirt comes off, he makes a sound of approval and he looks at me with the same rapt amazement I looked at him with. Could he be admiring me in the same way? I’ve always been told I have a great body, but some men have felt I was too curvy for their taste, my breasts too large, my hips too wide. I’m built more like a Kim than a Kendall.
“You’re perfection,” he says on a loose breath.
My face flushes and my nipples harden the longer his gaze sweeps over my chest. He traces a finger along the under swell of my breast. When he grazes my nipple with his finger, a shudder rolls through me, raising goosebumps.
“So are you,” I say.
He leans in, his warm breath on my cheek. He smells my neck and runs a finger down my bare shoulder. My throat goes dry. I can barely swallow. My body tingles and my wetness pools between my legs, soaking the boxers he has yet to take off of me. The desire to be touched becomes a desperate need, and if he’s not careful, I’m going to attack him.
“I want you,” he says. His skin is cool as he brushes the hair off of my neck, sending chills down my spine. Despite the chill, there’s an inferno raging between my legs. “We shouldn’t do this, but I want you so much I don’t think I have the power to stop myself.” He rubs my goosebumped arms. My whole body tenses up. “Tell me to stop. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
He’s practically begging me to tell him no.
I’m panting as my mind runs the gamut of all the reasons I should tell him no. When I open my mouth to say the words, nothing comes out. Though I know stopping now would be the right thing to do, it feels wrong. I want him. I need him.
I shake my head. “No. Don’t stop.”
The words have barely left my mouth when his lips crash into mine and we fall back into a hurricane-force of a kiss. His hands slip beneath the waistband of the boxers and he slides them down my legs and off of me. There’s more work for me than an elastic band. I take off his belt, contend with a button and zipper, and then I come to his boxers which I struggle to get off. It’s a struggle to get the elastic over his hardness. It’s stretched to its limit. When I finally do manage it, seeing him fully naked is worth all the effort it took. He has the most glorious cock I’ve ever seen. Long and thick with a glimmering head. If I wasn’t sure I turned him on before, I’m sure of it now. There’s no denying his attraction, and there’s no denying my own by the way I drip onto his sheets.
Seeing that proud cock in front of me in all its glorious hardness, I’m unable to keep my hands to myself. My fingers wrap around him. He closes his eyes and rocks his hips slowly.
While I stroke him, he starts to kiss me again. His soft lips barely brush against mine. It’s a sensual kiss at first. The tips of his fingers touch my face, rub my ear lobes, run through my hair. He puts his thumb on my chin and gives it a little tug so that I open my mouth. Then his tongue slips in and glides against mine, tangling together again. He sucks my tongue into his mouth and bites my bottom lip.
I moan into his open mouth while his hand moves down to my inner thigh. He doesn’t touch the ache between my legs that needs relief. I buck by hips, prompting him to move farther toward my center. I kiss his teeth when he smiles at my eagerness.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I tell him.
“Good things come to those who wait,” he says playfully.
I’m not good at waiting. I desperately want his hands all over me.
His lips touch my neck, covering it in soft, yet eager kisses. He moves down my body, covering my breasts, taking my nipples between his teeth. A loud moan parts my lips. The feeling of his teeth against my soft flesh sends an electric shock to my center, arousing me to a point of near hysteria.
He pushes my legs open, exposing me. The air tickles my shaved pussy.
“You’re so wet,” he says. I spread my legs further, using my empty hand to spread myself so he gets a better look at what he’s missing by not touching me. He lets out a deep groan and grabs my hand with his cock in it and forces me to squeeze hard on the shaft. “That little clit looks appetizing.”
He stares as if he’s in a trance, his hand moving closer to the junction between my legs until I’m whimpering and begging him to touch me.
“Please,” I plead with him. “I need it.”
He gives me a taunting smile and touches everything but that tender spot.
Finally, he touches the outer folds of my pussy, and even though it’s not the exact spot I want him to touch, any touch right now feels amazing. Every nerve between my legs feels raw and exposed. I jerk at the slightest touch. He runs a finger down my wet slit and I imagine that’s what nirvana is like.
My juices gleam and drip from his fingertips when he puts them in his mouth and licks them clean. He smells his fingers when he’s done and lets out a guttural sound as he starts to rock faster. I’m stroking him at a good pace now, loving the way he fits in my palm. He then moves his hand back between my legs and plunges his finger deep insid
e of me.
I let out a long, loud moan, raising my hips to push him deeper into me. He pulls out briefly to massage my outer folds, then pinches my clit, tugging and rolling it between his fingers. My moans get louder and I have to bite down on my lip to keep quiet. I know we’re alone in his high-rise, but I don’t want the neighbors to hear.
He adds another finger, and then another. This time I can’t help the scream that bursts from me. Three fingers blast me at a furious pace, and I’m writhing on the bed as he stretches me. He finds an incredible rhythm that nearly sends me over the edge. I’m so close to an orgasm, but somehow I manage to keep it under control. I don’t want to come yet. I want this sensation to build up until I can’t take it anymore.