15. Markus

CHAPTER 15

Markus

Feeling him—Nicky, right beneath me. Heart racing. Nerves tangling with something raw—amazing. I didn’t expect this feeling, this intensity, to hit me so fast. But when he said it, when his voice cracked ever so slightly on that word, now , my entire world tilted.

His breath was soft against my lips, and his fingers gripped the edge of my sweater, pulling me closer as if grounding himself. He wanted this. Needed this, maybe even more than I did. But hell if I wasn’t right there with him. Every inch of me pulled toward him, like he was a magnet and I was helpless to resist.

One hand at his jaw, the other slipping under his shirt. Warm skin. The slight tremble beneath my fingertips. He wasn’t holding back, and neither was I. It was messy, this need that spilled over, but it felt good. Real.

Nicky’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, and something in me shifted, something that had been wound tight too long, finally releasing. We didn’t need words, not now. He was here, in my space, wanting the same thing I did.

I kissed him harder, pushing deeper until I felt him shift beneath me. His breath caught, a soft whimper that had me pulling back just enough to see his face, searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt.

“Are you sure?” I barely recognized my own voice, rough and thick with desire. “You don’t have to?—”

“I’m sure, Markus. I want this. I want you .”

I didn’t need any more convincing.

I undid the buttons of my shirt, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. He shifted again, his hand reaching for mine, bringing it to the hem of his shirt. A breathless look passed between us, a silent question and answer all at once.

He was so damn open, eyes wide, trusting me in a way I didn’t think I deserved. Not yet. But maybe that’s what he needed—to trust someone enough to let down his walls completely, to feel what it was like to let go and let me guide him into this moment. To give himself over to me, fully.

And God, did I want to.

The air between us was thick, the only sound in the room our breath, shallow and quick, as I slowly undressed Nicky. His gaze never wavered from mine, a mix of trust and something else—something deeper, more vulnerable. His shirt came off first, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the way his skin flushed under my touch. My fingers lingered on the fabric of his jeans, the moment stretching longer than I expected.

He was so much more than I had imagined, more than I had expected. Everything about him—the way his body responded, the way his eyes softened even when he was teasing—made me ache with the desire to take care of him, to protect him, to push him just far enough to see him let go, to watch him shatter those walls and trust me to hold the pieces.

But I held back. I had to. For now.

I licked, nibbled, suckled on one nipple, then the other, eliciting the filthiest moans anyone in the fifty states had ever heard. The sounds… Oh God, the sounds made something tight and hungry unfurl inside me. My hands slid over his hips, to the button of his jeans, and I paused, letting him make the choice. “Nicholas,” I growled, “tell me if you want to stop.” I lifted my gaze to his, giving him a moment to back out if he wanted to.

“Call me Nicky. I want you to call me Nicky. Say it.”

I froze—not because of the name itself, but because of the shift it carried. He’d corrected me before, insisted on Nicholas . But now, he was offering something different. Something that felt like a piece of himself I wasn’t sure he’d shared with anyone else.

“Nicky,” I said, testing it, watching his face carefully. His lips parted, a soft exhale slipping out like I’d hit a nerve in all the right ways. “Tell me if you still want this, Nicky.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes searched mine, raw and unguarded, before his hand found mine, pressing it gently against his stomach and guiding me lower. “I’m not stopping,” he whispered, a small grin tugging at his lips.

That grin twisted something in me, made my heart race even faster. Not just because of his answer but because of what he’d just let me see.

“I used to hate it when people called me Nicky,” he murmured suddenly, voice soft but steady, like he needed me to hear it now, in this moment.

My hands paused, my eyes lifting to meet his. “Why?”

“Because it made me feel… like they saw me as helpless. Small. Someone who couldn’t handle things.” His fingers tightened around mine. “But when you say it… it doesn’t feel like that. It feels…” His voice trailed off, his cheeks pinking, but the way his gaze held mine told me everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“Like I see you, ” I said, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

His smile softened, his eyes warming as he nodded. “Yeah. Like that.”

I leaned in, brushing my lips over his, and when I whispered his name again— Nicky —I felt the way his body melted into mine.

I finished undressing him, pushing his jeans down his legs, taking in every inch of his skin as it was revealed to me. His body was strong, flawless, and yet, there was something about him that was delicate, something that begged to be cared for, nurtured. I wanted to be the one to give him that. But I knew I had to move slowly—no rushing, no overwhelming him.

When I pulled him closer, our bodies finally meeting skin to skin, I felt a shiver run through him.

Heat pulsed between us, and I couldn’t stop my hand from roaming, following the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist, the strength of his thigh beneath my fingers. Every movement was deliberate, each touch a promise.

A groan almost escaped when his hips shifted just right against mine, the friction setting me on edge. Words pressed at the back of my throat, the kind I’d usually growl out to my boy—but he wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be.

I bit down on the urge, focusing instead on the moment. The slow drag of my lips across his collarbone, the faint salt of his skin lingering on my tongue. His fingers curled into my shoulders, not pulling, just holding, like he needed something steady to cling to.

My hand found the crumpled fabric of my pants amidst the chaos on the floor. My fingers slipped into the pocket, brushing over the crinkling foil of the condom and the small packet of lube. My gaze flicked back to Nicky, spread out before me, his chest rising and falling, skin flushed. His hand moved over himself in slow, teasing strokes, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, daring, trusting, needing.

His legs parted wider, the silent invitation clear. I knelt between them, the heat radiating from his body pulling me closer. Slicking my finger with the lube, I ran it along his entrance, pausing to meet his gaze again. “Relax,” I murmured.

When I pressed inside, his sharp inhale sent a shiver down my spine. His head tipped back, the curve of his neck exposed as he adjusted, his body slowly yielding to the intrusion. I stayed still for a beat, letting him catch up, before adding a second finger. His moan, soft at first, built into something raw, something that hit me right in the chest.

“Just like that,” I whispered against his skin, brushing my lips along the curve of his shoulder. The way he responded, the slight arch of his back, the way his breath caught and stuttered, was enough to undo me.

When I curled my fingers just right, found that spot inside him, it seemed I’d unraveled something deep within him. His hands clawed at my arms, his hips bucking against my hand as his lips parted on a broken cry. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop watching as pleasure unraveled him, his trust in me making it all the more intoxicating.

A third finger followed, easing him open slowly, carefully. I murmured soft reassurances, my free hand stroking his thigh, grounding him. The way his body moved, the way he responded to every shift of my fingers, made it nearly impossible to hold myself back.

When I finally withdrew, his sharp inhale caught me off guard. It wasn’t just the absence of my fingers in his hole—it was anticipation, an unspoken readiness. I let my hand linger on his thigh because I didn’t want to stop touching him, didn’t want to lose that connection. Rolling the condom on and slicking myself, I glanced up to find his gaze locked on me, steady and sure, despite the way his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

Positioning myself, I pressed forward slowly, watching every flicker of emotion on his face. He tensed, then relaxed, his body giving way inch by inch until I was buried fully inside him, the heat and tightness pulling a guttural groan from my throat. His legs wrapped around my waist, drawing me deeper, grounding me in him.

I set a rhythm, slow at first, letting him adjust, feeling every shift of his body beneath mine. His moans filled the room, unguarded and beautiful, every sound pulling me further under. Each thrust carried weight—not just desire, but something more. Something I couldn’t quite put into words yet but felt in every breath, every movement, every look.

Nicky clung to me, his hands fisting on my shoulders as if I were the only thing anchoring him. And maybe, in that moment, I was.

Nicky fell first, his body tightening around me as his release hit, a shudder running through him that pulled a broken cry from his lips. The sight of him—head thrown back, cheeks flushed, completely lost in the moment—was all it took to send me over the edge. My own release followed, a surge of heat and relief that left me trembling, every muscle taut before the tension drained from my body.

I held him close, my arms wrapped around him like I never wanted to let go. He was breathing softly, his head resting on my chest, and I couldn’t help but smile, feeling the soft weight of him in my arms.

This wasn’t just about sex. It was about connection—about building something that went beyond just this . And in that moment, I knew. I had to be honest with him. I couldn’t keep hiding who I was.

But for now, I held him, and he held me, and that was enough.

I waited until Nicky’s soft snores filled the quiet room, his body completely at ease. Carefully, I slipped my arms beneath him, lifting him in a bridal hold. Cradling him like that—vulnerable, trusting—felt sacred. Carrying him to my bedroom, I laid him down on my bed as if he were made of glass, each movement deliberate, reverent.

In the bathroom, I disposed of the condom and cleaned myself up quickly before grabbing a warm, damp washcloth. Returning to the bedroom, I knelt beside him, taking my time to gently clean him, each stroke of the cloth a silent promise of care. Even in sleep, his brow softened under my touch, and I couldn’t help but linger, my heart full and unsteady all at once.

I joined him on the bed, pulling the blanket over us. Listening to his steady breaths, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, was turning out to be my favorite thing to do. I hadn’t expected any of this. Not how much I’d enjoyed the date with him. Not the ease with which we connected, emotionally and physically. But here we were, tangled together, bodies and hearts so in sync it felt like a damn dream. A good dream. The kind you don’t want to wake up from.

I hadn’t known much about Nicky before tonight, but the glimpse I got into his life at dinner had made my chest ache with something I couldn’t quite name. I hadn’t expected the conversation to go where it did, but hearing about his childhood... his strength, his resilience—it hit me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. He’d been through so much, and yet he was so strong, so resilient. There was a depth to him I hadn't seen in anyone in a long time.

I had to stop myself from smiling. He wasn't just a fleeting attraction, some spark that would fizzle out. No, Nicky was... something else.

But I still held back. I was worried that if I took control in bed the way I was used to—demanding, commanding—then I might scare him off. It would break me if I caused him to lose his trust in me. So, I kept things vanilla.

It meant everything to have him in my arms, but I couldn’t stop the worry from creeping in. When he got up, would he regret tonight? Would he leave while I slept? Should I have asked him to stay the entire night with me? Ughh! I’m glad I didn’t. The worst thing I could do was look desperate, and I didn’t want to make him obligated to stay. But God, I wanted him here. With me.

Nicky shifted, snuggling closer, and I froze for a moment, taken aback by how natural it felt. He was... cuddling me. The guy who didn’t let anyone see his soft side was suddenly curling into me like a damn teddy bear.

I brushed my fingers through his hair, unable to stop myself from smiling.

This wasn’t what I expected, but it felt so fucking right. More right than anything I’d experienced in a long time. I wasn’t sure how to navigate this with Nicky. I was used to something different—something with clear boundaries and roles. The Daddy dynamic was something that had been a part of me for so long, and without it, it felt like something was missing.

But Nicky? He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever been with before. I couldn’t just impose that part of me on him, and I couldn’t hide it from him either. I had to come clean. I’d do it in the morning. I’d tell him what I needed. What I wanted. What I couldn’t walk away from.

I didn’t know if he was ready for that kind of relationship, but I wouldn’t lie to him. Not when things had already gotten this real. I just hoped he wouldn’t walk away.

Because whatever this was with Nicky, it was new—uncharted territory for both of us—but that didn’t mean I wasn’t taking it seriously. I wanted to see where this could go, to build something real with him. The thought of it made my chest tighten, with both hope and fear. What scared me the most was the possibility that the person I was, the things I needed in a partner, might not align with what Nicky wanted.

But I couldn’t pretend to be someone else, not with him. If this had any chance of working, I had to be honest—completely, unapologetically honest about what I needed, about who I was. Only then could we have a real shot. And as terrifying as it was to think that my truth might be a dealbreaker for him, it was the only way I knew how to move forward.

Because the way I felt about him? About us? This wasn’t some fleeting attraction or passing fling. It felt bigger than that—more meaningful. And if there was even a chance that we could have something real, I’d give it everything I had. But only as my authentic self. Anything less wouldn’t be fair to either of us.