Page 38 of Reckless Hearts

And it’s my indignation that has driven me to his door tonight.

I’m determined to make him see me as a grownup, at least. Even if nothing else ever happens between us, I want him to at least see me as an adult capable of making my own decisions.

Marcus looks taken aback at my words. He steps back to let me into his room.

Once he closes the door behind us, he just stares at me for a few seconds before he raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you’d have been up for that?”

“If it meant I got to touch you again, then yes,” I answer honestly, but my words don’t have the desired effect on Marcus.

Instead, he flinches, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck…Seb…”

I take a step closer. “Yeah, I can totally get behind that idea. Or…have you behind me as we investigate that concept. Or under you, if that’s what you prefer. I’m actually open to all positions.”

Marcus breaks out into a reluctant smile. “Look at you, caning it with the innuendos.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Despite my words, my voice sounds indignant, like a child’s. I clear my throat, making sure I deepen it to the right octave before I continue, “I thought you’d realized that.”

His smile fades and he stares at me intently. “I do realize that.”

“So, what’s stopping you? Is it Saskia? Because that hasn’t stopped you the last two times.”

He clenches his eyes closed, his expression almost pained. Which seems so wrong on Marcus’s beautiful face.

“I’m not cut out to be someone’s boyfriend, Seb,” he whispers.

I step even closer to him, right into his personal space. “Who says I’m looking for a boyfriend?”

His eyes flutter open, and he looks at me almost sadly. “Seb, you’re the most boyfriend type of guy I’ve ever met.”

“I know you’re not interested in a relationship with me, and I’m fine with that,” I say.

Because, come on, I’m still pinching myself that there’s a version of reality where Marcus is prepared to hook up with me. I know I’m not the type of guy Marcus would ever consider being in a relationship with. I mean, I don’t want to even offer friends with benefits because that would imply Marcus sees me as a friend, which might be pushing it.

I meant what I said. I would pretty much do anything if it means I get to touch him again.

My want must show on my face, and Marcus’s eyes scan up and down before he lets out a frustrated growl and stands, pulling me to him, his lips claiming mine.

Oh holy Megazord of Power Rangers.

We’re dynamite, Marcus and me. We’re sodium in water. No, scrap that. We’re francium in water.

We’re fireworks, napalm, every explosive substance under the sun reacting simultaneously.

His fingers dig into my skin as he kisses me deeply.

I seem to have forgotten how to breathe, but who needs oxygen when you have Marcus’s lips on you?

Lips that seem determined to devour mine. The kiss defies all laws of thermodynamics, generating more heat and energy than should be possible.

When he pulls back, I’m a panting, quivering mess of need.

“Please, Marcus.”

He just stands there looking at me.

My face heats because having Marcus scrutinize me can’t be a good thing, right? This is the guy who could have anyone. The guy who could be hooking up with an extremely hot French guy now, a guy he’s hooked up with before, a guy I’m sure has far more tricks up his metaphorical sexual sleeve than I do.

But instead, Marcus is here with me.