Page 24 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter Twenty

The early afternoon sun spilled through the yellow curtains of his bedroom, bathing the room in a warm light.

Mark lay in bed, his arm around Sam’s waist, his body curled around Sam’s, drinking in the sensations.

He could still detect the slightly medicinal odour of the dressing on Sam’s stitches, an unwelcome reminder of the previous day’s event.

Mark nuzzled his chin into the juncture where Sam’s neck met his shoulder, inhaling the aroma that was Sam, familiar and comforting.

That’s better .

To awaken and find Sam still in his arms was like a dream.

Mark pressed his lips to Sam’s shoulder, the skin silky and warm beneath his lips.

Are you really here?

He moved slowly across Sam’s back, laying a carpet of tender kisses across his shoulder blades, then down his spine, only to drift upward to his shoulders.

Mark laid his hand against Sam’s chest, stroking the smooth skin of his pecs, before moving slowly downward to his abs, trailing his fingertips over the contours.

Sam stirred slightly, his back stretching as he leaned into Mark’s touch.

“Good morning.” Mark spoke quietly into Sam’s ear before kissing it, loving the shiver it elicited.

“Morning.” Sam reached back to touch Mark tentatively, the angle awkward.

Mark wasn’t having that.

He shifted his body away from Sam’s warmth and pushed him onto his back.

He pressed his body up against Sam’s side.

Sleepy blue eyes regarded him, no trace of unease in his expression.

Sam put his arms around Mark, his fingers stroking down Mark’s back and over his biceps, finally gliding over his chest, accompanied by little sounds of pure contentment.

“Your skin feels so good, so soft.” Sam’s shy smile was adorable. “I think I could become addicted to touching you.”

Mark could so easily become an addict himself.

“I’ve never had this before,” he murmured. Sam tilted his head, and he smiled. “Someone touching me so…” The word ‘lovingly’ hovered on his tongue, and in that second he recalled Sam’s declaration of a few hours ago.

It wasn’t a dream, was it?

His stomach roiled, his throat suddenly as dry as dust.

“Mark.” Sam’s voice broke through. Mark gazed down at him, taking in the gentle smile that played around his lips, and the eyes that regarded Mark with warmth. “Love you. In case I forget to tell you today.”

And just like that, Mark’s tension rolled away.

“Love you too.

Sam’s lips twitched. “But I’m going to have to stop touching you for a sec. I need the bathroom.”

He chuckled. “I’ll need it after you. There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard. And there’s a new toothbrush under the wash basin and toothpaste in the wall cabinet.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you. I was about to ask for those very items.” He threw back the sheet and got out of bed, moving toward the door.

“How is your head?” Mark blurted.

Sam turned in the doorway. “Better than last night. In fact, it isn’t aching right now.” Then he disappeared from view.

Mark lay there, listening to the sound of running water.

We have some talking to do.

Sam’s words lingered in his mind.

The idea of telling anyone, even you, that a woman hit me. I mean, women don’t hit guys, do they? God, Mark, I was so ashamed.

Mark could write a book on that shame.

I need to tell him.

Maybe sharing his own experiences would help Sam see his wasn’t such an unlikely occurrence. And maybe that would bring the healing Sam needed.

Except that would be one heady conversation, and after the night they’d had, he wanted to give Sam a breather.

We could both do with one.

Sam lay beneath the sheet, listening to the birdsong outside.

It’s over. It’s really over.

He didn’t want to think about that hellish night. There’d be a scar, but it would fade with time. So would his memories.

Right then he wanted to hold onto the present.

And that meant Mark.

This is all new territory.

And while that thought scared him a little, it also sent a multitude of pleasurable shivers through him.

I finally get to live my life my way.

He heard the toilet flush, then the door opened, and all such thoughts dissipated at the sight of Mark in his briefs, climbing onto the bed, crawling toward him…

OMG the way he’s looking at me.

Sam caught his breath at the prolonged eye contact, the way Mark moved so sinuously, like a big cat stalking its prey.

That would be me.

A frisson of anticipation trickled through him.

“You keep looking at me like that, and my heart is going to explode.” Sam’s voice shook.

Mark didn’t reply. He lay beside Sam, his thigh hooked over Sam’s, and leaned in to kiss him. It was sweet, tender?—

Not the kind of kiss Sam wanted right then.

“It’s okay,” he told Mark in a gentle tone. “I’m all patched up, and I won’t break.”

Mark frowned. “You sure?”

Sam rolled his eyes. Apparently, actions were needed here, not words.

He put his hand on Mark’s nape and pulled him deeper, his tongue exploring.

Mark’s moan told him all he needed to know.

They lay entwined, kissing and touching, stroking, and Sam could feel the heat building between them.

They rocked together, a gentle undulation, and when Mark’s thigh brushed against Sam’s stiff cotton-covered shaft, both of them groaned.

Mark’s breathing hitched, and Sam knew exactly where he wanted those soft-looking lips.

He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and pushed them past his hips. He kicked them off, his dick springing up.

Mark laughed. “I wonder what he wants?”

Before Sam could come up with a suggestion, Mark’s warm mouth encased the head of his cock, and all coherent thoughts packed their bags and fled.

OMG.

Sam had been on the receiving end of a couple of pretty decent blowjobs, but God , they melted into insignificance when he compared them to Mark’s efforts.

It wasn’t the way he wrapped his fingers around the root while he sucked and licked.

It wasn’t the way he took all of Sam’s dick in one swallow.

It was Mark never breaking eye contact as he worshipped Sam’s shaft, listening to his moans of pleasure that vibrated through him dick, all the way to his balls.

It was the kisses Mark bestowed on the head, the warmth in his expression as he met Sam’s gaze, the way he stroked Sam’s belly and chest, connecting them.

What made the difference?

Love.

Sam cupped Mark’s head, encouraging him to take his cock deep, all the while pouring out noises that made no sense, at least not to his ears.

He rolled his hips, unable to lie still, and now both his hands were on Mark’s head, thrusting into that glorious mouth, faster, faster, his body tingling, his dick harder than he’d ever known it.

Mark bobbed his head, matching Sam’s movements, tugging gently on Sam’s balls, his own low moans and whimpers mingling with Sam’s.

When he came, Sam let out a groan, his back arched as he pulsed into Mark’s mouth, his fingers grabbing onto Mark’s hair. He trembled as Mark crawled up his body and pinned him to the mattress while they kissed, the taste of him still on Mark’s lips.

Mark broke the kiss and pulled back a little. “Now that’s what I call a great start to the day.”

“Don’t I get to return the favour?”

Mark’s eyes gleamed. “Day ain’t over yet.”

Mark handed Sam his ice cream, and they sat on a wooden bench above Blackgang Chine, gazing out at the coast toward Freshwater.

Mark could hear the excited screams of kids in the theme park below, and the roar of the motorbikes that went to and fro past the lookout spot.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze stirred his hair.

Sometimes September can be amazing.

His morning had been amazing, that was certain. And he wouldn’t have taken much convincing to spend the rest of his day in bed, but he had Sam to think about. Sam might have claimed to be feeling one hundred percent, but Mark had a feeling that was Sam letting his dick do the talking.

Besides, there was a conversation coming. Mark could feel it brewing.

He was just working out how to begin it.

He pointed up the hill to their right. “Have you ever walked up to the Pepperpot?”

Sam flushed. “I have a confession. I’m one of those islanders who rarely set foot anywhere past Shanklin.”

Mark chuckled. “I’ve met a few of those. You know what the Pepperpot is, right?”

Sam bit his lip. “Maybe?”

He laughed. “Long story short, a nobleman stole booze from a wrecked ship near here. The cargo was destined for some monks in France. To atone for his sin, he built a lighthouse with an oratory for a priest to tend to the light and pray for wrecked sailors.”

Sam blinked. “A lighthouse? All the way up there? That’d be no use at all. The ships would never see it.”

Mark let out a wry chuckle. “Uh-huh. And then they built St. Catherine’s outside Niton, which does a much better job. But the Pepperpot still stands. Not bad considering they built it in 1314.” He took a lick of his chocolate ice cream.

There was no talking while they ate, and that was fine by Mark.

That conversation would be for when they were done.

Sam popped the bottom of his wafer cone into his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

“That was delicious.” He glanced at Mark. “So what’s next? I know we said we’d go to Brook village, but we don’t have to. I’m happy just to spend the day with you.”

Mark took a deep breath. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Sam stilled. “That sounds serious.”

“It’s meant to be. Now, I know you don’t want to talk about Rebecca, but I’ve been meaning to say this since you told me what had been going on.” When Sam swallowed, his face tight, Mark placed his hand on Sam’s knee. “How about I talk, and you listen?”

Sam stared at him, his eyes dark with pain.

“It’s called Intimate Partner Violence. Everyone assumes women are the sole victims, which can make it difficult for male victims to be believed by others. Sometimes it’s difficult for men to believe it when they’re told they are the victims of partner violence.”

Sam’s breathing caught, his chest heaving.

“Society doesn’t seem to recognize this violence against men, and that’s why men are unwilling to report their situation or seek help.

” Mark gazed at the coastline. “There’s a huge stigma attached to this.

Men think it makes them less masculine. They think no one will believe them.

They’re afraid they’ll be assumed to be the abuser and end up under arrest. They also fear people will assume the woman is the real victim, acting in self-defence or retaliation for the abuse they’ve suffered. ”

Sam’s gaze was locked on his clasped hands in his lap.

“It isn’t very common, but it happens. It’s difficult to quote figures because so few men report it or even admit it’s going on.

Maybe they’re scared of ridicule or embarrassment.

It’s a taboo subject that’s often trivialized or even ignored.

And that makes it even more difficult to know just how common it is.

There’s plenty of support out there for female victims—that can’t be said for males.

” Mark hooked his leg over the bench, straddling it.

“I think that about covers it.” He looked Sam in the eye.

“You’re not alone. You have nothing to be ashamed of.

Rebecca was the one with the problem, not you. ”

Sam made a choking sound, then leaned forward, his forehead resting on Mark’s shoulder. Mark held him, stroking his arms, keeping the motion soothing. He kissed Sam’s brow.

“So… did I miss anything?”

Sam sat upright, his cheeks pink. “How? How do you know all this? Because you nailed it.”

Mark took Sam’s hands in his. “Unfortunately, I learned from experience.”

Sam widened his eyes. “You were a victim too?”

He shook his head.

“Not me—my dad.”