Page 48 of Off the Rim
Marcus' lips are as hungry as mine, devouring me for all I'm worth. HIs tongue sweeps into my mouth, sending an electric thrill straight down my spine and into my balls. My cock is hard in an instant, rubbing into Marcus' hard abs. He growls and fumbles with the drawstring of my joggers until he's able to wrench the front of my pants open and pull my cock out. He strokes me, frantic but firm, trailing his kiss over my jaw and down my neck. I want… Fuck, I want so much.
The sound of the elevator ding startles us apart, and I hurry to tuck my junk away before three of our teammates walk by. They look at us suspiciously, while I stretch my shirt down with my fist to cover my boner, and Marcus faces the vending machine like he's looking to make a selection.
"Gentlemen,” I greet them with a head tilt. “Bernice,” I say to Chase, whom I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know through Alpha Omega Psi. He’s not a bad kid. I can’t help but think of how much better off he’d be if he avoided the toxic frat and all the entitlement of this school in general. “Did you get carded?" I ask casually, with an amused tone and a knowing smirk.
Franklin, Chase, and Tristan look embarrassed. They're all freshmen and probably aren't used to being told no.
"I told you your fake ID was shit," I say to Chase. He was showing it off at a party a few weeks back, and I warned him against using it at any bars or clubs in bigger cities, where they're a lot more used to weeding out the fakes. That, and the few bars and stores around CVU simply don't care enough. Spoiled richkids typically get away with everything. "I'm surprised you didn't just pay your way in."
"There were cops there," Chase says, rolling his eyes. "I heard a couple of the seniors started a fight with some BYU fans before we got there." He looks at me pointedly, giving me a strong impression that I know exactly who was causing trouble. Fucking Anderson and Preston, of course.
I sigh. "Am I going to need to bail anyone out?"
"Nah, whatever happened got resolved. We’re going to have a few drinks in our room, if you want to join?" He looks around me to Marcus, who is leaning one shoulder against the vending machine, eating from a tiny bag of trail mix. "You, too, of course."
Of course.
Marcus raises an eyebrow. "Thanks, but I'm going to head back and get some studying done for finals."
The guys continue down the hall, and Marcus pushes up from the vending machine. "I'll see you later."
"Wait." I pull him back through the entryway and press him against the wall. My mouth descends on him again, but softer and slower this time, like we're drinking from each other, taking long pulls of tongues and swallowing each other's air. It's even hotter than the hard, frenzied kisses from before. "You could come back to my room," I murmur over his lips. "Anderson won't be back until late, if he comes back at all."
I'm not sure if it's the invitation or the mention of my douchebag roommate that has him pulling back from the kiss.
He clears his throat. "It's okay. It's probably for the best that we don't. We shouldn't… This is a stupid idea."
"Why?" I demand gently, caging him against the wall.
"Our past. Our families."
"I'm trying to make up for that."
"Are you sure you can?"
I knock on the door loud enough that the guy next door sticks his head out and scowls at me, but I don't give a fuck. He's about a full foot shorter than me, and I blatantly use my size to stare him down until he shrinks back inside. I give the door the finger as if it helps solve anything.
Marcus and I are on fire after the Las Vegas Showdown, and then the ACC Challenge game against Ole Miss on Monday. We dominated that court, and the press can't get enough of us. College sports highlights are almost back-to-back clips of plays that Marcus and I pulled off during these last three games. We're exhausted, so I didn't take it personally when Marcus made a beeline back to the dorms without talking to me or anyone else when we got back Tuesday morning. I gave him space Wednesday, too. Then yesterday I texted him to wish him luck on a final I knew he had late morning, but he left me on read. Not that I was exactly expecting him to thank me or offer me the same, but by the fifth message I sent him last night, I started worrying. Then this morning he ignored me during practice, too. We have a game tomorrow at Boston College, and I don't want us to lose because he won't communicate with me.
"Vell's in the shower," some guy says, walking by in sweatpants with a towel around his shoulders, hair dripping. He must have just come from there.
I have zero shame or boundaries when it comes to wanting Marcus' attention, so I head straight for the showers. The other times I stalked him into the bathrooms, it was empty. This time there are a few people milling around, walking to and from various shower stalls, or brushing their teeth at the sinks. I ignore them all and march through the row of showers until I see what I'm fairly certain are Marcus' feet. I recognize the tan line of his socks, and the fine dusting of dark hair. My nose picks up the familiar scent of his drugstore brand body wash that makes me want to lick him from tip to toe. Maybe that's what I'll do.
I give Marcus the respect of looking back and forth to see if anyone is paying attention before I tear open the curtain and step inside.
"What the—” Marcus' words cut off when he sees that it's me. "What are you doing in here?" he hisses.
"You're avoiding me."
"I am not. I'm just… busy."
"Liar."
Marcus huffs. "Can we talk about it after finals are over?"
"Yeah, no. That's not going to work for me. Whatever it is, is clearly bad enough that you're all worked up about it, and it'll give me anxiety until I know. For the sake of our game tomorrow, you have to tell me."
Marcus ducks his head back under the shower spray, rinsing the last of his shampoo away. "Well, let's go back to my room and talk, then. You're going to get wet."
