When Marcus woke up on Monday morning, his first thought was of how much he loved beds.One of mankind’s better inventions, the bed,he mused as he luxuriated on the firm, supportive mattress under his back and the soft, plump pillow under his head. Two nights on a thin camping mattress had been enough to make him truly appreciate the wonders of memory foam.
He’d woken without an alarm, thanks to the lorikeets in the bottlebrush tree outside Heather’s house, which screeched so loudly he could hear it through the window. Going by the weak shaft of cool winter sunlight that sliced into Heather’s room, it was still barely dawn. Heather was asleep, her cheek on his chest and her feet wrapped around one of his calves.
Despite the warmth the sight of her brought him, Marcus’s stomach swirled with the anxiety and dread he’d been ignoring while out in the bush. Today was the company’s first day in the theatre. His first time setting foot in the Opera House since his injury. The company would take morning class on the very same stagehe’d shredded his Achilles on, before moving their gear into the dressing rooms below and rehearsing the ballet, scene by scene, in the theatre. Now that Marcus was back in Sydney, now that the day was finally here, it was harder to shove those feelings down. After a year of barely allowing himself to look at the Opera House, he’d have to go back inside in just a few short hours.
Marcus peered across the bed at Heather’s nightstand, craning his head to check the time without disturbing her. Heather stirred anyway.
“Good morning,” he yawned. “At least, I think. I have no idea what time it is.”
“Have you been awake long?” she asked, before giving herself over to her own yawn. “Sorry, I was just so tired after this weekend’s adventure.” She disentangled herself from him and lay back on the pillows.
“Yeah, I’m never camping again,” Marcus said, rolling onto his side to face her, “or glamping, or sleeping on anything other than a real mattress. I’m too old and broken down for that shit.”
“Same.” She yawned again.
Marcus propped himself up on his elbow and looked at her, naked and relaxed. He didn’t want this morning, or night, or whatever it was, to be over just yet. He wanted to stretch it out, put off the inevitable anxiety for as long as he could. Marcus ran his other hand along Heather’s hip, caressing her smooth, warm skin with his fingertips.
“Maybe there’s something we can do to wake you up a little?”
“Mmm,” she said, letting her eyes fall closed. “You mean like coffee?”
He smiled and kissed her lightly on her temple. “I could get you a coffee,” he murmured, letting his fingers trace wider circles now, brushing the sensitive skin over her rib cage and under her breasts. “But then I’d have to get out of bed, and I don’t think you really want me to do that.”
“I really don’t,” Heather sighed, eyes still shut. He kissed her cheekbone, then her jaw, letting his hand drift up over her ribs to cup her breast. She twisted to return his kiss, and as their mouths met, Marcus slid a thumb over her nipple. She whimpered into his mouth and his cock twitched eagerly as he kissed her deeply, taking his time tasting her mouth and swallowing her increasingly urgent moans.
Their pace was slower than before. Less frenzied, less frantic. Or at least, it started that way. Heather rolled on top of Marcus, pinning him between her knees as he held her close and kissed her steadily, insistently. Heather felt him grow hard against her, and harder still when she rolled her hips, eliciting a quiet, hungry growl from him that reduced her restraint to dust.
She slid off him and knelt between his legs, relishing the view of his taut, muscular thighs.God bless every ballet teacher who ever made this man do pliés, she thought,and every ballet master who ever had him do grand allegro. Heather slipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down. The last thing she wondered before she took his hard, waiting cock into her mouth was what kind of profane blasphemy she was about to get out of him this time.
She was not disappointed. “Oh, sweet holy Jesusfuck, Heather,” he moaned.
She wrapped one hand around the base of him and slid in unison with her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue as he swore. He put one hand lightly on her head and grasped at her hair, but after a moment, he shifted, and she heard a clunk and rustling. Heather sat up to find him tearing open a condom packet with his teeth, and a moment later, he had rolled the rubber down his shaft, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her on top of him.
Heather braced herself on his firm chest and eased onto him as slowly as she could bear. She closed her eyes and sighed, wanting the sensation of being gradually filled by him to last as long aspossible, and when he was fully inside her, she opened them. He watched her, his teeth clenched and his gaze hot and determined.
Heather met his eyes as she rocked her hips slowly, leaning forward and gasping at the sensation of his cock sliding so close to her clit. He moved one hand to her hip, guiding her movements as he thrusted up to meet her. With his other hand, Marcus kneaded her breast gently and Heather squirmed against him, desperate for him to play with her sensitive, aching nipple. Finally, he obliged, and she cried out, grinding harder and faster against him as his hand tightened on her hip and she felt her climax build.
Marcus’s breath was loud and hoarse in the silent, dimly lit room. He removed his hand from her breast and guided her own between her legs, pressing it against her.
“Touch yourself,” he gasped, “I want you to come with me.”
Heather didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to think about how exposed she would be, naked and riding him and touching herself while he watched. She braced herself against his chest with her free hand and slipped a finger between her slick, hot folds, up to her clit. Heather let her head fall back as the pleasure spiraled through her body, threatening to overtake her. Raising her head, she saw Marcus was still watching her intently, jaw clenched. Waiting for her, holding back for her. At the sight of him, Heather tumbled over the edge and into her orgasm, releasing a sob of pleasure that sounded like his name. A second later, his fingers dug into her flesh, and he came as well, his hips pumping against her and his face twisted in pleasure.
Marcus pulled her to him, and she pressed her forehead against his, eyes closed, taking deep, steadying breaths. Once she felt his breathing slow, Heather lifted her hips to allow him exit. When she made to ease back onto the bed beside him, Marcus stopped her, wrapping one warm arm snugly around her waist and holding her on top of him.
“Stay?” he whispered, loosening his arm enough for her to roll off if she wanted to.
“Okay,” she whispered back, and she closed her eyes again. She sensed, rather than saw, a small smile curve his mouth as his arm tightened around her again.
With his other hand, Marcus cupped her cheek, and when he kissed her, she kissed him back gently, too limp and tired to kiss him any other way. He didn’t seem to mind, though, just like he didn’t seem to mind when she kissed his forehead, or his dimple, which she did twice.
“Mmm,” he said, his eyes closed as her lips roamed his face. “Now you can say it.”
“Say what?” she murmured against his temple. His eyes popped open, and he looked at her mischievously.
“Thank you.” He smirked.
Heather laughed and rolled off him, only to have him follow and pin her to the bed, chuckling.
