Page 22

CHAPTER 22

ASHTON

"Sure. Friends."

The words taste bitter like the lie they are. I don't want to be his friend.

I think he knows that, though. And by the way he doesn't pull his hand away, I think maybe he doesn't want to be my friend either.

Palm to palm, our hands seem to fuse together. Whatever happened in the past, this feeling between us, like an electrical current, just keeps growing stronger. It was there when we snuck out to play on the outdoor courts at basketball camp, even though we were too young to really understand what it was. It was there the night everything went wrong, when we were old enough to understand that our actions had consequences, but not how much those consequences would impact our lives.

Marcus Vell deserves more than me. He deserves better than a selfish asshole whose father has an unfair vendetta against him. He deserves a more certain future than what getting tied up with me would be.

I want to be better, to do better for him.

So I release his hand and stand, silently bringing an end to our night.

"Thanks for coming over. We should do this again sometime."

"Yeah, definitely. Thanks for having me, and for the talk."

If I'm not mistaken, Marcus' eyes cut to my crotch for a long moment before he stands, ears red. Picking up the pizza box, he steps around me towards the kitchen.

"I'll clean up."

"That's alright. I'll drop this box in one of the larger bins downstairs so you don't have to worry about it later."

"I have a cleaner."

"Of course you do," he says sardonically. He keeps the pizza box in his hands as he makes his way to the door. He's trying to get out of here, to avoid me. I'm desperate to know if he's trying to hide what I think he is. The same problem currently growing in my own pants.

Behave, Ashton. If he wanted you, he'd say so. I think. I hope.

You have to prove you're trustworthy first.

"Oh, hey Marcus?" I call out to him when he's halfway to the elevator bank.

"Yeah?"

"My dad… he's trying to cause problems. I don't know why. But I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't get in our way."

He nods like he understands. I hope he knows how serious I am. I'll give it all up to make sure he gets his chance.

Mopping sweat from my brow, I steal another glance at Marcus in the mirror. He's at the bench press next to me, as focused as ever. With each controlled lift, his muscles flex and bulge. There's something mesmerizing about the way he moves. His intent and focus, his strength and determination to push himself harder. And then there are the muscles, glistening with sweat, veins popping.

My mouth is dry. I'm sweating more from watching him than I am from my own workout. The kettlebell I was using hangs limply between my legs, unlike my dick, which is going to become a problem if it gets any harder.

I should leave, maybe head to the showers. I've been trying so hard to act like Marcus' friend, even going so far as to invite him to frat parties, much to the chagrin of my brothers. Anderson Hearst keeps shaking his head at me whenever I invite Marcus to wherever the rest of the team is going, even just to sit at the same table with us in the student union when we run into each other. He never accepts, but he's given me small smiles and nods to let me know he sees and appreciates what I'm trying to do.

"You don't need to do that," he told me last week when we were walking across the quad. "I appreciate that you're trying, but I'm fine doing my own thing. I just want to get through this year. Besides, frat parties are really not my scene."

"Have you ever been to one?"

"A frat party? Not specifically, but I've been to plenty of college parties. I can't imagine they're much different, just in nicer houses with shittier people."

Laughing loudly, I push against his shoulder. "You're probably not wrong, actually." Still, I want him to come to the parties. Mostly because I hate being there, and I know I'd feel less alone. But also, I like being around him.

"We're about to be in the thick of it. Our first travel games are coming up, plus finals. I need to focus."

"Would you want to study together? For finals, I mean?"

"Sure. Sounds good."

Except the two times we've gotten together to study, my brain has been emptier than it's ever been. And I don't think I was the only one distracted.

After spending our first study session in a cloud of thick tension we were both obviously trying to ignore, we tried moving our next session to the library, but it wasn't much better. We kept stealing glances at each other, and neither of us made much progress with our notes.

It's the same thing that's happening now.

Dragging my eyes away from Marcus, I walk the heavy kettlebell back to its spot against the wall. Stretching my back out, I catch Marcus watching me this time. He flinches when I turn towards him, beyond caring if he sees just how bad my boner is right now. The bar slips as he's trying to rack it, and I instinctively dart over to grab the bar before it falls on him. Breathing heavily, I guide the bar back to the rack, looking down to make sure he's okay.

Marcus stares up at me, his face partially obstructed by the boner tenting my shorts. I can see his neck move, Adam's apple bulging as he swallows deeply. I zone out on it, eyes blurring as I imagine running my tongue down the length of his neck, sucking the beads of sweat from his collar bones. Making my way down to that big cock pushing against the front of his athletic pants. What would he do if I crawled over his body and took him in my mouth again? What would he do if I lowered myself on top of him and rubbed myself against him?

He raises himself to a sitting position, and I shake myself out of the trance I was in. I can't be getting dickmatized by someone who won't let himself want me back.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. Hands were sweaty, I guess. Thanks for the save."

"No problem," I tell him, trying to act casual. "You going home for Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," Marcus says. "To my mom and Greg's house. It's not far from here. You?"

"Back to Pinecrest to see my parents. I'm not sure how much I'm looking forward to it."

He nods understandingly. We've been having a lot more conversations about our childhoods, getting to know each other as friends outside of what our families wanted us to know about each other. Neither of us really understands why our parents hate each other so much, but we've shared bits and pieces of what we’ve been told by our parents. I nearly called my parents outright when Marcus told me about the memory of receiving flowers from my family's company, and how his mom had a breakdown over it. We both have a lot of questions, but it's a sore subject in both households, so I doubt we'll ever really know the truth. All I know is that I'm disgusted by my family's behavior, and I feel guilty just being related to them.

"When do you head out?"

"This afternoon. You?"

"Same."

"Alright, well, I'm going to hit the showers. Have a good holiday."

"You too."

Marcus doesn't move from the bench. I can feel his eyes on me all the way to the door. The feeling follows me down the hall, through the locker room, and to the showers.

I barely get the water started and my shorts around my ankles before my dick is in my hand. I stroke myself roughly, not even bothering to lube myself with more than my sweaty palm and pre-cum. The relief is both instantaneous and not enough. I'm in a constant state of arousal whenever Marcus is near me, and I've jerked off more than I did when I was going through puberty. I'm surprised I'm not chaffed. Getting relief anywhere else isn't even a thought in my mind. Anderson tried to get me to let some guy from another frat suck me off at the last party I went to, and I stopped going at all because of it.

I don't want anyone else but him.

The door to the stall pushes open, and I realize I didn't even stop to make sure it was latched all the way, much less lock it.

Marcus steps inside the small space, closing and locking the door behind him. He doesn't say a word, only stares as I stand there like a deer in the headlights with my dick in my hands. He's barefoot and shirtless, but still in his shorts. His cock is so hard, the fabric looks like it's barely holding on. I want that thing to burst out of his shorts so bad.

I open my mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words come. Marcus shakes his head.

" Shhh . Don't speak."

He steps into my space, reaching for the hem of my tank top and pushing it up my torso. Reaching back, I pull it over my head and step out of my shorts and underwear that are still pooled around my ankles. My hand goes right for his waistband, wasting no time diving in to wrap around his hot, thick length.

"Jesus," I hiss, when his hand grips my cock and starts to pump me.

With one hand stroking his cock and the other pulling his shorts down over his round, muscular ass, I bend down and lick his throat the way I imagined. His skin is salty with sweat, and the rumble of the moan that vibrates against my tongue is sweet. I want to pull the flesh between my teeth and bite and suck until I've marked him, but I hold back. Instead, I trail my tongue up the column of his neck and suck his earlobe into my mouth. I moan against the shell of his ear as his hand moves up and down my length in slow, hard tugs that drive me wild.

My mouth hovers over his, tasting his panting breaths. Despite my dick being in his hands and his being in mine, I don't want to presume too much. Kissing him was the wrong move all those weeks ago, and I don't want anything to stop what's happening. I'm selfish enough to want everything he'll give me, but aware enough to stay within his boundaries.

"Can I?" I breathe over his lips.

"I have a better idea," he whispers, then flips me around and pushes me against the wall.

My heart beats frantically, not sure what he's going to do. Not that it matters. I'm pretty sure I'd let him do whatever he wants to me. He has no idea I've never done most of this before. I've let guys go down on me but never went down on them. At Alpha Omega Psi parties, there's always a selection of girls that will drop to their knees with a glance, and there is never a shortage of guys that would meet me in a dark room and do the same. Selfishly, I would always blow my load and leave, pretending like the guy didn't exist until the next time I needed to get off. No one ever complained. Then again, I never stuck around to talk.

No one has ever been back there before, though. And I'm caught between excitement and apprehension.

One hand presses my chest to the wall, while another guides my hips to stick my ass out more. He keeps the hand on my back as he reaches for my shower caddy. Cool, slick liquid drips down my ass crack, and I shiver. Fuck, I'm terrified and so turned on, I'm not sure it's going to take much for me to shoot all over the place at any second.

My ears pick up the sound of liquid sloshing, and then the unmistakable squelch of Marcus stroking himself. I smell lemongrass and know he's using my body wash to jerk off, and the thought makes me squirm.

Marcus' thick, hard, slick cock falls heavily between my ass cheeks, and I clench instinctively. His chest lays across the bottom of my back, and he kisses the back of my shoulder blade.

"Don't worry, Princess. Your pretty hole is safe."

A small breath leaves me, although I'm unsure if it's relief or disappointment. Wait… he thinks my hole is pretty?

I groan as Marcus circles his hips, lining up his cock between my cheeks like a salacious hotdog and bun. He thrusts into me, rubbing between my ass cheeks. Every time his shaft rubs over my hole, I clench and release, imagining myself begging for him to take me.

Marcus repositions, pressing my legs together and sliding his cock between them. Every stroke of his cock rubs along the underside of my balls, sending a spark of pleasure through my body, a restless ache building in my pelvic bones. I rock back against him, seeking more friction, trying to hold back my pants so I can hear the slapping of our bodies meeting.

I moan his name, needing… something. "Marcus. I need… nyuungh ?—”

My words turn into intelligible grunts and whines as Marcus' hand wraps around my cock. He thrusts into me, pushing my hips forward, making me thrust into his hand. Impatiently, I put my hand over his and guide him to stroke me faster, all the while pushing myself back on his cock, watching it appear and disappear between my legs. I bend forward more, reaching between my legs to try to stroke him. Both of our cocks end up in my hand, although I can't quite get my fingers to close around both of them at the odd angle. A spasm of pleasure that almost takes me out at the knees, and the way Marcus moans, lets me know it’s working well enough.

The head of Marcus' cock massages my balls and the underside of my dick, and I stroke back with each of his forward thrusts. The friction makes suds from the soap build, making things slippery and squelchy. Marcus' fingers dig into my hips as he grinds against me, his movements getting faster.

"Fuck, Ash. I'm getting close…"

"God, yes. Please."

"I need you to come?—”

"You first. I want to feel it on me."

Marcus growls and grinds into me harder, his big cock jerking as he starts to come.

"Oh, fuck !" I call out, my vision nearly whites out as his teeth clamp down on my shoulder blade, and warmth explodes between my thighs. It drenches my balls and hand, adding extra lube to my movements as I stroke myself furiously, following him over the edge. I buck and rock against him as Marcus holds me flush against his body, licking the spot he bit to soothe the bite he made. Every swipe of his tongue over the sore flesh sends another aftershock straight to my balls.

We're still for several moments, enough that I can feel Marcus' rapid heartbeat against my back where he's still pressed against me. His softening cock falls from between my legs, and he steps away. He adjusts the water, which has been running cold this entire time, and steps under the spray. Once he rinses the soap and cum from his crotch, he bends to pick up his shorts and underwear, which are laying in a wet pile on the ground. He wordlessly moves towards the door, but pauses and looks back at me.

I'm unsure what to do or say, or how to navigate the situation. I'm still reeling from being coated in his cum once again.

Ears red and an unsure expression on his face, Marcus steps up to me and raises up on his toes to press a kiss to my cheek.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he whispers.

And then he leaves.