“Try me.” I speak so close to his face, I realize too late that his mouth is a few breaths away from mine.
And now, I’m looking at his lips, and I shouldn’t look at a guy’s lips, but I notice something—or maybe acoupleof things.
Both his lips are full and perfectly molded, but the upper one is slightly pouty and lifted. He also has a well-defined dip in the middle, as if it were carved with the utmost precision.
I want to bite it.
Sink my teeth into the soft flesh, tear the skin apart, and make him bleed.
No, fuck. I don’twantto bite Marcus’s lip.
Where the fuck did that ridiculous thought come from?
I slide my gaze to his and pause, because his gray irises have nearly turned black as he also stares at my lips.
Another man is staring at, downrightdevouring, my mouth with his eyes, and it should make me want to jump out of my skin with disgust.
I search for feelings of disturbance but find none.
If it’s not discomfort, then what’s the reason for the heat coursing through my veins?
It’s warm tonight. That’s why?—
My eyes widen when he reaches his free hand toward my mouth. I can see it in slow motion, as if time has stopped, and his hand is moving in a parallel universe.
It isn’t until it makes contact with my face, his fingers cradling my jaw, his thumb on the corner of my lip, that I realize something.
He was deliberately moving slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook me or something equally ridiculous.
“This mouth doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, does it?” He jams his thumb between my lips, forcing my jaw open as he presses down on my lower teeth.
So what do I do? I bite him, of course. My teeth clamp down on his thumb so hard, I think I’ll dislodge it.
I’m a rabid dog that way. Mess with me and you’ll go home with a missing limb.
Anyone with any morsel of sanity would pull out their hand.
Not Marcus, though.
This insane motherfucker’s face is shadowed in a dark gleam as he keeps pressing down on my teeth with the same strength I’m using to bite him.
So I try to spit his thumb out, shoving my tongue against it. In a fraction of a second, Marcus uses the slight change to yank my jaw open, then slides his middle and ring fingers inside my mouth.
This motherfucker?—
I’m about to bite his fingers clean off, but he glides them all the way to the back of my throat and slams my arm above my head on the rough stone.
Nausea churns my stomach, and my eyes water. I wait for the wretched memories to flood me.
And wait.
And wait.
They don’t.
I’m too overstimulated to get stuck in my brain.
“This is what happens when you run your mouth, Preston.” He thrusts his fingers farther, angling my jaw with his thumb and index finger for a better angle. “Next time, I’ll be pumping my thick cock down this pretty throat.”
