Page 300

Story: Men of Fort Dale

“That she didn’t know you very well if she thought I could get you to do anything. You’re a sweet guy, Marco, but I’m pretty sure you’re more stubborn than me,” Carter said roughly.

Marco laughed. “I don’t know about that.”

Carter turned him around so he could look down into Marco’s face. “I mean it. You did so much for me. Thank you. I’ll never?—”

“No,” Marco interrupted. “I don’t want you to repay me. I don’t want you to find a way to make it up to me. I don’t want anything like that. I want you, Carter, you. Nothing else.”

The expression on Carter’s face threatened to break Marco. Gone was the fierceness, the anger, the hard man who hissed and snarled at the world. Replaced by a man, burning with something inside, anddaringto believe in something, to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of the world just for him.

“You,” Marco repeated softly, stroking the man’s face.

Carter caught his hand. “And you. I should’ve known from the moment you helped me off that dirty sidewalk. When you brought me into your home and took care of me. How you’ve kept caring for me, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You were,” Marco said gently. “You’ve been paying more attention than you think. I’ve seen it. You just had to get there, and that’s okay.”

“Well, I’m there,” Carter whispered, squeezing Marco’s fingers. “I’m there, and all I want is you. You ridiculous idiot.”

Marco smiled at that, giving in to the moment when Carter bowed forward and kissed him. He wasn’t surprised when the kiss became hungry and needful, and he returned the gesture with equal vigor.

It was he who led the way up the stairs, he who undressed Carter, and then himself. It was he who dropped them onto the bed, touch gentle, mouths hungry. Just as it was he who didn’t bother with preparation, straddling Carter’s thighs and taking him in.

He relished the burn, the pain searing away something inside him and knocking it loose. He relished the feel of Carter inside him even more and cried out when he thrust up into him.

There was no time Marco could keep track of as their bodies found their rhythm. Together, they rocked and writhed, hands never leaving the other, their mouths exploring and eager. Sweat broke out, and just like the perfect times before, they cried out almost together as waves of pleasure washed through them,crashing down until they were shuddering and clinging to one another.

When it was done, they were left in the dim light creeping through the black curtains lining the loft. Carter had slipped out of him already, and Marco lay on his side just as Carter did. They held onto one another, though they stayed a little way away, staring at each other in the low light for several minutes, breathing slowly evening out.

“I’ve never had someone fight for me like you did,” Carter admitted quietly.

“You deserve to have that,” Marco told him.

“And you did that.”

“And I’ll do it again if I have to. Just like you’ll fight for me if you have to. That’s how this works.”

“This,” Carter repeated softly. “I never knew what to call ‘this.’ Still don’t, but I don’t want to let it go either.”

Marco laughed, squeezing Carter’s hand. “I think people would probably just say we’re dating.”

Carter wrinkled his nose. “Sounds a little weak?”

“Boyfriends?”

“A bit high school.”

“Lovers?”

“Are we in a fucking romance novel?”

“Partners?”

“Jesus,” Carter muttered. “Boyfriends is fine. I don’t give a shit.”

“Well,” Marco began. “There’s always?—”

He was cut off as Carter kissed him senseless. He blinked up at the big man above him, his heart fluttering in his chest. Somehow, he could still see the golden flecks in Carter’s eyes.

“Shut up,” Carter told him gruffly. “All I give a fuck about is that you’re mine.”

Table of Contents