Page 39 of Reckless Hearts

Marcus runs a thumb down my cheekbone like he’s tracing my blush. “Look at you,” he whispers.

“Fuck me. Please.” I’m pretty much begging at this point. Because after an evening that was a roller coaster of emotions, I can’t believe we’re at the point where I get to touch him.

And I’m aware of how precarious this is, how it might be the last time Marcus agrees to hook up with me. It will be a tragedy bigger than the collapse of a neutron star if I don’t take the opportunity to get Marcus Johnson’s cock inside me.

“Please,” I say again.

In reply, he lowers his mouth to mine.

This is a different kind of kiss from Marcus. It’s gentle, almost sweet.

It causes my heart to thump even wilder, which I didn’t think was possible.

Our bodies align, our cocks grinding against each other through our trousers. I feel like I’m vibrating at a frequency that could open a portal to another dimension. Though the last thing I want to do is leave this reality.

Marcus is tugging at my clothes, and suddenly, it’s all about the clothes removal.

I manage to get Marcus’s shirt off, and he tugs off my shirt and pants, but peeling off Marcus’s tight jeans is like a snake shedding its skin. I’m torn between fascination and frustration, my fingers working to free him from the denim prison.

“I think these qualify as a new form of contraception,” I grumble, finally yanking them off with a triumphant flourish.

Marcus chuckles, and the sight of him laughing almost causes my heart to stop.

Because this man is so breathtakingly beautiful.

And he’s standing here, the large bulge in his boxers indicating how into this he is, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes me feel like the last slice of pizza at three a.m.

I don’t even care when Marcus reaches down to our discarded clothes and produces a packet of lube and a condom from his jacket pocket. Items he probably put there tonight with thoughts of Louis. Because he’s slicking up his fingers to touch me.

Me!

And then Marcus is pushing me onto the bed, pulling off my boxers.

It should be embarrassing, exposing myself like this, but instead, it’s just all kinds of hot. Because Marcus Johnson is staring at me like there’s nowhere else he’d prefer to be.

And he’s different from what I expected. I expected the same cocky charm that he spreads through the rest of his life.

But instead, he seems to be taking this seriously. There’s a small furrow between his brows and he’s looking at me like nothing is more important than prepping me carefully. His gentle ministrations make me feel like a delicate piece of tech he’s trying not to short-circuit.

Little does he know my system crashed the moment he touched me.

My skin is hypersensitive, reacting to even the slightest touch like it’s discovering sensation for the first time.

I’m making needy noises, almost crooning, as he works one finger inside of me, then two.

“God, Seb, you’re so…responsive,” he says, leaning forward to claim my lips again.

We kiss, and he hooks his finger, brushing against the spot inside me that sends fireworks exploding behind my eyelids.

“Oh there, yes, oh my god.” It feels like my eyes are rolling so far back in my head I’m doing an inventory of my brain.

Shit. This is feeling too good. I don’t want it all to be over before I even get a chance to have Marcus’s cock inside me.

“I’m ready,” I say, barely able to form coherent words through my haze of desire.

Marcus is watching me with dark eyes. “So, how do you want to do this?”

How do I want this? I want this in every way possible. I want to experience every position known to man and maybe invent a few new ones.