The Marcus Osborn who refuses to let me win at any turn is on his knees.
In front of me.
The scene messes with my head more than it should. I watch with parted lips as he slides his tongue across the back of my hand that’s still wrapped around my cock, his intense eyes never leaving mine.
He’s…licking my hand?
No—he’s licking the cum off my hand.
Mine and his.
The realization makes me teeter between desire and depravity.
It feels wrong.
Like something dark and forbidden and intoxicating yet so…beautiful.
Marcus licks my hand clean, and I remain still the entire time, my fingers trembling as he wedges his hot, wet tongue between them, dragging it slowly but purposefully.
“Do you know how this tastes?” He growls the words against my fingers, his voice gruff and dangerously low.
“Don’t care…”
“Liar. You’re getting hard, baby. Your cock is jumping in excitement at the thought of my tongue licking it.”
Any witty comeback I could’ve come up with dies whenI notice my cock is indeed hardening. I release it and grab his hair, my fingers sinking deep.
I swear I meant to push him away, but then his tongue swipes along the tip, wiping the cum, and my fingers tighten in his hair.
No ideawhyI’m pulling him closer, but that’s what I do.
“Mmm,” he breathes out against my skin as he wraps his lips around my cock.
And holy fucking hell.
Shit.
I’m well aware I just came, but the feel of his mouth on my cock has turned me hard in an instant.
He pulls me out of his mouth, smirking up at me. “You’re enjoying this a bit too much.”
“Stop talking.”
“And if I don’t?”
He licks the crown again, and my cock twitches, demanding access into his wet heat.
“Just…”
“Just?”
Marcus grabs my hip with one hand and spits on the other—the hand that was in my mouth. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” I grunt because he’s sucking my crown deep as he drags my jeans and boxers down with his hand that gripped my hip.
He lets the crown of my cock pop free. “Maybe I don’t.”
“You fucking?—”
