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“I’ve been there. After I fucked around in London for a few years, I came back to Atlanta, thinking I’d have to work for my father. Instead, I got a job with a right cockweasel. He was more interested in my arse than my sewing skills.”
Talk about a person who’s ready to tell anyone off. If even Darius let an asshole get to him, maybe Marc wasn’t so pathetic after all. “It’s really hard to imagine you putting up with that.”
“I wasn’t such an abrasive arsehole back then.”
Had Darius created that persona to protect himself? Was the man he used to be the one Marc saw when Darius let his guard down? “I guess maybe it’s not such a hard mistake to make.”
“Knowing something’s wrong doesn’t make it easy to stop.”
“No, but…”
Darius took hold of his chin and turned Marc to face him. “You are not stupid or whatever else you’re thinking. You’re a caring man, and those bastards had no idea what they had.”
Marc studied him for a few moments. Was he saying he cared about Marc? “But this—”
Darius laid a finger on his lips. “Don’t. I’m fucked up, and so is this, whatever we’re doing, but—”
“You don’t want to screw it up by overanalyzing it?”
“Right.”
“Neither do I.”
Darius kissed him, a tender kiss full of promise. Marc tried not to read too much into it, which wasn’t exactly difficult in the moment. The softness didn’t last long, though, and when the kiss grew more demanding, Marc forgot everything but how much he wanted Darius to fuck him.
Darius tumbled him back onto the couch and shoved Marc’s pants and briefs down his legs.
“Fuck, you’re so hot like that. Half-naked on a couch.”
Marc grabbed hold of Darius’s waistband and pulled him closer. “Then come do something about it.”
Somehow, as they kissed, groped, and ground against each other, Marc managed to get Darius’s pants off.
Darius sat back long enough to rifle through his pockets, extract his wallet, and locate a condom.
“There’s lube in the drawer.” Marc tried to reach the end table, but he couldn’t stretch that far with Darius pinning him down.
Darius frowned as he rolled the condom on. “How often do you fuck out here?”
“Rarely, but I jerk off out here all the time.”
Darius chuckled as he stretched out over Marc.
Marc felt himself start to slip off the couch. He tried to brace himself by putting one foot on the floor.
“Got it,” Darius said, but it was too late.
“Fuck!” They tumbled to the floor, and Marc ended up on top.
“Motherfucking fuck! I think I cut my shoulder.” Darius craned his head to see. He must have hit the edge of the glass-topped coffee table.
“You want me to look at it?”
“Fuck, no.” Darius handed him the lube. “I want you to ride my cock until I forget how much it hurts.”
Marc hesitated only a second. It wasn’t like Darius was going to bleed to death. He squirted lube on his fingers and slicked Darius up. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Jesus, Darius was hot stretched out under him. Marc couldn’t decide what he wanted more—to sink down on his cock or lick every inch of his dark skin.
Darius wrapped one hand around his own cock and gripped Marc’s hip with the other. “Am I going to have to do this for you?”
Marc laughed as he swatted Darius’s hand away. “So fucking impatient.”
“I want to be deep in your tight arse. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Not.” He sank down onto Darius’s shaft, barely opening himself with the tip of Darius’s cock.
“At.” He took more, sinking lower.
“All.” He closed his eyes, groaning as his ass stretched to accommodate every last inch of Darius’s cock.
“Fuck.” The word escaped Darius as an exhalation.
Marc winked at him. “You got it.”
He rode Darius slowly until he began struggling to thrust up into him. They pushed and pulled at one another, and then, finally, Marc began a wild, fast rhythm, thankful his thigh muscles could take the work. He arched his back, and Darius’s cock brushed over his sweet spot. “Oh, fuck yes, that’s it.”
“Come for me,” Darius demanded. “I want to watch you shoot your load on me.”
He was right there. Faster. Faster. “Yes!” He stroked himself, shooting over and over until his spunk decorated Darius’s chest.
Darius squeezed Marc’s hips mercilessly and drove into him, once, twice, and then shuddered his way through his own climax. Watching him had Marc wanting to do it all again, but he’d need to remember how to breathe first.
“That. Was. Fucking. Amazing,” Darius said.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“I can’t feel a motherfucking thing.”
“Perfect.”
Later, Marc cleaned up the cut, and Darius let him know the feeling had fully returned by screeching in a very un-Darius way when Marc dabbed the cut with alcohol. “Motherfucking, goddamn, fuck! Don’t you ever do that again!”
