Preston’s eyes narrow. “T’es terriblement beau, ce soir.”
“Yeah? What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re terribly annoying tonight.”
I smile and he purses his lips before he turns away, but then he stops and sighs heavily as he removes his scarf and throws it at me. “Your hands are cold.”
He pauses, throws a look at me, and leaves, but I can’t stop smiling as I loop his scarf around my neck, inhaling him.
So I lied.
I understand enough French to knowbeaudoesn’t mean “annoying.”
It meansbeautiful.
It meanshot.
Preston looked me dead in the eye and said I was “terribly beautiful tonight,” and then tried to pass it off as an insult.
This idiot.
He has no idea how close he is to being mine.
17
MARCUS
Me
You’re ignoring me again.
Preston
Observation skills on point. Want a cookie?
Three weeks ago, in that alley, what did I tell you would happen if you don’t keep in touch?
About that. I decided it sounded like a threat after all, so it doesn’t count. Better luck next time. Now, shoo and stop annoying me.
Didn’t seem like I was annoying you when you came all over my fingers two days ago. Your cock was throbbing like crazy as you moaned my name.
I did NOT moan your name.
Yes, you did. You said ‘Marcus, deeper’ in that erotic gruff voice, remember? It made me fuck you harder with my fingers, and you took three of them like a champ.
Keep talking and I’ll stab you with a butter knife and feed you to my dogs slowly.
As much as I find your attempts to deflect with violent threats adorable, it’s not going to fly tonight. We need to talk.
No,thanks. I’d rather impale myself with a blunt sword seppuku style than go through the hassle.
Are you that scared of literally having a conversation with me?
Bitch, please. I’m not scared of anyone. Least of all you.
But you are, Preston. You’re terrified at the notion of spending any time with me if it doesn’t involve hockey, spanking you, or cornering you in that locker room and making you come. You immediately shut down as soon as you orgasm and still punch me whenever I try to touch you softly. You shot down my invitations to spend Christmas or New Year’s together, just because that means trying something outside the usual sexual frenzy you’re comfortable with. If that’s not being scared, I don’t know what is.
Are you psychoanalyzing me, because yikes. Not sure if you’re an amateur psychiatrist, but I’m refusing your services. I have enough doctors who give your feeble attempts a run for their money.
