Page 75 of So I'll Know
He leans back to study me. “Do you want to tell me what happened? And please include why you showed up wearing a suit.”
I sigh. “My dad showed up at the parking garage. He wanted me to come to the office with him.”
Jeremy’s eyes widen. “So you were with your dad?”
I nod hesitantly, unsure what I should share about my morning from hell. “Ryan wanted to talk about our progressand the new opening date.” His weight shifts in my lap, and I have to place my hands on his hips, holding him still. “Being in that building with them . . . it makes me feel out of control and vulnerable, like a child. I don’t really know how else to explain it other than being off balance with no way to steady myself.”
“What? You? Mr. Super Calm and Collected Businessman?” Jeremy’s mouth ticks up at the corner. “I didn’t know Daddy Marcus bowed to anyone—except when he’s on his knees for me, of course.”
I give him a dark look. “Listen, brat, you’ll pay for that comment later.”
Jeremy leans forward, bracing his hands against my chest, and kisses me, his lips sliding over mine so sensually that my dick instantly hardens. He runs a hand through my hair and tugs me away from his mouth. “Does that mean you’re coming over tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“See you at eight.” He slides off my lap and glances down, and I smirk as he adjusts himself.
“I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MARCUS
It’s the last Saturday in November, and Jeremy is practically bouncing off the walls of his apartment. I roll over and squint at him while he digs through his closet, chatting away with Toothless, as if the fucking cat is listening.
“Can’t we go back to bed?” I moan. “The art gallery will be open later today too.”
He stops and turns to face me. He’s shirtless in a very tight pair of hot-pink boxer briefs, and I take a moment to appreciate the gentle cut of his abs and the prominent bulge of his junk.
“The earlier we go, the less crowded it will be. I thought you didn’t like people.”
“I don’t. Even more reason to stay here and fuck around instead.” I try to give him a sexy smile, but he just rolls his eyes.
“No, you promised we could go, and I want to go now.” He grabs my wrist, trying to tug me out of bed. But I just pull back, and Jeremy falls against me with an indignant squeak. I wrap him in my arms and press my nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of his shampoo.
“Stooop,” he whines around a moan as I grind into his ass with my very hard morning wood. “We can do this later.” Heshifts so that we’re facing each other and pouts, and I really want to bite that plush protruding lip. “You promised,” he repeats.
I sigh and lean forward, pressing my mouth to his in a slow, soft kiss that elicits another moan, and I feel his cock perk up and bump mine.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But can we at least get each other off first? It’ll be quick.” I smile against his lips. “Compromise, right? Like Hopper says to Eleven? Halfway happy?”
Our latest binge show isStranger Things. I’ve never been much of a movie or TV guy, but watching this stuff seems to be one of Jeremy’s love languages. I have a hard time saying no when his eyes light up while he rambles on about plots and character development and which couple I should ship and why.
“Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have told you that I have a thing for David Harbour.”
My hand drops to Jeremy’s hardening length, and I slide my fingers beneath his waistband, giving him a rough tug.
I swallow hard, the familiar euphoria taking over my brain when Jeremy ruts against me. It’s not enough anymore. I want to be closer to him. To feel like I’m a bigger part of him. We’ve done everything so far but actually fuck, and I know he wants to. But I’m scared out of my goddamn mind. Emotional heaviness of the act aside, I need to know the logistics involved, and I feel like an idiot for asking. Watching gay porn only gets me so far. I have no idea if I’m a top or a bottom. I think I want to top, but sometimes, when I want to feel grounded, I crave Jeremy’s control—to just take my choices away.
What if I want both? Will Jeremy want both?
Fuck, what if I’m terrible at it?
I pull my hand free and cup it under his mouth. “Spit,” I rasp. “Make it sloppy, Jer.”
He does, a string of salvia catching at the corner of his mouth.
With my other hand, I push down his boxers and then my own before I wrap us together, my spit-slick palm gliding over our lengths and mixing with our sticky precum. We groan loudly, and I involuntarily thrust my hips. Our cocks slide together, the friction white hot, and Jeremy lets out a needy whimper that I devour when our mouths come together again.
