Page 35

Dropping his bag on the floor, Marcos kicks off his shoes and immediately bends to slip off his socks.

He’s only been over a handful of times, but the first thing he always does is get comfortable.

It makes my chest burn with happiness to see it, the small display of domesticity.

He doesn’t care at all that we’ve only been dating a few weeks.

There’s no concern about impressing me, he just is the way he is.

He glances up to see me watching him and pauses.

“What?”

“You take your socks off when you come over,” I explain, which apparently doesn’t explain anything at all based on Marcos’ expression. I tug my own shirt off and toss it to the floor before reaching for a clean one. “I just mean that it’s nice you’re comfortable, that’s all.”

“Well, you’ve seen me naked,” he comments dryly. “And I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone else, so.” A shrug. “Showing you my feet seems like a logical step.”

I laugh, sniffing my pajama bottoms before deeming them clean enough and slipping them on.

Marcos hugged me at the game and hasn’t told me not to touch him yet tonight, but it’s always best to assume there won’t be any sexy time with him.

He’s spending the night, too, which means I’ll be sleeping fully clothed instead of in boxers only, which is usually what I do.

He didn’t tell me so, but I know it bothered him, on the first night we spent together, that our legs and arms brushed up against one another.

I’ll sleep in a damn hazmat suit if that’s what it takes to keep him next to me.

“You do have nice feet,” I compliment, which earns me a shake of the head. “Beautiful man, beautiful feet.”

“You’re so weird.”

Falling back on my bed, I hold my phone above my face as Marcos continues changing. He’s got his back to me as he takes his shirt off, which distracts me from ordering food for a second until he slips another one on. Shaking my head, I clear my throat.

“Okay, what’s for dinner?”

“Sushi,” Marcos answers immediately. I whistle.

“Damn, now that you mention it, that does sound good. Do you have a preference from where?”

“Whatever is quickest,” he suggests, crawling on to the bed beside me and leaning his cheek against my shoulder so he can see my phone screen. I grin. Affectionate Marcos is so rare, but apparently he’s making an appearance tonight.

We place an order from the nearest sushi joint, and I text my roommate to let him know someone will be bringing it to the door shortly.

We can hear the ongoing noise of “Bros playing Super Smash Bros” downstairs, but it’s muted enough to not be a bother.

I roll over on to an elbow to look down at Marcos’ face.

I’ve had an idea kicking around my head for the past week, but before I can voice it, he palms my cheek and pulls me into a kiss.

Marcos is, in fact, the world’s greatest kisser, so I close my eyes and enjoy it.

Rolling just enough of my weight on to him that his chest is pressed against mine, I slide my fingers into his hair and gently circle my thumb against his scalp.

Marcos’ hand sneaks inside my shirt, making me smile against his lips.

The slide of his fingertips across my ribs is enough to have a low heat simmering to life in my stomach. I push against him, kissing him harder.

He pulls on my shirt, silently communicating an order to take it off. Sitting back, I grasp the back of the neck and pull it over my head, dropping it over the side of the bed and leaning down to kiss Marcos’ stomach, on top of his own shirt.

“Yes,” he whispers, so I move it out of the way and leave kisses on his skin instead.

Marcos tries to sit up and help me with the clothing removal, but I nudge him back and keep things sedate.

There’s something to be said about the slow reveal of skin, and the way he softly gasps as I kiss him.

I don’t think Marcos lets many people touch him—the fact that I’ve been allowed is precious, and I want him to feel that in the way I do it.

We’re silent as the last of the clothes are removed, and tossed carelessly to the floor.

I keep Marcos flat on his back and press my mouth to his, one hand cradling his head and the other linked with his, held to the mattress above his head.

When I rock myself forward, my dick slides along his and he groans.

Chin tipping upward, he deepens the kiss and squeezes the hand I’ve got linked with his as we move together.

With the other, he slides his palm down my side until his fingers slip into the crease of my ass.

I lose my rhythm then, hips stuttering as my imagination leaps from what we’re doing to what we could do. Marcos doesn’t stop moving though, and another push of his cock against mine is enough to chase the worries away before they can form.

Pressure unravels in my pelvis. When it becomes too much, I stop kissing him but leave my mouth on his to continue breathing him in as I come.

His fingers squeeze mine where our hands are still linked against the bed, and I move against him more heavily, timing my thrusts downward with his own upward motion until he’s panting softly against my lips.

The hand on my ass slides up to my hip, fingers clenched tight enough to leave a mark.

The moment he comes, his fingers find the back of my neck and he lifts his head to fuse our mouths back together. I moan as he does, hips still rolling even though we’ve both already finished.

When he drops his head back to the mattress, I don’t chase his lips even though I want to. We’ve both stopped moving, and the room is silent but for our breathing. Marcos squeezes my hand, more gently this time.

“Want me to move?” I ask, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head.

“No.”

Peeling my hand away from his, I adjust myself just enough that I can rest on top of him without hurting him. Laying my face alongside his, I close my eyes to better appreciate how incredible it feels to have all of him touching all of me.

One of his hands finds my hair once more, and the other trails a slow path down my arm and back up again. I keep still, satisfied and content. The silence unspools comfortably, and I’ve almost been lulled to sleep when the knock comes at the door.

“Your food’s here,” John calls.

“Thanks—you can leave it there,” I tell him, reluctantly opening my eyes.

Marcos’ fingertips are still skimming gently over my arm, and I can feel a weight on the top of my head like his cheek is leaned against me.

The snuggling is new, and I’d rather starve to death in this bed than break the moment by getting up for the sushi.

“Food can wait for a bit,” Marcos murmurs. “It’ll still be edible in a few minutes.”

He kneads gently at my scalp, fingers sliding through my hair. Carefully, so as not to dislodge his hand, I move my face closer to his neck and close my eyes once more. Fuck dinner.

“I’m probably going to fall asleep,” I warn him. He moves his hips, adjusting himself under the heavy weight of my leg. I wait for him to tell me he’s had enough touching.

“We should probably clean up before you take a nap.” I smile into his neck, pleased with the obvious affection in his voice. It’s now or never, I decide.

“Do you want to come home with me?” I ask, and the hand stroking my arm stutters before resuming its ministrations. I wait, because this is Marcos and he doesn’t just blurt out the first words that come to mind. I really hope the first word that came to mind wasn’t no .

“When are you going back?” he asks, as though thinking I might pop back to Montana this weekend for a visit.

“Over the summer, I mean. I’m not sure what your plans are, but if you don’t have any, maybe you could come stay with me.

My parents are taking a cruise, so I’ll be heading straight to my uncle’s once school finishes up.

He wants to start really getting me involved in the running of the ranch, now that I’m almost done with school.

I think he’s ready to just chill and let someone else deal with it. ”

Again, Marcos sits with that silently for a few moments. He’s still holding me though, so I don’t let myself worry too much about what the answer will be. I doubt he’d cuddle with me like this if he was going to tell me that he has no interest in spending the summer together.

“I hadn’t planned on doing anything other than stay here for the summer,” Marcos admits. “Max will be back and forth a bit for training camp between here and Detroit, and we’ve got the lease on the apartment through December.”

“Are you going with Max to Detroit in the fall?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, mouth moving against my hair like he’s pressing his face to the top of my head.

Butterflies wake up and start flitting lazily through my stomach.

Maybe if I was playing in the NHL, like Max, I wouldn’t mind living in a place like Detroit, but it’s not the kind of place people like me would choose.

I need open spaces and grass; blue sky that isn’t broken up by high-rise buildings.

I need to be able to walk outside and breathe in fresh air, not exhaust fumes. I need a fucking horse.

The desire to get Marcos out to the ranch is so strong I feel almost sick with it. I need to show him why I love it—why he could love it.

“Please come,” I whisper into his neck. “Even if it’s just for a visit.”

“I will,” he says without thinking, voice firm even with a slight tinge of surprise.

“Really?” I want him to promise. I want to grab my phone and start making concrete plans with dates, times, and flight tickets booked.

“Really,” Marcos agrees, but clarifies, “Would we stay there, then? At your uncle’s house?”