But then he does it again, sliding his clothed dick acrossmine in one harsh, controlled movement. “You’re awfully responsive to a merefly’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.”
Butwhy?
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 Iwantto 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,Iget off on it, too, but actively participating in gay sex is a fuckno.
“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 totallynotwatching. “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.
Andwait.
But it never comes.
