17. Seb

17

Seb

Holy shit. I’m kissing Marcus. I’m kissing Marcus.

For a second, I feel like my na?ve eighteen-year-old self again, the sense of absolute incredulousness that of all the guys Marcus could have, he’s choosing to kiss me.

And Marcus is no longer just my sister’s gorgeous, charming best friend. He’s now a Hollywood movie star.

But what sweeps my incredulousness away is how familiar this is.

The feel of his lips, the way he tilts his head, the taste of him—it’s déjà vu.

Marcus has changed a lot over the last seven years, but the way he kisses hasn’t changed at all.

We kiss like we’re trying to fuse our bodies to occupy the same spacetime coordinates. The wet fabric has turned our clothes into second skins as our bodies press against each other, the slickness only heightening every point of contact. I run my hands over the damp fabric of Marcus’s shirt, feeling the firm muscles underneath.

He groans in our kiss, grinding his groin against mine, and I gasp at the electric sensation of our bodies aligning.

“My place?” I rasp, and he laughs, but his eyes are dark and intense.

“Your place,” he agrees.

I’ve never run through a tropical rainstorm with a hard-on before.

Luckily, the storm has scattered the guests, so there isn’t anyone to witness our mad dash across the resort, looking like two drowned rats in heat.

Saskia will be disappointed her planned fireworks show has been thwarted.

But luckily for me, I’ve now got a personal fireworks show planned for myself.

I fumble with the key card, my hands shaking from adrenaline and anticipation. Marcus crowds close behind me, his breath hot on my neck.

I have to resist the urge to forget the door entirely and have my wicked way with him on the porch of the villa. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea given my parents are occupying the villa next door.

The door opens, and we stumble inside.

Marcus stands before me, his white shirt now practically transparent, clinging to every muscle. Water droplets trace paths down his jaw and his usually perfectly styled hair is endearingly mussed, his eyes smoldering.

Holy shit. He’s so out-of-this-world gorgeous.

It’s almost impossible to believe he’s mine for the night.

Luckily, Marcus gets impatient with me just standing there gaping at him because he surges forward, capturing my lips in a blistering kiss.

And then it’s just a blur of motion as we tug and pull at each other’s clothes. My fingers fumble with Marcus’s shirt buttons while he practically tears my jacket off. We leave a trail of sodden fabric in our wake, like the world’s sexiest breadcrumb trail.

Both naked, we stumble back against the wall. I hit the plaster with a soft thud, grateful for its support as my knees threaten to give way. Marcus crowds me, his hands braced on either side of my head, caging me.

“Seb,” he says, and I’m fairly sure no man has ever uttered my name with such raw hunger. It’s like he’s savoring the taste of it on his tongue.

But he doesn’t lean forward to claim my lips again. Instead, Marcus drops to his knees.

The sight of Marcus Johnson, Hollywood heartthrob, on his knees before me is almost enough to short-circuit my brain. Then his mouth envelops my cock, he reaches a hand back to caress the skin behind my balls, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory.

Holy shit. My head tips backward against the wall.

Every nerve ending in my body is suddenly dialed up to eleven. Waves of sensation crash over me, making my toes curl and my fingers clutch at the plaster of the walls. My eyes scrunch closed.

But then I realize I don’t want to miss a moment of this.

When I open my eyes, they catch on the mirror on the far wall, where I can see the entire tableau reflected back at me—Marcus on his knees, his back a canvas of shifting muscles as he grips my hips while I’m pinned against the wall, flushed and panting.

It’s like watching the world’s most erotic art installation.

“I need you inside me.” My voice is past desperation and has entered a new realm of need.

Marcus rises to his feet, his eyes dark with want.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over Marcus looking at me like that.

He kisses me hard, and then we fumble our way to the bed, a tangle of limbs and urgent touches.

I only manage to pull myself away from Marcus long enough to grab lube and a condom from my toiletry bag. I didn’t even acknowledge to myself when I packed these that part of me—the part that still kind of hopes that Star Wars is based on a true story—was hopeful that this is what I’d be using them for.

When I return to bed, Marcus rakes his gaze up and down me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says simply.

I laugh in disbelief because I’m definitely not the beautiful one in this equation. But now is not the time for an extended discussion of facial symmetry and the golden ratio of beauty.

Now is the time for Marcus to give me slow, tender kisses that make me feel hazy and unmoored as he works me open with his fingers.

He tries to go slow, but I’m impatient, pushing back against him, wanting everything right now.

When he curls his fingers to hit the right spot, my eyes roll back in my head, my whole body trembling like I’ve been hit by a localized earthquake.

“Marcus.” I don’t think my voice has ever sounded so needy.

It seems to hit a switch inside Marcus, and suddenly, he removes his fingers and flips me onto my stomach, his strong hands gripping my hips as he pulls me onto my knees.

Then he’s teasing me with his cock at my entrance, the blunt pressure driving me wild with anticipation. The sensation is so intense it’s like every nerve ending in my body is concentrated in that one spot.

“That’s the definition of a cock tease,” I gasp out, and I’m rewarded by a huff of laughter.

His laughter turns into a groan as he finally, finally, starts to press inside. “Holy fuck, I’ve missed this,” he rasps as he slides into me.

I can only moan in reply.

This is… This is bliss.

This is what I’ve been missing all these years. The feel of Marcus inside me, the heat of him, the way he seems to know exactly how to move to hit all the right spots.

He goes gently at first, taking his time to let me adjust. But as I start to push back against him, demanding more, his control seems to snap. His movements become deeper, more urgent, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. I’m gasping, clutching at the sheets, lost in the sensation, when he suddenly pulls out of me.

I whimper a protest, but then he’s tugging me onto my back.

“Need to kiss you,” he says.

Yeah, I’m not going to ever protest that concept.

He’s hitching my legs up and then presses back inside me, moving forward to kiss me and stroke my cock at the same time.

The triple pleasure of Marcus’s tongue in my mouth, his cock inside me, and his hand on my cock tips me over the edge, and I come so fast and intensely I almost black out.

Falling unconscious due to an orgasm. It would definitely be an experience.

Marcus withdraws immediately, and I love that he remembers how sensitive I get, how that little detail has stayed with him through the past seven years.

I reach for his cock and pull the condom off. Leaning forward, I take him in my mouth.

Marcus moans.

I use every trick I can remember, wanting to drive Marcus as wild as he drove me.

Part of me wants to prove to him I’ve grown up since we were last together, that I’m not the na?ve eighteen-year-old I once was. I call on all the knowledge I cataloged when I was eighteen and nothing was more important to me than giving Marcus pleasure, and then add some of the extra tricks I’ve gleaned from the last seven years.

Marcus’s reactions spur me on— the little gasps, the way his abs tighten, the grip of his hands in my hair. I can tell he’s close when his thighs start to shake.

I look up, meeting his eyes, which tips him over the edge.

“Seb,” he gasps as he comes down my throat.

Oh shit.

I pull off him and wipe my mouth, not wanting to meet his eyes until I can compose myself properly. Until I can suppress the emotions being with Marcus has caused to swirl inside me.

Because no one I’ve been with since has come close to my experiences with Marcus.

My feelings for Marcus are like a volcano that went dormant instead of extinct and is now erupting back into life.

He slumps down on the bed next to me.

“And that, as they say in Hollywood, is a wrap,” he says breathlessly.

I laugh, and he turns his head at the sound of my laughter, depositing a kiss on the side of my face.

He gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom.

I’ve never forgotten how tender Marcus is in the aftercare. Guys I’ve been with since Marcus have all lacked in this department. No one has ever looked after me as well as Marcus does now, carefully bringing me a cloth to clean us both up, his touch gentle and reverent. Then he wraps me in his arms, holding me as our heartbeats settle, pressing soft kisses to my temple.

When he traces a pattern on my skin, my eyes prickle. For a second, I imagine his touch could leave a mark, all the swirls and circles forever etched on my skin.

“The rain has stopped,” he says quietly.

I have to clear my throat before I can answer. “Tropical thunderstorms usually don’t last for very long.”

“What causes them?”

“The rapid rising of warm, moist air. When it collides with the cooler air above, the sudden mixing creates instability and results in a thunderstorm.”

“Kind of like us, then,” Marcus says. “Two very different systems colliding.”

I reject a few replies in my head before I decide to go with a lighthearted response.

“Which one of us is the hot air?”

He laughs.

“I work in Hollywood, remember? We practically invented hot air.”

I actually don’t want to think too much about the thunderstorm metaphor to describe Marcus and me.

Thunderstorms are intense, fleeting, and potentially destructive.

Instead, I snuggle into him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His fingers card through my hair, occasionally trailing down my spine in a soothing caress.

But we don’t go to sleep. Instead, we talk, catching each other up on seven years of life.

He tells me about being a model and switching to acting, what it’s like on set, the egos, and the politics behind the scenes. He talks about the cutthroat competition for roles and recognition. The constant pressure to maintain a certain image.

He talks about his agent Jake, who he credits with his career but who also pushes him to be the best, and his drive to prove he’s a worthy actor and doesn’t get parts based only on his looks.

He shares funny anecdotes about overzealous fans and bizarre Hollywood parties, but beneath the glitz and glamour, there seems to be an undercurrent of loneliness to Marcus’s stories. The way he describes his life sounds more like a performance than a reality.

In return, I tell him about fairy terns, how the New Zealand subspecies has been on the brink of extinction for decades, how there are only forty known individuals left in the world, and how it feels like we’re in a race against time, trying to save these creatures before they become just another statistic in the annals of extinction.

At around two a.m., he gets out of bed and goes to the minibar, and we eat Pringles and M&Ms and Skittles, creating ridiculous flavor combinations and debating whether it counts as a balanced meal for biologists and movie stars.

Our worlds are so different. It’s like Spock attempting to mind-meld with a Jedi, but it doesn’t stop our conversation from falling into an easy rhythm.

It’s as if the last seven years were just a commercial break in our story.

Eventually, light starts to creep in through the crack in the curtains, casting a shaft that highlights the empty snack packets on the bed.

“We’ve talked all night,” Marcus says quietly.

“Well, I guess we’ve scientifically proven that time flies when you’re comparing Hollywood drama to bird mating rituals. Or maybe we’ve just invented a new Olympic sport: Extreme Catching Up.”

Marcus laughs, which is probably more than my joke warranted.

“Do we get a gold medal in Synchronized Snacking?” he asks.

Okay, so maybe even being a Hollywood star doesn’t make you immune to bad joke telling.

We grin at each other. But then Marcus’s playful expression fades, and guilt creeps over his face.

He rakes a hand through his hair. “I promised your sister I wouldn’t do this.”

“Wouldn’t do what?”

“Hook up with you.”

I blink at him. “What? When?”

“Yesterday. She thought she caught a vibe between us. And she reminded me you were a no-go zone.”

My eyebrows fly up. I have to work hard to keep my voice nonchalant. “Haven’t we always adopted the ‘What Saskia doesn’t know, won’t hurt her’ philosophy?”

“Yeah, I guess we have. But I don’t like lying to her.”

“I’d say it’s more an omission of truth than a lie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I thought I was the one with an almost completed law degree.”

“Look, Saskia’s now officially on her honeymoon. The last thing she wants is drama involving her brother and best friend distracting her from newlywed bliss.”

Marcus arches an eyebrow. “So, it’s altruistic of us to withhold this information from her, is it?”

“That’s my argument, and I’m sticking to it.” I glance at him, trying not to show how my heart is racing. “We’re here on the island another three days. I say we make the most of the time we’ve got,” I continue.

Marcus trails a hand down my chest. “You want to keep doing this?”

His touch makes me shiver. “I think I could possibly be persuaded,” I murmur.

Our lips meet, and it’s like striking a match, the tenderness quickly blazing into something more intense.

Suddenly, Marcus is on top of me, pinning me down as he kisses my neck.

“I guess I better work on my persuasion skills,” he rasps.