The plastic bag crinkled. Marcus couldn’t help chuckling at Timur’s expression as he turned the box of condoms in his hand.
“The instructions are probably in English.”
Timur eyed him, then laughed softly, some color blooming in his cheeks. “I can figure out.”
“Better yet…” Marcus got up on his knees and took the box, “…let me.”
Timur didn’t protest, and he watched, his brow slightly furrowed, as Marcus thumbed open the box and withdrew the strip of condoms. Marcus tore one off the strip, then dropped everything on the bedside table where it would be within reach. Something told him this wouldn’t be the last one they used tonight. He ripped the foil with his teeth, and after he’d gotten rid of the wrapper, he put a hand on Timur’s hip and drew him closer.
Timur pulled in a sharp breath as Marcus rolled on the condom. Weird sensation, excitement—Marcus had no idea. He was lucky he could breathe himself as he handled this impressive cock that was about to be inside him. And he’d thought he’d be sleeping alone tonight.
Right. As if there’d be any sleeping tonight.
He reached for the lube, but Timur beat him to it. “Turn around.”
Didn’t have to tell him twice.
Timur put some lube on himself and knelt behind Marcus. He didn’t bother with fingers—he pressed his dick against Marcus, and Marcus tensed.
“Hurts?”
“Uh, well.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Not yet. But you’re…big.” So big. Oh my God.
Timur froze, a hand resting on Marcus’s hip. “Too much?”
“No. I don’t think. Just…” he swallowed, leaning back against Timur’s cock, “…just go slow.”
“Of course.” There was a note of caution in his tone, but some amusement too. “No rushing.”
“No rushing.” Marcus had a playful comment on the tip of his tongue, but then Timur pushed against him, and all his thoughts evaporated. Truth was, he liked it when men fucked him without much prep. Sometimes it hurt, but it was intense, and hot, and he fucking loved it.
He was a just a little intimidated by the prospect of Timur fucking him that way.
Timur pressed harder. Marcus pushed back, bracing for the barrage of sensations.
More pressure, and his vision went white for a few seconds. It had been a long time since he’d been fucked with a cock anywhere near this size—well, one that wasn’t made of glass or silicone, anyway—and intense didn’t begin to describe it. Though he’d asked Timur to go slow, he was instantly addicted to the sensation of that thick cock moving inside him, and he rocked back against him, driving Timur deeper and encouraging him to move faster.
“Not hurting?”
“Feels good.” Christ, his English was as broken as Timur’s now. “More.”
Timur gave a soft, almost sadistic laugh. Marcus gripped the comforter beneath him, searching for something to anchor himself, because he had a feeling this was going to be one hell of a ride.
Timur pushed all the way in, and he pulled Marcus’s hips against his, holding him there for a moment. He exhaled hard and ran a calloused hand up and down Marcus’s back.
“Timur.” Marcus glanced back at him. “Fuck me. Hard. Please.”
Timur said something in a language Marcus didn’t understand. It might’ve even been English. All Marcus knew was it sounded dirty, and the man kept speaking, his words somehow slurred and sharp at the same time, and he was pulling out slowly as he did. Marcus held on tighter. He knew what was coming. Thought he knew. Hoped he knew.
Timur pulled almost all the way out. His fingers twitched on Marcus’s hips.
Yes, please. Please. Please…
Timur gripped Marcus’s hips tighter, and then he thrust hard, hilting himself all the way inside Marcus, and he didn’t stop. The intensity was mind-bending, reality-shifting, and all Marcus could do was hold on for dear life and enjoy all of it—the strength, the movement, the size, and that Timur did exactly what he wanted him to do, and did it apparently by instinct alone. He’d rarely had that with a one-night stand.
This was just perfect, and Marcus gave in to it—he didn’t have much choice, but he completely gave himself up to the sensations anyway, to this stranger and what he was doing, settling down on his elbows and rocking back against Timur’s movements, groaning with every thrust to spur him on. The bed was creaking, but Timur could have been shaking it apart, and Marcus still wouldn’t have cared. The whole building could have collapsed around them, and he wouldn’t have cared.
When Timur was getting close, they were both shaking with exertion, and just then, Timur reached around to take Marcus’s cock in hand. That was way too much stimulation—he was already too close—and before Marcus could push the hand away, he was coming. Timur proved merciless—stroking him and delivering some of the most powerful thrusts yet—and then they were both coming in a shared orgasm that felt like the equivalent of a core meltdown. Way too much, all thoughts gone, nothing but pleasure, bliss, relief. Marcus collapsed on the bed, half expecting Timur to pull out and away, but Timur stayed where he was, covering him almost completely but keeping most of his weight off. He circled his hips just the tiniest bit, as if to remind Marcus of the sensations.
“Oh shit.” Marcus gasped for breath. Oddly, Timur on top felt safe, nearly protective, despite the soreness that was now definitely creeping in, even though he was no longer at full size or hardness.
“Good?”
“Very.” Marcus turned his neck and kissed Timur, their kisses now more sloppy and breathless than before. “Let me turn around?”
Now Timur pulled out, and, by the feel of it, nearly lost the condom on the way, but rescued the situation. With an exasperated growl, he caught hold of it and pulled it off, then vanished briefly into the bathroom, giving Marcus the opportunity to turn around and regard Timur’s sweat-gleaming backside. The Madonna wouldn’t mind, right?
Marcus cleaned himself up, then collapsed onto the bed just as Timur came back from the bathroom. He watched Timur ease himself into bed, and marveled at the powerful muscles beneath scarred, inked, tanned skin. Marcus’s “thing” had always been lean, ripped men, the kind with six-packs and ridiculously low body fat. Especially runners. A 26.2 sticker on the back of a car piqued his interest like nothing else—a man who could run a marathon often proved to be a beast in the bedroom.
Timur was nothing like that. He was all muscle. Big, defined muscles. Marcus had no idea if the guy could run, but he’d have bet a weekend’s worth of tips that Timur could bench-press a small vehicle. Not usually his type, but damn. How could anyone not be attracted to a man like this?
Marcus slid closer and ran his hand over Timur’s flat stomach, his fingertips brushing a thick scar.
Timur’s abs quivered under his hand. Marcus stopped, looking up at him. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing wrong.” Timur turned his head to look at Marcus. “Men usually leave after. Not…” He gestured at Marcus’s hand.
Marcus arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”
Timur met his eyes, and Marcus wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Timur actually seemed to be considering it.
He started to draw his hand back, but in a lightning-fast motion, Timur caught his wrist.
“No. Do not go.” Though it was terse, sounding like an order he might give one of his fellow soldiers, his eyes were gentle and so was his grip.
Marcus swallowed. “You want me to stay, then.”
Timur seemed to consider that for a moment. He released Marcus but kept his hand lightly on the back of his forearm. “Men haven’t stayed with me. Never stayed with them. But…” he glanced at their hands, then in Marcus’s eyes, “…you stay?”
Marcus leaned down again. He expected Timur to put up boundaries again. It was one thing to get his rocks off with a guy when
he was horny, and another entirely to hang around afterward, but Timur merely watched him attentively when he leaned down closer, and closer, and didn’t even twitch when Marcus touched his lips to Timur’s. This kiss was all tender and nice—just lips, no tongue or teeth, but Timur reached up and touched the side of Marcus’s face.
“Stay for what?” Marcus asked. “More?”
Timur grinned. “You said you want to fuck me.”
And how straight was a guy who was completely okay with that? In fact, it reminded him to get “even”. “Only fair,” Timur’d said. Marcus lay down on his side and studied Timur’s profile, until Timur turned his head and those green eyes captured most of Marcus’s attention. Meeting that gaze wasn’t unpleasant, wasn’t a challenge and didn’t make him feel queasy, as if he should say something or stop staring.
“I did.” Marcus ran his hand along Timur’s side. “You okay with that?”
Timur nodded. “You would know if not.”
Most likely. For all Timur’s gentleness, Marcus fully expected him to be very capable of defending his own ass. Not that it would be necessary. Marcus on principle didn’t do what the other guy wasn’t ready for. “You’ve done it?”
Timur paused, then nodded.
“Like it?”
Timur’s jaw muscles tensed, and he looked away briefly. Embarrassment? Shame? Or maybe he didn’t enjoy it but still bartered his ass when the payoff was getting to fuck somebody else? No answer.
“I need you to tell me.” Marcus placed a hand against Timur’s jaw and turned his head toward him. “Do you enjoy getting fucked?”
Timur drew a deep breath. Marcus glanced down and noticed the man was getting harder. “Not always. Did with Julien.”
Well. That wasn’t a tough act to live up to or anything. Not that he knew what Julien was like in bed, but he’d gathered that Chris was, to say the least, picky.
“I don’t know what he’s like,” Marcus said, leaning down to kiss him again, “but do tell me if I do anything wrong.”
“Doubt that.” Timur laughed quietly and, before Marcus could say anything, dragged him down into a longer, deeper kiss than before. Marcus let himself be pulled down completely, holding himself up on his elbows as two strong arms snaked around him. Good God, he’d been missing out with his lean runner boys. Something about being wrapped up in a man who was this much bigger and stronger than him was… Jesus. Hot.
“Now?” Timur murmured against his lips, and Marcus had to laugh because he couldn’t decide if it was a question, a suggestion or an order.
“You want it now?” he asked.
Timur guided Marcus’s hand down, and the rock-hard cock answered the question better than anything the man could’ve said. Oh yeah, he wanted it now. Ready for the third time tonight. Damn. And feeling his hard-on, not to mention the way Timur’s breath hitched at the softest touch, Marcus wanted it now too.
“You should know,” he said between kisses, “that I don’t come very fast the second time.”
“Is good.” Timur’s lips curved into a grin. “Make it longer.”
Jesus F. Christ. Marcus shivered. A quickie with Timur was intense. Drawing it out for a while?
I do have an updated will on file, don’t I? Hope so. Too late now.
“Let me get a condom.”
Those massive, strong arms suddenly released him, and it felt weird not being inside Timur’s embrace. Then again, in a minute he’d be inside Timur, so he’d get used to the idea in a hurry.
He took a condom from the pack. Beside him, Timur shifted on the bed.
“How do…” Timur’s eyes lost focus, “…how do you…” He pressed his lips together, brow furrowed as if he were struggling to find the word.
“What position?”
“Yes. Position.” His eyebrows lifted. “I’ve only…” He made a gesture as if to indicate turning around.
“From behind?”
“Yes.”
Marcus grinned. “Stay on your back.”
“On…” Timur cocked his head. “Like this?”
“Like that.” Marcus quickly rolled on the condom. Missionary wasn’t his favorite position in the world, but he did love watching a man’s face, especially the first time he’d been fucked that way. With Timur, he’d enjoy it.
Oh hell. Who was he kidding? He had a feeling that with Timur, he’d enjoy anything. He tapped Timur’s leg and indicated lifting, so Timur bent his knees, feet still on the mattress. Another encouraging tap to the inside of Timur’s knee made them open up, and then farther. Marcus opened the lube bottle and squeezed some into his hand, then closed his fingers around it to warm it. If the last guy Timur had enjoyed it with was Julien, then that was months ago, and Marcus rather decided to err on the side of caution. He shifted his own weight and reached between Timur’s legs, brushing his cock and balls as he reached farther and into Timur’s crack, then rubbed the pad of his thumb against Timur’s hole.
Timur watched his face, then lazily grabbed a pillow with his left and shoved it in place under his neck, then grabbed the headboard, stretching himself out more. The other hand ran along Marcus’s shoulder and down his arm, a caress that was part sweet, part nervous.
Marcus circled Timur’s hole and added just a bit of pressure, waking up the muscle to his presence. Timur certainly looked interested, even eager, but still relaxed, possibly just trusting.
It was when Marcus’s thumb probed a bit deeper, breaching the muscle, that Timur’s abs tightened, but it was clearly with pleasure and expectation. Marcus withdrew and again teased the ring of muscle, pushing against it, rubbing along it, then pushing through and inside. Timur gasped when Marcus slowly pushed his whole thumb in, working the lube into his body, and after a few small thrusts that made Timur arch, he hit the prostate inside.
Marcus felt Timur’s groan down in his bones, and withdrew. More lube. Two fingers gave him more of a stretch, but Timur barely seemed to notice the difference—he was coming alive to the pleasure, and his hand around the bedframe tightened until veins popped up under the skin. He let his legs fall open farther and pushed against the invasion. Marcus made sure Timur was good and slick, then withdrew again to put lube onto the condom. Just the way those green eyes were practically devouring his cock turned him on fiercely—that and this languid, sexy soldier who seemed ready for anything Marcus could give him.
And he would.
He positioned himself and guided his well-lubricated dick to Timur’s hole. He hadn’t even touched him before Timur started squirming, biting his lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Timur shook his head. “Just…too slow.”
“Too slow?” Marcus pushed Timur’s thighs wider. “I’m not even fucking you yet.”
“I know,” came the growled response. Timur didn’t say it, but the get on with it already came across loud and clear. Now this was the kind of guy Marcus could spend hours with—eager to the point of demanding.
He pressed against Timur, and when the head of his cock slipped past the well-prepped ring, both men groaned. Marcus started to withdraw, but Timur grabbed his arm, as if he just needed to hold on to something.
“More.”
“Patience.” Marcus leaned down, letting his lips brush Timur’s. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The most delicious grin flashed across Timur’s lips, damn near sending Marcus right out of his mind, and he whispered, “Won’t hurt me.”
He hooked his leg around Marcus’s hip, and since Marcus was slightly off-balance from leaning forward, Timur had no trouble pulling him forward…and all the way inside him.
For a second, they both froze. Marcus held himself up on trembling arms. Timur whispered something in another language—Russian, it had to be Russian—and kept Marcus pinned against him, one strong leg around his hips, keeping him buried to the hil
t.
“Told you.” Timur let his lips graze Marcus’s. “More.”
Marcus just moaned. He tried to move his hips enough to withdraw, but Timur kept him pinned, so he thrust against him, which was enough to draw a low groan out of Timur.
“Let me go, damn it.” The demand came out sounding more like a plea. “So I can…God, so I can fuck you.”
Timur released him, and Marcus didn’t hesitate—he withdrew and slammed back in, and was rewarded with a delirious moan.
He dropped a light kiss beneath Timur’s jaw. “Like this?”
“M-more.”
“Thought so.”
Timur wanted more, so Marcus gave him more. He fucked him hard, his own just-been-fucked body aching with the exertion, and each thrust seemed to drive Timur a little crazier. His low groans became louder, and before long, he didn’t even seem aware of anything except, Marcus assumed, the feeling of being fucked. His eyes were closed, his back arched. One hand gripped the headboard, and Marcus was sure he was going to snap it right off if he didn’t let go before he came.
His other hand found Marcus’s shoulder. Then his neck. He grabbed a handful of Marcus’s hair and hauled him down into a kiss, throwing off Marcus’s rhythm, but who the fuck cared, because his breathless, desperate kiss was unreal. So much for the third orgasm of the night taking forever—much more of this, and Marcus would come before Timur did.
Timur moaned, and as a shudder went through him, he tightened around Marcus. He swore in his native tongue, then murmured, “Too soon. Too—”
Marcus thrust all the way inside him, and stopped.
Timur’s eyes flew open. “You stopped.”
“I did.” Marcus kissed him again. “Don’t want to come too soon.” He rocked his hips just a little, just enough to make Timur shiver, and added, “You feel too good to rush.”
Timur looked genuinely surprised, but he was moving his hips a bit when Marcus moved. It was just millimeters, barely enough to adjust, barely enough to be aware of the movement, even though everything was amplified, every breath, heartbeat, drop of sweat, slide of naked skin against naked skin. Marcus felt every small muscle twitch in Timur’s body, every tiny adjustment, tension, relaxation, his pulse in the hot tightness around his cock, every movement of Timur’s legs that had the power to hold him right there and never let him get away again.
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