Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
It’s mind-boggling how he strips without hesitation, as if he’s never had to hide a damn thing his entire life.
It’s unfair.
What’s more unfair is just…how sculpted he is. I’ve felt Marcus countless times before, behind me mostly, and have a sense of his developed muscles and taut physique.
But feeling it and seeing it are worlds apart, because fuck me all the way to hell, how could a man look so…beautiful?
He’s a fucking man, I chastise my own brain as he’s about to drool all over the guy. There are no soft curves or round tits or anything that usually appeals to me.
All my eyes zoom in on are hard muscles, defined abs, a sculpted waist, and thick, muscular thighs.
And I realize this is basically the first time I’ve seen him naked. I’ve only ever seen his ass and his cock that’s currently hard and pointing in my direction.
However, it’s the rest of him that makes my breaths stumble.
Namely, the tattoos.
Yes, plural.
The chain I saw a hint of starts at his neck, a glint of metallic ink curling over his chest and down his ribs and abs, breaking cleanly at his groin. Right in the middle of his defined V-line, the chain ends with an arrow that points straight at his cock.
It’s an extremely hot tattoo.
My attention is drawn to another large tattoo along his left thigh—the one I often see in the locker room, but not entirely.
It’s a slim dagger that’s buried deep in a blooming daisy. And I find myself wondering why a daisy?
That’s not important, though.
What is important is the state of my cock that’s been twitching like an uncooperative little shit since I started my viewing session of Marcus.
He’s all man. Masculine, rugged, and with fucking tattoos. Every inch of him a story I’m not supposed to want to read. And I hate that I want to.
“Are you done ogling me?” The rumble of his voice snaps me back to that dark smirk tilting the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
“I’m not ogling you.”
He taps the corner of his lips. “You might want to wipe that. You’re drooling, baby.”
I reach a hand to my mouth, intending on bleeding the fucker dry for embarrassing me, but I find nothing. My hand drops as I glare at Marcus, and he just bursts out laughing.
The sound is easy but deep, like a rumble in the darkest pits of my broken soul.
But I don’t get to focus on that as he stalks toward me, killing the distance inch by each agonizing inch. “You know what will happen now, my prince?”
I remain quiet, not knowing what to say, feeling so out of my element but also getting distracted by his glorious naked body as he reaches into his side drawer.
This is not normal.
It’s just a body. A man’s body. I’ve seen countless of them.
And yet none of them have made my fucking cock leak the way it is right now. The transparent precum slides like a goddamn tear down its length.
Marcus grabs a tube from his nightstand, and a weird sort of fire ignites in my stomach.
“Not sure,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “But you’re certainly not going to have your way with me in the same place you’ve fucked others.”
A sly grin curves his lips.
“I’m not joking.” I start to stand up. “I’m bored, anyway. I’m leaving—”
The words are barely out of my mouth when he slams me back down with a shove to my chest, knocking the living breath out of my fucking lungs.
And apparently, being manhandled like a slut gets my cock throbbing. The masochistic little bitch reports for duty by getting all fucking excited, pointing in Marcus’s direction.
But since he’s hovering, his stomach far away, I can’t get the friction my cock is begging for.
“You can’t come and go as you wish, Preston.” His voice has darkened, his eyes looking almost black. “This is not how it will go.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I decided I’m not doing this on the same bed you fucked others.” I push at his chest with both hands, making him sway. “Now, back the fuck off.”
He grabs both my wrists and slams them on the pillow above my head, his muscles coiling and bunching up. “If you’re jealous, just say it.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are for me to be jealous over you?”
“Isn’t that what’s happening here? You’re obviously so hard, you’re leaking a mess all over the place. You want this as much as I do. But the thought of you being just another one of my conquests pisses you off. It’s like a jab to your nonsensical pride.” His mouth hovers a few inches from mine until I taste his words. “What if I told you there were no others in this bed?”
“Really?”
“Really. I don’t fuck in my mother’s house. That’s a red line.” He drops a soft kiss to the slope of my throat, then bites down hard, and I groan deep. “Next time, instead of throwing tantrums,” he speaks as he kisses his way down my collarbone and chest, then licks my nipple, “tell me exactly how you feel.”