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I slow my movements, and his hands grip my hips so tight I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growls, his voice rough with need.

“Or what?” I challenge, as a slow, wicked smile spreads across my face. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around my waist, flipping us over until I’m on my back and he’s on top of me, his cock still buried deep inside of me. The sudden change in position makes me cry out.

“You got to have your fun, but don’t forget who’s really in charge here.” He grunts, leaning forward to bury his face in my neck and bite down—and I hate that it likely won’t leave a mark. He only marks me where they’ll stay hidden under my clothing.

It feels so good, I’m not going to last.

“Marcus,” I gasp. “Marcus, I’m going to come.”

“I love hearing you say my name like that,” he says as he reaches between us to wrap his hand around my aching cock and stroke.

“I want to feel you come around my cock.”

He’s pushing me to my limits while I take everything he’s giving me, moaning right through it.

“Such a good boy,” he praises, and I whimper. He’s a man possessed, driven by a need to make me lose my mind and forget everything but him. “My perfect little cock slut.”

“Nghh.” I moan. “I’m so… close, Marcus.”

“Let go. Come for me.”

He’s hitting that sweet spot inside me and I can’t hold back any longer. My whole body bows beneath him as I spill over his hand and our stomachs. I clamp down around him, and with a groan, he buries himself deep inside me, teeth latching onto my shoulder as he rides out his orgasm.

After a moment, he pulls out and removes the condom, tying it off. He tosses it in the direction of what I assume is the trash can, and instead of getting up and moving, he lies flat on his back and pulls me into his chest. He’s holding me closely, not giving a single fuck about my cum drying on our skin.

Knowing this is our one night together makes me want to make a plan for the next time we can see each other because once a year isn’t enough.

“That was hot. I knew you had more in you.” I feel my cheeks heat at his praise. “I could tell from the first night we’d met.”

Marcus is observant. It’s as if that first night we met, my body knew it was okay to trust him, and my mind was telling me I didn’t stand a chance against him. It said, Let go, let him take the lead. And I did. I still do, because the way Marcus takes control isn’t selfish. It’s attentive. He notices what I need, even when I don’t say it. He reads my body, my reactions, and he gives me exactly what I’m craving, like the bruises that adorn my chest and the focus he gave my nipples. No one else has ever touched me there. I had no idea just how much I’d like it. It’s as if he somehow knows what I like more than I do.

It’s a little unfair, honestly. He’s learned me inside and out in three nights, and I still know him mostly in pieces.

I trace a slow line along his arm, working up the nerve to ask him more about himself.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

I adjust slightly so my head rests on his chest, but I avoid eye contact, worried it might make the question feel too vulnerable and shut down what I’m about to ask.

“What’s your family like?” I feel him go still under me, just slightly, so I keep my voice light. I don’t know why I had to ask this question now, but maybe I was naively hopeful he’d open up more after sex. “You don’t have to tell me anything specific. I just want to know you better, if you’ll let me.”

He’s quiet for long enough that I begin to fear I’ve pushed too far right after something so good.

“It’s fine,” he finally says, his voice flatter than it was a minute ago, and I’m immediately aware this is a touchy subject. “We’re not close. Never really have been.”

“Can I ask why?”

His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek before he speaks. “I don’t think they ever really knew what to do with me.” It seems like that’s all he’s going to say, but I wait, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. He exhales before continuing. “My mom’s obsessed with appearances and traditions and sweeping everything under the rug, including me being bi. The rug is basically a mountain at this point. My dad checks out whenever things get uncomfortable, which seems to be always. And my sister, well, she’s the golden child. Stayed in town, married her high school boyfriend, and is now pregnant. Everything their conservative values could’ve ever dreamed of.”

“And you’re the opposite?” I ask, already knowing the answer. My heart breaks for him. I can’t imagine what it’d be like growing up with an unsupportive family, but I’m not naive enough to think everyone’s situation is like mine. Many aren’t, and that infuriates me. How do you love someone conditionally? Especially your own child?

“Yep. The black sheep through and through,” Marcus continues, and I grip his skin tighter in hopes he realizes I’m there for him and that I support him. “Which is why when I got my job offer in Chicago, I took it, even if I don’t love the job. It was far enough away, and they have a personal hatred toward cities, so lucky for me, they’ve never visited.”