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The elevator dings, and the doors open onto his floor. He practically drags me down the hallway, his long legs eating up the distance. He fumbles with the key, hands shaking slightly, and then the door is open, and he’s pulling me inside and kicking it shut behind us.
And then we’re on each other.
His mouth crashes into mine, a demanding crush of lips and teeth and tongue. I back him up against the door, pinning his body with mine as his hands tangle in my hair, holding me captive. I can taste the year we’ve spent apart in the desperation of his kiss, the loneliness, the longing—and I know he can taste the same in mine. I’m ravenous for more of him as his tongue dances with mine.
His hands are everywhere at once, tearing at my jacket, fingers digging into my skin like he’s trying to crawl inside me. Fuck, I’d let him. He kisses me frantically as he grinds against me like he’s trying to fuse our bodies together and I can feel the tremor running through him.
Suddenly, he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine, panting as he says, “I missed this. I missed you. Holy shit, did I miss you.”
“Me too, baby. But I’m here now.”
“Show me how much?”
“Mmm,” I hum, pressing a gentle kiss along his lips that’s so different from the lust-drunk state of a moment ago. “I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”
CHAPTER 38
Evan
The words slam into me.
I’m going to give you exactly what you need.
Something inside me breaks open at that because this is what I’ve been aching for. Not just the sex, but the way Marcus reads me, the way he knows exactly what I need before I can articulate it myself. With him, I can let go and surrender. I can be vulnerable and needy and desperate, and it fuels him.
“Bedroom?” he questions, and I remember we’re in my apartment and he’s never been here.
“Behind you, to the right.”
Marcus nods and guides me backward toward the bed, his lips locked on mine. His fingers move to the hem of my shirt, and I raise my arms automatically. He pulls it off, tossing it aside, and his eyes rake over my chest. My skin flushes under his gaze.
“Lie down,” he orders, and I stretch out on the bed. The relief of following his command is almost overwhelming. I don’t have to think, I simply have to feel.
He climbs over me, settling his thighs outside of my legs. He ignores my pants completely, and I remember just how much he loves to drag sex out and drive me crazy. He leans forward instead, taking my right nipple into his mouth and sucking. I arch into his touch. It’s so fucking good.
One touch, and I’m already falling apart.
“Marcus!” I gasp, my hands finding his hair, like always. He hums against my left nipple next, the vibration shooting straight to my cock. He pulls back just enough to blow cool air across the wet skin, and I shudder. Then he moves to my pecs, giving them the same attention, sucking and biting little marks into my skin.
I want to tell him to hurry, to stop teasing, but I also want to live in this moment where he’s touching me again and making me feel this good because he knows my body so well.
His hand trails down my stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle, and I hold my breath. He’s so close to where I need him, but he’s deliberately avoiding it. His thumb brushes the waistband of my pants, dipping just barely beneath the fabric before pulling back.
“Marcus,” I groan, and my voice is wrecked. “Please. Touch me. Let me come. I can go again.”
He looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes and smirks, before he finally undoes the button and drags down the zipper. There’s something almost reverent in the way he touches me, even as his eyes burn with a hunger that threatens to consume me whole.
He slides my jeans down so I’m just in my boxer briefs, my cock straining against the fabric. I can feel the wet spot forming against the blue cotton. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I just need him to touch me more.
“Marcus,” I beg, my hips shifting restlessly.
“Patience,” he says, running his hands up my thighs, and the touch sends electricity through my entire body. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
I groan, my head falling back against the pillow. “I don’t know if I can wait.”
“You can,” he says, leaning down to press his mouth to my hip bone, sucking marks into my skin, giving me something to remember him by, even though we have a whole week. “And you will.”
The command in his voice makes my cock throb. It’s always been him. Only him. The way he can make me wait, make me need him so badly I can barely breathe.
