Yulia patted his arm gently, and he groaned. “So that’s the guy who’s ruthlessly fucking you and uninterested in more?”
“The one and only.”
“You have
got
to be shitting me,” she said under her breath, clucking her tongue.
And he knew there was more to what she was saying, but he didn’t want to hear it right now. He
couldn’t
, not without snapping at her or breaking something, or…or…he didn’t even know, but it would be bad.
“Don’t,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “Just don’t.”
She gave a muffled little huff, but she held her peace, shifting to rest her hand over the back of his neck and rubbing gently with her thumb.
He arched into her touch as he fumbled out with a hand to grip her knee. He’d be so lost without her.
And thanks to her, he was even more fucked than he had been before.
Chapter Seven
“Three days! Three days, I’m trying to figure this out, and it turns out the issue wasn’t even with my machine. It was Jason’s goddamn vacuum pump.” Ronnie twisted as he climbed the stairs of the porch, looking at Greg over his shoulder. “Can you believe it?”
“Always the vacuum pumps,” Greg empathized, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Ahead of them, the door to the house loomed.
Not for the first time, Greg wished he hadn’t agreed to carpool in to school today. The whole ride home, Ronnie had been going on and on and about the problem he’d been having with his lab equipment. Normally, Greg would have been interested, would have been doing way more than the perfunctory nodding and humming he’d managed this afternoon. He flicked his gaze up at the door again as Ronnie kept on rambling.
The day after a bad migraine, Greg was never at his best, but he wasn’t usually this distracted. He didn’t usually feel like his skin was too tight or like he wanted to punch something. He didn’t simultaneously want to throw a certain sandy-haired shortstop against a wall and either throttle him or…
fuck
him.
He’d known he and Marsh weren’t serious or exclusive or anything, but to see it in front of his own eyes, and with a woman no less… To be offered no explanations or apologies, to be denied, and right after letting Marsh see him so broken down and vulnerable, after asking him to stay…
Not that he’d expected Marsh to jump up and kiss him in the middle of the student union, but the casual distance had been something else entirely. It’d made him feel cold in a way he hadn’t in a long while. It’d reminded him why he never did this sort of thing.
He tightened his grip on the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder. Ronnie was still talking as he fit his key to the lock and pushed the door open. Greg held his breath as the hallway came into view.
And there, standing right in the middle of it, was Marsh.
Greg drew himself up a little taller even as his insides ran amok, sweat prickling on his skin, and it was too warm. His gaze locked with Marsh’s, and for a second, it was just the static in the air and the rushing of blood in his ears as he stared.
Hell, but he really didn’t want to fuck this up.
“Greg? You listening, man?” Ronnie turned to him expectantly, and the world snapped back into focus.
Greg forced himself to look away from Marsh. Ronnie was standing there, one side of his mouth tipped up, and damn. Greg had never expected to keep this a secret forever, but they’d managed a couple of weeks of sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms without anyone the wiser. Now, twice in one day, they’d been put in front of witnesses, and suddenly, under that scrutiny, what they were doing felt like something too thin and too flimsy, so much plastic left out in the sun.
Ronnie looked between the two of them, eyes darting from one to the other, and then he chuckled. “Guess I’ll talk to you about those sulfur inclusions tomorrow, then.”
Greg shook his head, because he had to think. “No. I’ll…I’ll find you.” He gestured toward Marsh and his throat went even drier. “I just have to talk to Marsh for a minute about…”
“Statistics,” Marsh volunteered, and Greg’s head jerked up. The whole tutoring thing had been Greg’s excuse originally, but the lie came so easily to Marsh’s tongue now. Greg bit down on the inside of his lip.
“Right.”
“Sure.” Ronnie gave Greg a quick clap on the shoulder before heading to the stairs, mumbling as he went, “Probability of one ain’t that hard to calculate.”
Oh, hell. Greg flipped Ronnie off, then looked to Marsh, who was still standing there. He’d changed into a tight T-shirt and track pants, and the lines of his shoulders and his arms made Greg’s head swim. The sound of footsteps on the stairs receded, and then there was the closing of a door. Marsh’s eyes darkened, and after a long moment, he turned on his heels, disappearing around the corner and into his room.
Greg stood there, frozen and wanting and feeling like a cad for all of this. He wasn’t a casual-sex kind of guy, and now his best friend knew what he was doing. Everyone in the house probably knew. This was a distraction from the work he had to do and the lessons he had to plan and the presentation he had to finish. And he didn’t care.
His feet took him the dozen or so steps to Marsh’s room, and then he was sliding inside and closing the door, flipping the lock and turning, letting his bag slide off his arm.
Marsh was only a scant few feet away, and he was beautiful, but there was tension in every line of him. He rubbed the back of his neck, biceps flexing as he did, and did he have no idea what he looked like when he did that? “So you’re, um, feeling better?”
So obsessed with following the lines of those muscles, Greg almost missed the thread. He caught it and burned, remembering. Marsh had seen Greg at his weakest last night. He’d touched him and tended him and kept him from having to lie there, alone and in pain.
He’d gotten Greg to ask him to stay.
And just like that, Greg felt like he was spinning out of control. He was fucking a man who was way out of his league, and he had no claim on him, and last night he’d needed him so much.
Today, he needed something else entirely. Greg lifted his gaze and focused it in on the plush red of Marsh’s mouth.
He needed to be tall, he needed to be in control. He needed to make Marsh
his
, if only for a few minutes. An hour. Whatever he could get.
Drawing his shoulders up, he crossed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart, lifting his hand and splaying out his fingers. He hovered there with his palm just over Marsh’s heart, only Marsh was radiating this whole aura of uncertainty, this electric field like he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be touched. Greg pushed past it, and when he made contact with that warm, solid expanse of Marsh’s chest, he felt his own shiver echoed in Marsh’s body.
“Better,” Greg said, focus intent on Marsh’s lips. He was so hot beneath Greg’s hand, his pulse strong, and Greg slid his touch higher, curled his fingers into the dip of his clavicle, wanting under his skin, wanting
inside
him. “But I’d be even better if…” He trailed off, mesmerized by the bob of Marsh’s throat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Greg darted his tongue out to wet his own lips. His fingers tightened, and he didn’t waste any time or leave any room for mistake. He put his other hand right on Marsh’s groin, cupping where his cock was not quite hard yet but not quite soft. “You gonna let me?”
“Hell, yes.”
Channeling all the anger and possession he’d been feeling since that afternoon, he tugged on Marsh’s neck, and Marsh came, leaning into it. The kiss was all teeth and the hard clash of lips abutting, and he pushed his tongue right inside. Marsh tasted like heat and sex, and it was so good Greg could have screamed with it, could have rolled over and taken it, if that had been an option. But it wasn’t. He was here to do the taking. He was here to seize control.
He kissed Marsh savagely for another minute, rubbing and feeling the full, stiff length of him unfurl through his clothes, and then he pushed him away. “Strip,” he ordered.
Marsh didn’t hesitate. He pulled away and was working his shirt up over those abs and those arms, and for a second, all Greg could seem to do was stare. That was for him.
Greg pulled his own shirt over his head and looked around. “You have…?”
Pushing his pants over his hips with one hand, Marsh gestured toward the bed. Only he didn’t have a nightstand. Greg refocused, and—oh. The duffle bag there. Greg’s stomach did a little flip.
“Front pocket,” Marsh said, and fuck, Greg didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how many other people Marsh was doing this with, or where he was going to do it with them. Not now, not in this pocket of time when Marsh was his.
He didn’t think he let any of that show on his face as he stalked over to the bag and pulled at the zip. Sure enough, he found a little bottle of slick and line of condoms. Greg tore one off and didn’t think too much about the rest as he threw it on the bed, putting the bottle down beside it. He stripped the rest of his clothes off without looking at it or at Marsh, until a hot hand on his hip startled the breath from his lungs.
Marsh pulled back. “Are you okay?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He was perfect and terrible, and about to have sex with exactly the man he wanted to be having it with, and he felt like he was holding on to his chance with him by his fingernails.
Holding his tongue, he turned, reaching out to pull Marsh in. Kissing him with all the desperation he felt.
Marsh was naked and so fucking gorgeous, and Greg made an undignified noise when all that flesh pressed up against all of his. It was a hot slide and a glide and a searing kiss that rattled him to his bones, blanking his mind against the rising tide of worry. He was here, right now. Right where he wanted to be.
Focusing on that and nipping at Marsh’s lip, he ran his hands over the firm expanse of thigh and hip, then curved around Marsh’s ass to nudge his fingertips into the crack. Greg wasn’t good at talking, he never had been, but as he probed, dry, at Marsh’s hole, he groaned. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”
“Yeah,” Marsh said, and Greg was never going to get over that.
He kept his reverence and his disbelief at bay, though, as he maneuvered Marsh toward the bed. He followed, getting onto his knees at the edge of the mattress, and then nudging at Marsh to get him on his stomach. Marsh lifted up, bracing himself on his forearms, the muscles in his back and biceps thrown into stark relief. Greg wanted to trace every inch with his tongue. He climbed over Marsh and settled, knees to either side of Marsh’s hips, and bit down at the place where neck met shoulder. “You look so good,” he couldn’t help saying. “Feel so good.”
“Gonna feel even better around your cock.” Marsh dropped his head forward, leaning into every touch.
A wave of arousal crashed over Greg, and he had to lift up, had to get away before he rubbed himself off against Marsh’s ass and came all over his skin in a rush, too soon and too much. Exercising all the restraint he didn’t feel he had, he levered himself lower on the bed, dragging his tongue along Marsh’s spine. He reached over him for the lube and slicked his fingers up. Moaning into Marsh’s ear, he got his hand between them and zeroed right in on his hole.
“Yeah.” Marsh let out a rasping breath as Greg forced a finger inside. He was so tight, so hot and smooth, and he was shaking his head as Greg fought for the patience to work him open. “Not too much. Wanna feel it.”
“Fuck.” Greg shook with it. “You trying to kill me?”
Squeezing around Greg’s finger, Marsh let out a little laugh and twisted to look at him over his shoulder. “Just might be.”
Just for that, Greg pressed another finger in, thrusting in and out and feeling for his prostate. When he hit it, Marsh gasped and swore. “Enough, enough.” He fell forward and scrambled for the condom, ripping it open and passed the circle of latex over his shoulder.
And he was looking at Greg, those clear blue eyes staring at him, and Greg felt naked and shaky, and he wanted this too badly.
He accepted the condom and shifted away to roll it on. He poured lube into his palm and gave himself a long stroke, then pressed slick fingers into Marsh again, watching as they disappeared, watching the shine of his skin and the stretched pink rim. Marsh gave another impatient grunt and arched into the pressure, and that was it.
Greg drew his hand back and wiped his fingers on the sheets, repositioning himself between Marsh’s spread-wide thighs. He took himself in hand, placed a palm on Marsh’s hip. Sucking in a breath, he guided himself into place.
God, but Greg loved this. The way that perfect clench tried to keep him out, and then the soft place inside when Marsh’s body started to suck him in, and it was all the velvet grip and yielding heat. Greg caught himself with a hand at Marsh’s spine as Marsh choked and took him all the way inside. Plastering himself against Marsh’s back, Greg breathed into his shoulder as he rested there. Marsh’s arms trembled, but after a few tense moments, he gave a little nod. With a long, low moan, Greg retreated just an inch before driving forward. Marsh was only barely prepped enough. He was so tight, the friction too good to be believed as Greg moved inside his body.
And it still wasn’t enough. Marsh braced himself a little better and pushed back into the thrust. “Harder, damn it. Not gonna break.”