spinning out of control. He was fucking a man who was way out of his league, and he had no claim on him, and last night he’d needed him so much.
Today, he needed something else entirely. Greg lifted his gaze and focused it in on the plush red of Marsh’s mouth.
He needed to be tall, he needed to be in control. He needed to make Marsh his , if only for a few minutes. An hour. Whatever he could get.
Drawing his shoulders up, he crossed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart, lifting his hand and splaying out his fingers. He hovered there with his palm just over Marsh’s heart, only Marsh was radiating this whole aura of uncertainty, this electric field like he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be touched. Greg pushed past it, and when he made contact with that warm, solid expanse of Marsh’s chest, he felt his own shiver echoed in Marsh’s body.
“Better,” Greg said, focus intent on Marsh’s lips. He was so hot beneath Greg’s hand, his pulse strong, and Greg slid his touch higher, curled his fingers into the dip of his clavicle, wanting under his skin, wanting inside him. “But I’d be even better if…” He trailed off, mesmerized by the bob of Marsh’s throat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Greg darted his tongue out to wet his own lips. His fingers tightened, and he didn’t waste any time or leave any room for mistake. He put his other hand right on Marsh’s groin, cupping where his cock was not quite hard yet but not quite soft. “You gonna let me?”
“Hell, yes.”
Channeling all the anger and possession he’d been feeling since that afternoon, he tugged on Marsh’s neck, and Marsh came, leaning into it. The kiss was all teeth and the hard clash of lips abutting, and he pushed his tongue right inside. Marsh tasted like heat and sex, and it was so good Greg could have screamed with it, could have rolled over and taken it, if that had been an option. But it wasn’t. He was here to do the taking. He was here to seize control.
He kissed Marsh savagely for another minute, rubbing and feeling the full, stiff length of him unfurl through his clothes, and then he pushed him away. “Strip,” he ordered.
Marsh didn’t hesitate. He pulled away and was working his shirt up over those abs and those arms, and for a second, all Greg could seem to do was stare. That was for him.
Greg pulled his own shirt over his head and looked around. “You have…?”
Pushing his pants over his hips with one hand, Marsh gestured toward the bed. Only he didn’t have a nightstand. Greg refocused, and—oh. The duffle bag there. Greg’s stomach did a little flip.
“Front pocket,” Marsh said, and fuck, Greg didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how many other people Marsh was doing this with, or where he was going to do it with them. Not now, not in this pocket of time when Marsh was his.
He didn’t think he let any of that show on his face as he stalked over to the bag and pulled at the zip. Sure enough, he found a little bottle of slick and line of condoms. Greg tore one off and didn’t think too much about the rest as he threw it on the bed, putting the bottle down beside it. He stripped the rest of his clothes off without looking at it or at Marsh, until a hot hand on his hip startled the breath from his lungs.
Marsh pulled back. “Are you okay?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He was perfect and terrible, and about to have sex with exactly the man he wanted to be having it with, and he felt like he was holding on to his chance with him by his fingernails.
Holding his tongue, he turned, reaching out to pull Marsh in. Kissing him with all the desperation he felt.
Marsh was naked and so fucking gorgeous, and Greg made an undignified noise when all that flesh pressed up against all of his. It was a hot slide and a glide and a searing kiss that rattled him to his bones, blanking his mind against the rising tide of worry. He was here, right now.
Today, he needed something else entirely. Greg lifted his gaze and focused it in on the plush red of Marsh’s mouth.
He needed to be tall, he needed to be in control. He needed to make Marsh his , if only for a few minutes. An hour. Whatever he could get.
Drawing his shoulders up, he crossed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart, lifting his hand and splaying out his fingers. He hovered there with his palm just over Marsh’s heart, only Marsh was radiating this whole aura of uncertainty, this electric field like he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be touched. Greg pushed past it, and when he made contact with that warm, solid expanse of Marsh’s chest, he felt his own shiver echoed in Marsh’s body.
“Better,” Greg said, focus intent on Marsh’s lips. He was so hot beneath Greg’s hand, his pulse strong, and Greg slid his touch higher, curled his fingers into the dip of his clavicle, wanting under his skin, wanting inside him. “But I’d be even better if…” He trailed off, mesmerized by the bob of Marsh’s throat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Greg darted his tongue out to wet his own lips. His fingers tightened, and he didn’t waste any time or leave any room for mistake. He put his other hand right on Marsh’s groin, cupping where his cock was not quite hard yet but not quite soft. “You gonna let me?”
“Hell, yes.”
Channeling all the anger and possession he’d been feeling since that afternoon, he tugged on Marsh’s neck, and Marsh came, leaning into it. The kiss was all teeth and the hard clash of lips abutting, and he pushed his tongue right inside. Marsh tasted like heat and sex, and it was so good Greg could have screamed with it, could have rolled over and taken it, if that had been an option. But it wasn’t. He was here to do the taking. He was here to seize control.
He kissed Marsh savagely for another minute, rubbing and feeling the full, stiff length of him unfurl through his clothes, and then he pushed him away. “Strip,” he ordered.
Marsh didn’t hesitate. He pulled away and was working his shirt up over those abs and those arms, and for a second, all Greg could seem to do was stare. That was for him.
Greg pulled his own shirt over his head and looked around. “You have…?”
Pushing his pants over his hips with one hand, Marsh gestured toward the bed. Only he didn’t have a nightstand. Greg refocused, and—oh. The duffle bag there. Greg’s stomach did a little flip.
“Front pocket,” Marsh said, and fuck, Greg didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how many other people Marsh was doing this with, or where he was going to do it with them. Not now, not in this pocket of time when Marsh was his.
He didn’t think he let any of that show on his face as he stalked over to the bag and pulled at the zip. Sure enough, he found a little bottle of slick and line of condoms. Greg tore one off and didn’t think too much about the rest as he threw it on the bed, putting the bottle down beside it. He stripped the rest of his clothes off without looking at it or at Marsh, until a hot hand on his hip startled the breath from his lungs.
Marsh pulled back. “Are you okay?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He was perfect and terrible, and about to have sex with exactly the man he wanted to be having it with, and he felt like he was holding on to his chance with him by his fingernails.
Holding his tongue, he turned, reaching out to pull Marsh in. Kissing him with all the desperation he felt.
Marsh was naked and so fucking gorgeous, and Greg made an undignified noise when all that flesh pressed up against all of his. It was a hot slide and a glide and a searing kiss that rattled him to his bones, blanking his mind against the rising tide of worry. He was here, right now.
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