Page 19 of In the Middle of No(ah)where (Rockport Ridge #2)

Noah

M arcus' lips on my neck send my body into orbit.

His touch instantly calms me. Just like it did years ago.

He releases his hold on me, and I instantly feel the loss.

I pull back on the club and swing. The ball sails across the green and up the ramp.

It makes it past the monkey and right into the glitter castle.

Just when I thought this hole couldn't be more chaotic.

The castle lights up, the sound of trumpets blasting in the air, and a voice with a British accent calls out, "Hole in one," right before large pieces of gold metallic confetti fill the air.

Well, this is a bit overkill, don't you think?

"You're so extra," Marcus says as he congratulates me and steps up to his spot on the green.

"You do know even if you get a hole-in-one, I still beat you." I tease.

"Doesn't matter. I've already won." He says with a grin.

I roll my eyes. "Can you be any cornier?"

"I have a list of dad jokes just waiting to be shared with you."

"Please don't."

He laughs and steps up to the mark. "Now, shush it so I can show you how it's done." He tells me with an air of mock arrogance.

"I believe I just showed you how it's done."He glares without much depth in it.

Marcus lines up his ball and takes his stance. His swing is perfect, but the angle is off just slightly, and I grin, knowing that his ball will never make it up the drawbridge.

And I was wrong. It goes up the drawbridge, but just before it reaches its target, the monkey swoops down and knocks it to the left. The ball flies through the air and right into the clown's mouth.

Marcus and I look in shock. The clown lights up while laughing. His eyes start to spin in a hypnotic rhythm, and he calls out in a creepy voice, "Thank you for the snack. It was delicious." I grab a hold of Marcus' arm and stare at the bizarre display. "Game over."

Marcus and I look at each other and start laughing at the insanity of this hole.

As we walk back to the shack to turn in our putters, Marcus slaps me on the ass. "Good game."

"You too. Better than I thought you would be."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Walking towards Marcus's car, I welcome the soft glow of the streetlights.

My brain is a bit overstimulated from tonight's event.

The air around is chilled and filled with shadows.

The creepy clown at hole eighteen pops in my head, and I involuntarily sidle up next to Marcus.

He smiles and wraps his arm around me intimately.

What is it about his touch that calms me?

"I had such a wonderful time tonight." Marus gives my side a little squeeze.

"It was the most fun I've had in a long time. Thank you." I tell him. "I'd hate for the night to be over." I hint.

"Why does it have to be?" His blown pupils tell me we're feeling the same thing. It's been two years of pining, and I'm ready to take this to the next level. "You want to come back to my place?"

"Please," I whisper.

The journey back to Marcus's apartment is a silent testament to our shared anticipation.The radio plays soft jazz in the background. The car suddenly feels intimate, a prelude to the close encounter that awaits. Unspoken desires and anxieties that are about to come to fruition.

???

I take in the living room around me, noting the carefully chosen details: a worn leather armchair, a collection of vintage records, and a bookshelf overflowing with books.

It's a space that feels lived in, comfortable, and undeniably Marcus.

The small details paint a picture of Marcus' life.

His personality. His history.The room itself feels like an invitation.

A welcome into his world that I'm ready to explore.

"Please, make yourself at home," Marcus teases as he sees me scrolling through the books on his shelf, along with souvenirs from his travels. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Water would be nice," I rasp, feeling the dryness of my mouth.

Sitting on the sofa, soft lighting spills from a lamp on the side table, casting long shadows onto the curtains. The soft glow of light adds warmth to the room–intimate and safe–and I allow it to envelop me. I sink further into the back of the couch, feeling more at home than I have in years.

"Comfy, isn't it?" Marcus asks, coming back into the room and holding out a bottle of water to me.

I crack the lid and take a deep pull, letting the cool liquid coat my throat.

"I've… I've been thinking about this all day," Marcus breaks the silence. His eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and lust. His admission shocks me.

I guess we're just going to jump right in. Skip the foreplay.

"Me too. Longer, actually." A simple phrase with colossal meaning. I take another sip of water.

Marcus switches on some low music, a mellow jazz tune that fills the space with a sense of calm. The gentle rhythm synchronizes with the beating of my heart. A subtle soundtrack to what is about to happen between us. What I have longed for over two years. A connection.

"I want this to be good," Marcus' words are barely audible as he takes the bottle from my hand, sets it on the coffee table, and claims the seat next to me. His confession contrasts with his earlier banter while playing mini golf, revealing Marcus' vulnerability.

I reach out, and it's my turn to trace his jawline, feeling his rough stubble. "It will be good," I promise, offering him reassurance, although I'm glad to know I'm not the only nervous one.

The air between us is filled with unspoken words, shared glances, and a growing sense of anticipation.There's no rush, no pressure, just a quiet understanding, allowingthe moment to unfold at its own pace. Two souls drawn together by an unseen force.

Marcus stands, reaches for my hand to lift me up off the couch, and pulls me into his chest, where he holds me tight to his body.

The muscles under his shirt are solid, and I can't wait to feel them without the barrier of fabric.

I kiss him gently on the mouth before my hands move faster than my brain.

I lift the shirt over his head, my knuckles skimming the skin on his sides along the way.

He lifts his arms to allow me to remove it entirely.

I drop it on the floor and press my hands against his bare back, and electricity surges through me.

I bury my face in his neck to take in his scent before pressing my lips to the part where his neck meets his shoulder and sucking gently. I want to leave a mark on him.

"Hold on." Marcus pants, breaths coming out short and quick. He leads me down a short hallway and into his bedroom. It's an extension of the living room. It's all him. The same lived-in feel. The scent of his cologne. God, his scent is killing me–clean and masculine.

"I need you," I admit.

"You'll have me." Marcus takes my mouth deeper. Rougher. Passion flows between us, and he turns carnal.

"Yes," I breathe out in a moan as his lips graze and teeth nibble my earlobe.

He's as turned on as I am. I feel his hard length press against mine through our jeans.

My head is in a state of fog. I shake it, trying to clear the fuzziness and stay present in the moment.

And just in time. Marcus begins to lift my shirt.

My head clears instantly, and a bit of panic overtakes me.

My heart starts racing as I place my hands on top of his.

"Yellow," I call out my safeword through my panic.

Marcus stops, removing his hands from my shirt, and sits on the bed facing me. Inspecting me. "Talk to me."

I don't say anything. Just sit and take some deep breaths, trying to get my thoughts under control.

"Now that I've had a minute to think, it's stupid," I tell him and feel my face heat with embarrassment.

"Nonsense. Safewords are designed to keep you safe, both physically and mentally. If something was disturbing you at that moment, I'm glad you called yellow ," he reassures me. Reaching his hand out but pulls it back before it makes contact with my thigh.

"It's just…no one has ever really seen…you know," I tell him while looking down at my covered arm.

"The scars," he supplies.

"Yeah."

Marcus lifts my chin, so I look at him, both of us almost fully clothed still. "Do you want to leave your shirt on?" He asks tentatively.

I sit and think about it. It would be nice to feel him skin-to-skin. He will see them eventually. My stomach rolls just as I shake my head. "No. I want you to see them. I don't want to hide things from you." I tell him truthfully. "I just don't know if I'm ready…here." I tap my temple.

"I understand." He tells me softly. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

I stand up to face him, but before I do, I lean over and flick off the lamp.

Only the light from the moon is seeping in through the blinds, casting us both in a light of lined shadows.

I step back over to him, and Marcus pulls me to stand between his legs.

I grab the cuff of my sleeve and slowly pull my arm out, and Marcus helps me slowly lift it over my head.

I close my eyes before it's completely off because I don't want to look at the disappointment in his eyes.

"Noah, look at me." His Daddy tone has me opening my eyes, but when I look at him, he's looking at me, not my arm.

I feel my eyes sting. "You're beautiful," he tells me before taking my arm and pulling it to his mouth.

He presses a kiss on some of the scars, and it sends a shiver up my spine.

He doesn't linger on any one scar too long.

Instead, he moves his lips to my chest and trails his tongue down my flat abdomen while his hands trail down my back, cupping my ass.

My brain is short-circuiting. Marcus undoes the button on my pants with his teeth, and my heart pangs with jealousy of the person who taught him that.

Using his teeth on the front, his hands grip the fabric of my pants on my hips, and he slides them down my legs.

His eyes look up at mine, and he cocks a brow and smirks.

"These are cute," he tells me when he sees my LEGO-themed underwear.

"They'll look cuter on the floor," I return his sly smile with one of my own.

Marcus softly bites my cock through my underwear and licks the wet spot before sliding them down my legs.

His rough hands slide up my thighs, and his thumbs move my balls out of the way as he inhales me from underneath, running his tongue flatly across them to my shaft.

"Damn, you taste good," he tells me before taking me all the way into his mouth.

Hitting the back of his throat, he takes me in further and swallows around me.

"If you keep that up, you're going to make me come before I even have the chance to see you naked."

After a few more pulls, he releases me and stands, swapping positions with me.

As I turn to the bed, Marcus pushes me on my stomach, and I hit the mattress with a bounce, causing us both to giggle.

His hands around my thighs tug me back toward the edge of the bed.

I relax and let Marcus lead, and then I feel his warm breath on my hole, and then…

holy shit. I've never experienced this before.

His tongue laps at the ring of muscle, and I'm sent into orbit.

His stubble runs across the skin, and the sensation is like nothing I've experienced before.

I feel his saliva run down the inside of my thigh, and I know if I was an animal shifter like the Omegaverse books I read, my slick would be flowing out of me right now.

"What color are you, baby?" Marcus' voice is gritty, and I know he's barely holding it together.

"Green. Totally fucking green."

"Language," he warns before his hand comes down on my ass.

His palm slapping the skin on my ass echoes in the room, and I see stars.

Holy mother of–another slap comes down, and my chest hits the mattress with my ass still in the air.

The cool air feels colder against the burn of my skin where he made contact.

"Sorry," I whimper.

"Sorry, what?" Marcus asks. Another smack hits my ass, and I feel a drop of liquid seep from my eye.

"Sorry, Daddy. I won't cuss again." But I might if it means I can feel his hands owning me again.

I wiggle my ass, hoping for another one.

Instead, Marcus' hand rests on the globe of my ass as he rubs gently.

A finger runs down my crack, and when it meets my asshole, he slips the digit inside me.

It's tight. I don't hook up with guys often, and usually, when I do, I'm the one who tops.

Always with protection. But this…I want it.

Scratch that. I need it. I need Marcus to own me.

After he slides in easily, he adds another finger, and I welcome the burn. By the time he gets a third finger in, I don't even know my own name.