Maybe I had.
I reached under the bar where no one could see and found his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. He squeezed my hand back, a tinge of pink coming to his cheeks.
“When this is over,” I said, leaning down close to his ear. “Do you… want to come back to my place?”
Xavier looked up, his eyes catching the tiny disco ball that was filling the room with beams of light. “Yes,” he replied, looking earnest and excited. “That sounds wonderful.”
Chapter 17
Xavier
Marcus and I were tangled together before he even managed to get the front door open. My back hit the door frame as Marcus’s mouth found mine again, hot and desperate. His hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding up under my shirt, tangling in my hair. I fumbled behind me for the doorknob, finally getting it to turn as we stumbled inside.
The door slammed shut behind us, and Marcus pressed me against it, his body solid and warm against mine. God, the man kissed like he was drowning and I was air. Every touch was hungry, almost frantic, like he was trying to make up for years of denial in this single moment.
“Bedroom?” I gasped when we broke apart for air.
“Too far,” he growled, his voice rough with need. His hands found the hem of my shirt, and he pulled it over my head in one swift motion. “Couch.”
I didn’t argue. The living room was right there, and I wasn’t sure my legs would make it down a hallway, anyway. Marcus guided me backward, his lips never leaving my skin as he kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, down my chest.
We collapsed onto the couch together, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. I worked at the buttons of his shirt whilehe made quick work of my belt. The urgency between us was electric, different from the careful exploration we’d done before. This was raw, unfiltered need.
“I want you,” Marcus murmured against my throat, his stubble scratching my skin in the most delicious way. “God, Xavier, I want you sofuckingbad.”
My heart stuttered at the admission. We’d been fucking around already, sure, but this felt different. More intimate. More real.
“Then take me,” I breathed, arching into his touch. “I’m right here.”
His hands stilled for a moment, and he pulled back to look at me. Those green eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else there too. Vulnerability. Fear. Hope.
“I’ve never...” he started, then stopped, his face flushing. “I mean, I have, but not like this. Not with someone I—” He cut himself off, seeming to realize what he’d been about to say.
I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to keep looking at me. “We’ll go slow,” I promised. “And if you want to stop at any point, we stop. No questions asked.”
He nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Then he kissed me again, slower this time, more tender. I felt something shift between us in that kiss, something that went beyond just physical attraction or mutual need.
Something that scared the hell out of me.
Because I was supposed to be leaving in two weeks. Going back to my life in New York, my career, my apartment. This was supposed to be temporary, uncomplicated. No strings.
But as Marcus’s hands explored my body with reverent touches, as he whispered my name like a prayer against my skin, I realized we’d already crossed an invisible line that could not be uncrossed.
Outside the sky lit up in a brilliant flash, thunder rolling in just a few seconds later. Rain began to patter against the roof as Marcus’s tongue circled my nipple. I moaned against him, feeling every buck of his hips.
It was too late to turn back now.
I lost myself in the sensations. Marcus’s calloused hands mapped every inch of my skin as I felt the weight of his body pressing me into the worn leather couch. The storm grew stronger outside while we created our own tempest inside. His shirt was gone now, discarded somewhere on the floor, and I ran my hands over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my palms.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my stomach. “Sofuckin’beautiful.”
The words made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal. In New York, guys threw around compliments like confetti. They were just empty, meaningless words designed to get you into bed. But when Marcus said it, with that rough drawl and those earnest green eyes, I believed him. He meant it.
I helped him work my jeans down my hips, lifting slightly so he could pull them off completely. The cool air hit my overheated skin, making me shiver. Or maybe it was just the way Marcus was looking at me, like I was something precious he was afraid to break.
“I’ve got supplies in my bag,” I said, nodding toward where I’d dropped it by the door. “Lube, condoms?—”
“I’ll get them,” Marcus said, pressing one more kiss to my hip bone before standing. I watched him cross the room, admiring the way his jeans hung low on his hips, the play of muscles in his back as he bent to retrieve my bag.
