Page 32 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

SILAS

M onday morning, Marshall let me stay in bed while he got ready for work.

It was some kind of luxury, writhing around in his sheets while he dried off from his shower and got dressed.

He told me to touch myself while he knotted his tie, and I made as much of a show of it as I could manage.

Partially because I hoped he would come back to bed and get me off and partly because I was basically always horny now.

Meeting Marshall had been like the flip of a switch, and boom. Suddenly everything was sexual.

He sat down on the edge of the bed with his shiny brown leather shoes between his socked feet, then he coaxed me onto his lap, and then onto my knees.

I didn’t need any additional instruction to know what he wanted from me.

Carefully after loosening the waxed laces, I slipped his feet into the expensive Italian leather oxfords and tied neat bows.

My fingertips danced across the pressed seams of the shoes, and it was Marshall’s gentle but firm hand on the top of my head that guided me down until my chest was flat on the floor and my mouth hovered inches from the leather I’d just been admiring.

I kissed the top of each foot, but the pressure on my head didn’t let up so I kissed his shoes better, using the wet inside of my mouth and my tongue until it was the same as kissing his mouth.

My hips thrust forward searching for friction that didn’t exist, and then Marshall moved his foot so the toe of his shoe rested against the underside of my chin.

“Good boy,” he praised, and I rocked back onto my heels. “You call me after you meet with Cory and tell me how it went.”

“Yes, Sir.”

How could he talk about work at a time like this?

Marshall straightened to his full height, and I stayed on my knees because it felt so good to be there. His body swayed like he knew he had to go but didn’t want to.

“How close are you to coming?” he asked.

We both looked down at my exposed cock, thick and hard, and pulsating like a lightning rod between my legs.

“Very,” I admitted.

“You did such a good job with my shoes just now,” he said, threading his fingers into my hair and tipping my head back so I was forced to stare up at him. “If you promise to clean them up after you finish, and you can do it in two minutes, you can come.”

“You want me to come on your shoes.” I curled a sweaty palm around my shaft and stroked. Two minutes would be more than enough time.

“I want to go to work with clean shoes,” he corrected, brow raised. “And I’m leaving in two minutes.”

His grip on my hair was punishing enough that I had nowhere to look besides his face.

No other option than to catalog the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes while he watched me and the way one side of his mouth quirked up every time I whimpered.

My orgasm crept closer, and Marshall nodded his approval, encouraging me along, and it was his visible consent and desire for me that sent me over the edge .

I did my best to angle my cock toward his shoes, but I was so hard I could have cut diamonds and the bend was painful.

When I came, cock pulsing in my fist, the only sound that left my throat was a rasping gasp.

My body still spasmed from my orgasm, but I knew time was ticking.

He released my hair, and I kept a firm hold around the base of my shaft as I went back down to the position he’d had me in before.

I’d managed to shoot most of my load onto his shoes, and I groaned at the way the salt of my cum tasted with the sharp leather of his shoes. I licked and kissed and sucked him clean until he tapped me on the shoulder with his other foot.

“Impressive,” he murmured, helping me to my feet this time. My dick was still hard, but he didn’t shy away in pulling me close.

“I don’t care,” he said, the wool of his slacks dragging over my cum-sticky shaft. “Let everyone I meet with today wonder what I was doing before work.”

My knees went weak.

Marshall kissed the corner of my mouth, using his tongue to lick a drop of cum from my lips.

“Call me after you meet with Cory,” he said again.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Will you be here when I get home?”

“I…don’t know,” I admitted.

Lincoln and Smith had both gone home early Saturday afternoon, and Marshall and I had spent the rest of the weekend together in varying stages of undress.

I’d texted Lincoln to check in, much the same way he’d texted to check on all three of his brothers, but I hadn’t seen my best friend since he’d left.

“Let me know when you decide,” he said simply, dropping another kiss on the opposite corner of my mouth. “There is no right or wrong answer.”

Heat burned my cheeks, and I had no idea how it was so easy for him to read my mind. To guess what my worries or concerns were before I gave voice to them.

“I’ll let you know,” I promised.

One last kiss, and then he was gone.

Without my Dom to oversee me, I flung myself face-first onto the bed and screamed into the pillows.

My entire body was alive with want, and I was desperate to know how I’d even lived before meeting him.

I’d had plenty of partners, a fair amount of sex, a decent helping of kinky sex, but everything I experienced with Marshall Covington felt like it was happening to me for the first time.

Like everything that had come before him was child’s play or a poorly planned rehearsal for some main event I hadn’t even known was coming.

I gave myself five minutes to roll around in his sheets, then I finally forced myself out of bed and into clothes.

I really didn’t have a lot to choose from at his house, so I definitely had to go home before meeting Cory for a lunch interview at twelve in Brentwood.

Before leaving, I tidied up a bit, wiping down the places he’d smeared water across mirrors and counters in the bathroom, tossing his wet towel into the hamper on top of his dirty underwear.

I debated starting a load of laundry, but I wasn’t going to be there to move it to the dryer so decided to not.

That was another piece of the relationship we hadn’t discussed beyond making meals and cleaning dishes.

Domestic servitude.

I didn’t love the idea of being a housekeeper, but I did get hard if I thought about cleaning up after Marshall. I’d have to talk to him about it next time I saw him.

With the house straightened up, I headed home, where I found Lincoln sprawled on the couch with one leg flung over the back and his tablet propped on his chest.

“That can’t be comfortable,” I said.

He dropped the tablet down to look at me. “I’m more flexible than you. ”

“I guess.”

I set my bag down by the back of the couch, then climbed on top of him and situated myself between the wide spread of his legs. He only had on a pair of underwear, which was very usual, and the heat between his legs instantly made my hip start to sweat.

“How was the rest of your weekend?” I asked, swatting his pad out of the way.

With an amused noise, he set it on the table and threaded his fingers into my hair, handling me so differently from the ways Marshall did.

“I spent it all here,” he said. “On the couch just like this.”

“You haven’t moved an inch.”

“Not even to eat.”

“No food?”

“Not even a crumb,” he teased, chuckling under his breath. “How is Marshall’s brother?”

“Fine as far as I can tell.”

On Saturday morning, Smith had emerged from the guest room looking far more put together than he’d been upon his arrival.

He’d accepted a mug of coffee, drank it, then been on his way.

Marshall assured me it was very characteristic of his youngest brother to act that way, but the text message check-ins over the rest of the weekend had led me to believe otherwise.

“That’s good,” Lincoln said. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“Very sexy,” I said, moving to alleviate the building pressure in my dick at the thought of it.

“I’m sure.” He patted the top of my head affectionately. “I like him. For you, I mean. I like him for you.”

“I like him for me too.”

“Has he admitted he’s in love with you yet?” Lincoln asked, hand going still in my hair.

“No. ”

A gentle tug on the strands he’d wrapped around his fingers. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you admitted you’re in love with him?”

Groaning, I removed myself from Lincoln’s lap, tucking into the spot on the couch between his legs and the arm. I pulled my knees to my chest and propped my chin on them, frowning across the small space at him. “I’m not.”

He rolled his eyes.

“It’s barely been a month. Not even,” I protested.

“I loved you the second I laid eyes on you,” he countered.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?” I shot back.

Lincoln shrugged and picked his tablet back up, swiping the screen to whatever he’d been reading when I’d gotten home.

“Aren’t you meeting with that friend of his today?”

“At twelve,” I said.

“What are your plans until then?”

“Annoying you until it’s time to shower, I’d imagine.”

“Do either of those things involve you getting up and getting coffee and toast from the kitchen?” he asked. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I hadn’t moved all weekend.”

Laughing, I shoved Lincoln away, leveraging myself off his knee to get up and head for the kitchen.

Coffee did sound like a good idea, and so did a lazy morning on the couch with my best friend.

It was nice to sit with him, to read with him, to be close to him.

But the whole time his question echoed through my head.

Is it?

Being with Lincoln was so different from being with Marshall, on account of the fact the relationship was platonic and the other romantic, but love, at its core, was the same, wasn’t it?

I didn’t know, and I also didn’t want to think too hard about it and end up ruining one or both of my relationships.