Page 21 of Missed Steps

I smile faintly. “No.”

“What about getting into the bath?”

“What about it?”

“The warm water can help relax your muscles and work out some of the tension. And it might help with the pain.”

“Honestly, the painkillers I just took will have me knocked out in thirty minutes.”

“Really?” Mark looks at me hopefully.

“Are you going to rob me?”

“I’ll treat you without you griping about it,” Mark answers.

“I don’t think I was complaining about it yesterday…”

Mark grunts.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“You were griping about lying on the couch,” Mark says.

“I was griping about you pushing me down without asking!”

“I haven’t even started and you’re complaining.”

“Mark!”

Mark’s eyes glitter up at me.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I grumble. “Or I’ll kick you out.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “You’ll kick me out?” He moves, so instead of sitting back on his heels, he’s up on his knees, bringing him an inch shy of being my height. He leans in, pushing my knees apart to make room, and meets my eyes. His spicy cologne washes over me and I am reacting so strongly to him there’s no way I can let him take my trousers off. “Kick me out,” he challenges.

I lean back. He grasps my jaw firmly and keeps me in place, halting my retreat.

The wordsget outbarely even formulate in my brain, never mind materialise on my tongue. His thumb’s against the corner of my mouth, and his palm is pressed to my jaw.

“Well?” Mark asks. His eyes are pitch black. I lose focus on them as he leans in, his forehead pushing against mine. Our noses touch and I’m shaking.

His breath is warm against my mouth. “Are you kicking me out or not?”

He leans into me more, and I nudge back a little, but mainly I’m putty in his hands.

“Kyle?”

“Mhm,” I find my voice. “No.” It’s the voice of someone who’s very turned on. Except…the turned on breaths aren’tmealone. Mark is breathing hard. I’m hot all over—he’s bearing down on me, pushing me into the cushions, and, close as he is, I can feel that he’s hard.

It takes everything in me—will-power and mental-power—not to roll my hips up. God imagine—what if I do it? What if we get off just rubbing against each other?

“Does being a domineering asshole do it for you?” I ask. My shyness emerges, and my voice comes out all mean.

Mark shivers. He pulls back enough for our eyes to meet. His are jet black; the pupils expanded to engulf all but the smallest ring of dark-brown. “You’re rubbing against my cock,” he says, his voice all husky.

“Yourubbed against me,” I accuse. At the same time, I realise my hands are on his hips. Andoh my godthere is a definiteguidingmotion going on.

Mark grunts. He slips the grip on my jaw to an open-palmed hold on my throat. He leans back in, his nose nudging against mine, his forehead touching mine, his breaths against my mouth. He flexes his hips as I clutch at him. “Do you want to keep going?” he asks.