3. Seb

3

Seb

“Little Kleggs!” It’s Marcus’s voice. He glides across the hallway toward me. I stand there blinking at him like a startled possum. “Where are you off to?”

I’m actually planning to retreat to my room, put on my headphones, and watch Star Wars on my laptop. After an evening feeling like an outcast in my own home, watching a movie about a lonely orphan on a rocky outcrop becoming the hero of the galaxy is quite appealing.

I’ve watched A New Hope so many times I can recite the dialogue backward and forward, but there’s something comforting about that. Like having a friend who never gets tired of hearing your weird theories about how the Force might actually work if you applied quantum mechanics to it.

I send a quick glance to my bedroom door, and apparently, that serves as my answer to Marcus.

“You’re not leaving the party already, are you? It’s just getting started.”

“It’s all Saskia’s friends,” I mutter.

He stares at me, and something almost like despair crosses his face before it disappears.

“Tell you what…why don’t we move the party into your room?” His voice is low and husky.

My eyes fly to his in disbelief. Marcus is normally at the center of any social action. He’s the type of guy who can walk into any room and immediately own it, who has everyone competing for his attention and laughing at his jokes within minutes. He’s got this effortless way of making everyone feel like they’re the most interesting person he’s ever met while somehow remaining the most captivating person in any room.

All of his and Saskia’s friends are downstairs, and he wants to hang out with me? Is this some parallel dimension I’ve suddenly found myself in?

Or is he just messing with me? Is he pretending he wants to hang out, only to laugh at me for believing him?

Even as I think the words, I dismiss them.

Marcus is cocky and flirty but never cruel.

And there’s an expression on his face I’ve never seen before as he waits for my reply. Something almost haunted.

“Um…okay.” I cross the hallway on shaky legs, fumbling with my doorknob for the first time ever because, of course, I would when I’ve got Marcus watching me.

Luckily, Marcus doesn’t mock my inability to do the basic function of opening a door. Instead, he waits patiently until I finally manage, then follows me wordlessly into my room.

Once inside, he looks at my Star Wars duvet and Lord of the Rings figurines lining my shelves, and a smirk takes over his face.

Yeah, I didn’t exactly choose my room décor to help me get laid.

“Uh…” Now we’re inside my room, I have no idea what to do. Panic spreads through me. Nothing in my life has prepared me for this moment, to have Marcus inside my room, to have him looking at me like I’m someone he’s potentially interested in.

Although, am I imagining that glint in his eye? Surely Marcus doesn’t actually want me like that? He probably just wants to chill away from the crowd for a few minutes.

My heart pounds as I wait for him to say something.

“Why don’t we have our own dance party here?” Marcus suggests. “You got some sounds?”

“Uh, yeah…”

I open up my Spotify list, but because my hands are trembling, I accidentally hit my running playlist, the one full of upbeat crappy songs that are fun to run to but should never see the light of day otherwise.

The opening lines of “Barbie Girl” fill the room.

Kill me now. Like, literally, right now. I don’t care what form it takes, a sinkhole in a cursed swamp, a portal to the gates of hell, just something that means this moment ends and I never have to relive it.

To his credit, Marcus manages to get his laughter back under control after a minute.

Even his laugh is perfect—infused with his charm that makes me feel like I’m in on the joke rather than the butt of it.

Despite this, I still fight the urge to crawl under my bed and never emerge.

“Awesome tunes,” he says. The grin that lights up his face highlights his dimples and reminds me he’s good-looking beyond belief.

I brutally stab at my phone to bring up a more appropriate playlist. Maroon 5 blasts out from my speakers.

I risk a glance at Marcus, and he’s watching me, all high cheekbones and gorgeousness, still holding on to the bag I saw him leave the kitchen with earlier. Being the sole focus of Marcus’s charm and attention is everything I’ve ever wanted, yet it’s hard to determine whether elation or terror is currently winning the war over my body.

“What’s in your bag?” My question is abrupt because Marcus has always been the place where the few social skills I have go to die.

Marcus blinks down at the bag for a few seconds.

“Stuff for tequila shots,” he says finally. “Do you want to do some?”

“Okay,” I say.

“Have you ever done tequila shots before?” he asks.

I start to lie but then realize I’ll look even stupider when it becomes obvious I don’t know what I’m doing.

“No.”

His lips quirk. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

I watch while he sets out a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a container of salt, some limes, a cutting board, and a knife. He places each item on my desk like sacred items for a ritual before he glances up at me.

“It’s a pretty simple concept. Lick. Shoot. Suck.” The words sound dirty in Marcus’s velvety voice.

“Lick. Shoot. Suck,” I repeat, my voice shaking slightly.

Marcus sprinkles some salt on his forearm. His tongue darts out from his lips, and I’m fairly sure I set a world record for how fast someone’s cock can get hard.

“Lick,” he says.

“Lick,” I echo like some brainwashed minion, my mind not processing much beyond Marcus’s mouth.

“Shoot.” He picks up his shot glass full of tequila. He slams it back, then quickly grabs a lime slice and sucks on it.

He pulls his hand away from his mouth to reveal his smile in the shape of a lime wedge.

“Suck,” he finishes, his voice slightly gravelly as he takes the lime out of his mouth.

I swallow. Hard. “Right.”

“It’s simple enough.” His dark eyes don’t leave mine. “Although, maybe we should rename the second step ‘swallow,’ don’t you think?”

Holy Batman.

My breath leaves my lungs. How on earth did I get to this point where I’m alone with Marcus Johnson and he’s saying suggestive things to me?

He winks at me. “You ready for me to take your tequila virginity?”

Okay, there is no way I can respond to that without gargling my own tongue. Instead, I wordlessly stick out my bare arm.

It tickles as Marcus sprinkles salt on my forearm. I stare at the trail of white crystals as Marcus pours a shot for me and cuts a slice of lime.

“Here’s your shot and lime ready to go.”

I lean over hesitantly to lick the salt. It’s scratchy on my tongue, and I leave a wet streak on my arm.

Then I grab the shot and scull it back. The tequila burns my throat, but I concentrate on shoving the lime piece into my mouth. Tartness floods my tastebuds.

“Well done.” Marcus looks at me proudly, like I’ve just solved a differential equation to calculate the coordinates to send a satellite into orbit. “You’re a natural.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, and my skin tingles at his touch.

I’m a natural at math and science, but not much else. I’ll happily add tequila shots to the list though. Especially if it means Marcus looks at me like that again.

We do another shot each. The tequila sears its way down my throat and settles like fire in my stomach. I’ve never been into spirits. I’m normally more of a one-and-a-half beers guy.

The alcohol has an instant effect on me, making my head woozy.

After finishing my second shot, I look up to see Marcus watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“The great thing about tequila is you can get inventive about where you lick and what you suck,” he says in a sultry voice.

“What do you mean?” I stammer.

“I mean, we get to decide where to do the licking and the sucking. For example…” He picks up the salt and lazily steps toward me, holding up the container of salt.

He arches an eyebrow. “This okay?”

I manage to nod, my pulse beating overtime. I have no idea what he’s got planned, but whatever Marcus does when he’s looking at me with glittering eyes is okay with me.

He sprinkles some salt on my neck where the flesh is exposed, finishing at the top of my collarbone.

Oh holy hell. He isn’t about to do what I think he is, is he?

“Now I lick it off,” he says huskily.

He bends his head, and Marcus’s breath ghosts over my skin before his tongue darts out to touch my neck.

I gasp at the feel of his tongue on my skin. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, licks the trail of salt off my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I feel lightheaded, dizzy. It appears my body can’t do something as mundane as breathing when Marcus’s tongue is on me.

He pulls away slightly.

“Lick,” he murmurs into my ear.

My cock is throbbing now. Marcus watches me with a heated gaze.

“Swallow.” He quickly downs a shot.

He moves back into my space, his gray eyes not leaving mine.

“And we can be inventive about what we suck as well,” he murmurs. “Because there are so many nicer things to suck than a lime.”

“Like what?” I squeak.

“Like this,” he whispers as he closes the distance between us. His warm breath lingers on my neck as he pulls my earlobe into his mouth.

I can’t help the low moan that escapes as Marcus’s teeth graze my earlobe, lightly nipping. Is it an undiscovered scientific principle that your earlobe has a nerve with a direct line to your cock? Now I’m throbbing so much my knees feel weak, and I have to grip the back of my desk chair for support.

“Your turn,” he says as he steps back from me.

My stomach wobbles. Is this really happening? Am I doing dirty tequila shots with Marcus Johnson?

I must have slipped into some parallel universe where my heart’s every desire comes true.

While I’m grappling with the paradox of multiple realities, Marcus watches me with expectant eyes.

Shit. Whatever version of reality this is, I’m doing dirty tequila shots with Marcus, and it’s my turn.

I decide not to go for anything too imaginative, just follow the same incredible path he mapped out on me.

My hand shakes as I sprinkle the salt onto his perfect neck.

“Lick,” I say softly and then lean in. Marcus’s scent is an intoxicating mix of beer and woodsy aftershave.

Before I lose my nerve, I glide my tongue along the soft skin of his neck, not believing I’m really doing this. My tongue is touching part of Marcus. I’m living in the twilight zone right now.

Thankfully, I’ve still got some control over my salivary glands, and I don’t drool.

Along with the salty explosion on my tongue, I can also taste the flavor of his skin. My head feels so light I might float away.

I grab the shot glass, almost spilling it, but then slam it down, feeling the burn in my throat.

Marcus looks at me with hooded eyes.

“Are you going to suck?” he asks.

Oh, holy Sauron, he’s inviting me to have my mouth on him again.

I move closer to his beautiful face. Marcus has the type of beauty that is even more breathtaking when you get this close, flawlessly smooth skin, his eyes a dark gray in the dim light.

I hesitate before taking his perfect earlobe into my mouth because I’ve never had someone’s earlobe in my mouth before.

But I tentatively nibble on the edge and am rewarded by a low groan from Marcus. Emboldened, I take more of the flesh into my mouth, giving a solid suck.

Oh holy hell, forget about throbbing. My cock is now pulsating with an intensity that makes me worry it’s going to detach from me.

When I pull back, I see Marcus’s eyes have shut.

His eyes fly open, and oh my god, his gorgeous eyes are huge pools of want.

We stare at each other for a few heartbeats. I’m aware my heart is beating so fast it could audition for a drum solo.

It starts to beat even faster when Marcus closes the distance between us and plants his lips on mine.

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

Yeah, my brain doesn’t quite know what to do with that fact. It can’t really process something so improbable.

I let out an involuntary moan, and suddenly, Marcus’s tongue slips inside my mouth.

He kisses me smoothly, his tongue dancing around mine like this is a performance. I try to match his fancy moves, but I can’t, so instead, I let myself be taken over by Marcus’s mouth. Those plush, perfect lips, his nimble, talented tongue.

Marcus tastes as good as he looks.

He reaches down to my waist and pulls me closer to him, and his erection presses against me.

Marcus is hard for me. Yep, my mind is officially beyond blown now.

Something about having Marcus’s hard cock against me causes me to lose my mind.

Suddenly, I’m not kissing him cautiously anymore. Every ounce of desire I’ve built up over the years explodes out of me.

It’s lust.

It’s dynamite.

I kiss him with everything I have.

And we’re really kissing now, and it’s not like before, when it felt like Marcus was pulling out his practiced moves.

This is messier and sloppier, underpinned by need. Like something has ignited. The fire between us is so scorching it could burn us both.

My fingers dig into his scalp, clutching him.

It’s deep and dirty and beyond any kiss I’ve ever had.

He pulls back, and I whimper without thinking because losing his mouth for a second feels unbearable.

Then reality hits me.

Have I done something wrong? Has he come to his senses? Is he going to put a stop to this?

When I open my eyes, I find him staring at me, his pupils blown out in lust.

“Holy fuck, Seb,” he says hoarsely, and then his lips are on mine again.