The Immaculate Marlow King
By Amanda Meuwissen
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2020 Amanda Meuwissen
ISBN 9781646565436
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
The Immaculate Marlow King
By Amanda Meuwissen
Marlow King had a secret.
He needed to get off at least once a day.
Sometimes twice.
Sometimes more.
Sometimes it got embarrassing.
He couldn’t help it! He’d had an overactive sex drive ever since he hit puberty and came into his abilities as a Storm Mage.
Everyone had some magical affinity but, for most people, it was minor. Powerful Mages were rare; Storm Mages even more so. Magic was everyday function more than grand, explosive spells all the time.
Being a Storm Mage was different and meant that Marlow could control and manifest every element that made up the known universe: water, fire, earth, wind, shadow, and light. But that same power running through his veins meant an increased metabolism, which included the most unnecessarily non-existent refractory period ever created.
He’d gone five times back to back once, and that should not be normal!
It also wasn’t nearly as awesome as people might think. When he was in the right frame of mind and wanted to get off, it was great, but if some days he couldn’t spare a few minutes for ‘private time’, his body tended to punish him—with very inopportune boners.
Nice looking man or woman walked by? He was done. Stiff wind? Stiff Marlow. Even a mannequin in a store window could get his blood pumping.
He’d heard rumors that Storm Mages were more amorous than others, but he’d never discussed it with anyone, or met another Storm Mage to confirm what level of amorous was ordinary.
He knew he could have asked a doctor, or even a specialist at the precinct where he worked as a Mage Officer, but he was long past puberty now. He couldn’t just bring it up in conversation, even to a professional. It was embarrassing!
Marlow didn’t even know what getting off felt like without the aid of magic and the ways he’d experimented over the years with different elemental assistance.
Water could be used to create lubricant when he had none, slicking his fingers to stretch himself or ease the slide of his grip over his cock.
Fire warmed his skin.
Earth allowed him to quake and add vibrations to his touch.
Wind blew cool or warm air across his skin and kept the room smelling of pleasant, heady scents that relaxed or stimulated him.
Shadow kept the room dark even at daybreak and dulled ambient noise for peace and quiet.
And light added an invigorating spark like a current of electricity dancing around and through his body.
It was so second nature now to use several if not all those abilities while pleasuring himself that most of it happened automatically the closer he got to finishing.
Marlow was addicted, trying to chase down pleasure that he longed to share with someone else.
Because his real secret was being a twenty-four-year-old virgin.
* * * *
A bolt of lightning thrown at Marlow’s feet made him leap backward. He had plenty of time to dodge, but he was still going to kill Remy for this!
Rembrandt “Remy” Parker was a fellow Mage Officer, but one with almost no natural magic. What little he possessed had to be channeled through MagiTech, marble-sized devices that could store the intended magical effect their user desired and cast it like a real spell—which meant he couldn’t hold his own in a sparring match against a powerful Mage, let alone a Storm Mage, without equipment, yet Marlow was still getting his ass kicked!
“Do you think the great Merlin relied on magic alone?” Remy taunted him, darting about the large, empty sparring room, always just out of reach. The room was nothing but plain walls, ceiling, and floor to allow for the most widespread use of spells.
“Merlin is a fairytale!” Marlow fired a lightning bolt back at him, which Remy expertly shielded. “You’re just a jackass!”
He knew Remy couldn’t have reached the same rank as him at the same young age if he wasn’t good, but that wasn’t the point. It had become common curtesy between them that they traded off who was victor since they were evenly matched. And Remy wasn’t letting him win!
The last thing Marlow needed after a crummy week was that damnable smirk.
Remy was undeniably handsome and all lean muscle, still noticeable and alluring even with his body fully covered. They didn’t wear sweats and T-shirts when they sparred; it wasn’t true to how they faced real criminals, so Remy looked like a noir detective in his all-black suit, tie, and driving gloves, though he also had an eccentric streak to his wardrobe.
Tonight, he was wearing a skirt over tightly fit trousers.
No—a kilt.
“You think the first Storm Mage was a fairytale?” Remy scoffed. “Great spirits of Avalon forgive you.”
Marlow threw up a wall of fire where Remy was headed, but Remy cast Water through his MagiTech as if he’d anticipated that move exactly. “He existed, fine. Maybe even the Morrigan, too, but if Arthur had a magical sword, then he made it out of light, not steel!”
“Purist.”
“Urg!”
They made a tapestry in contrasting monochromes as they danced around each other, since Marlow was a swath of silver and grey, and Remy’s skin was as dark as his clothing, with his short-cropped hair and practically pupil-less eyes equally black.
Marlow had always been pale to the point of actively avoiding the sun if he didn’t want to burn. His eyes were grey like his clothes, like all Storm Mages, but even at his young age, he also had grey hair. Wearing color just called more attention to his unconventional appearance. He’d never heard of a Storm Mage’s power leaking into their hair before and assumed he was just unlucky.
He was definitely unlucky tonight.
“If you’re waiting for me to run out of tech, your highness,” Remy teased, using the nickname he’d given Marlow ever since learning his last name was King, “you’re going to be disappointed. Hanna gave me a special present before we started.”
“Remy!” Marlow shouted, barely listening as he zipped forward in pursuit with a burst of wind at his heels. He only got a few feet, however, before he stumbled and had to slow down.
Remy had summoned back the piece of MagiTech he’d last used to use it again, throwing it at Marlow’s feet and causing several meters in front of him to becom
e sticky sludge. His gloves weren’t merely a fashion choice; they were magnetic, a recent invention by their MagiTech advisor, Hannigan Jager.
MagiTech was always reusable, but it was nearly impossible to get a piece back after throwing it in the field. The gloves focused on the specific metal used to create the devices and sucked them right back to their user.
“We’re at five-hundred, five-oh-one to you!” Marlow screamed. “You’re supposed to let me win!”
“Don’t recall making that promise.” Remy tilted his head at Marlow, safely across the sparring room. The MagiTech that had sludged the floor was stuck there now, but he had several others and readied the next one by rolling it in his fingers. “You’re just sour you’re off your game tonight.” He hurled the device forward, and Marlow threw up a shield of light to block whatever it unleashed—only for it to turn into an arrow at the last second and angle around the shield to graze his shoulder.
“Ah!” Marlow dropped his shield with a hiss, his canvas jacket now sporting a sizeable rip.
He backed up to gain traction, and as he sprinted forward, he summoned ice beneath his feet, allowing him to skate safely over the sludge just as Remy turned to put more distance between them.
“Oh no you don’t!” Marlow cried, catching Remy about the waist and pinning his arms to his sides. “I haven’t had a night off in weeks, Remy, weeks, and tonight you choose to be a dick? If you can’t let me blow off steam, then you shouldn’t have agreed to spar!”
“And miss our quality time?” Remy purred, wriggling in his hold.
His voice had a sultry quality to it, low and lilting, and his body felt incredibly warm pressed against Marlow.
With an unexpected shiver, Marlow glanced down Remy’s body. He looked really good in a kilt…
Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no.
Marlow had been completely honest when he said he hadn’t had a night off in weeks. Nothing major had been going on, but a steady stream of lesser Mages and common criminals still took its toll. He hadn’t gotten his metabolism-mandated ‘personal time’ with enough frequency. He could feel himself starting to react to Remy’s proximity; to Remy’s body decked out in a form-fitting suit, and a kilt of all things; to his smell.
Shit. Marlow fought over whether to just let Remy go or suck it up and ignore that he was—oh fuck, he really was.
Crime scenes! Marlow thought, conjuring up whatever negative stimuli he could think of, anything to get the blood flowing back to his brain. Calculus equations. My dad giving me a lecture. The Chief giving me a lecture. That weird crud on the treads of my rainboots. Ice cold hands.
Remy’s hands…
Well that didn’t help any.
“My, my, your highness,” Remy drawled. His body stiffened, stilled, and pressed harder against Marlow. “Someone giving you the cold shoulder lately? Or just that happy to see me?”
“I—”
A burst of ice struck Marlow’s foot before he could say anything.
Remy had dropped his palmed piece of MagiTech, coating Marlow’s entire foot in stinging, freezing ice.
He yelped and released his captive, his right foot completely frozen to the floor.
“What can I say?” Remy spun and backed away from him. “That ice skating you did inspired me.”
While Marlow tried to channel heat down his leg to melt the ice—and calling upon fire was especially difficult with blood heading elsewhere—Remy reached the wall and tapped its surface to bring up the scoreboard. It now read 4 to 10 with yet another magical hit against Marlow. First to 10 won, and below their current scores updated their overall matches.
500 to 502.
The way Remy crossed his ankles and leaned against the wall fanned the kilt all too enticingly over his thighs, and even with Marlow’s foot iced over, he had to fight to not imagine Remy standing there like that, sheened with sweat, wearing the kilt…and nothing underneath.
Damn his superhuman libido.
“Mmm, might want to take care of that.” Remy nodded at Marlow’s very apparent hard-on through his jeans. His gaze lingered—or maybe that was Marlow’s imagination, but it certainly seemed to linger with an appraising tilt of his head and bite at his lower lip.
Marlow gulped. He did not like Remy that way, no matter how gorgeous and smoldering he was. His dick was just a traitor!
“I’d offer my assistance, your highness, but I have reports to file. Why don’t you stay there a while and chill?” Remy smirked, gave an infuriating salute, and pushed from the wall to head for the exit. “‘Til next time!”
“Remy!” Marlow howled, focusing harder on summoning fire, heat, anything, but the ice barely dripped. At least the cold and further embarrassment of the situation had started to wilt his boner.
“Um, did I forget to mention I gave him the gloves?” Hannigan’s voice echoed through the sparring room speakers.
Marlow had forgotten she was there, in the control room, keeping an eye on them. Official sparring matches always had to be overseen by another officer or an advisor. Usually, Marlow was glad for her impartiality.
Tonight, he nearly cast a pit spell beneath his feet so he could hide.
“I swear I won’t put this in the report.”
“Hanna.”
“Coming!”
The control room door opened soon after, across from the exit Remy had escaped through, and out came Hannigan with a spare MagiTech device to free Marlow’s foot. By the time she’d used it to melt the ice, he’d calmed down enough to not feel exposed, but he was no less humiliated.
Like Remy, Hannigan was virtually magicless, which had turned her into a voracious consumer of all things tech, making her an ideal MagiTech expert. She was a foot shorter than Marlow, petite, ginger-haired, which was almost always tied into a messy bun of curls, with eyes reddish-brown to match, like the one spot of color in a black and white painting—if Remy hadn’t already left.
She adjusted her rounded spectacles and sighed at Marlow as he shook out his foot. “You’re going to make me log this one on my own, aren’t you?”
“Please,” Marlow begged her with as pitiful an expression as he could muster. Most of the sparring logs were done by computer, but they still printed and filed paper copies on the other side of the precinct. “Don’t make me go back into the bullpen just to see that asshole’s smirk.”
Hannigan looked like she desperately wanted to say something.
“What?”
“Nothing! I’ll do it. But, um, honest question? No judgment, I swear.”
“I do not have a thing for Remy.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that! Maybe…”
“What?”
“How long has it been since you had a date?”
The blood drained from Marlow’s face—which was easy, considering it was still mostly far away from it. “I’m going home.”
“Marlow—”
“Goodnight, Hanna. And thank you. I promise I’ll make this up to you any way you ask as long as that never comes up again.”
She snorted.
Fuck Marlow’s subconscious and double entendres.
He turned for the door, planning to head in the opposite direction of Remy to exit onto the street.
“I’m just saying!” Hannigan called after him. “If you need a setup—”
“Goodnight, Hanna!” Marlow shouted and ran away as fast as he could.
He couldn’t be set up, because he couldn’t tell anyone the truth—that not having a date wasn’t the root of the problem.
Though it didn’t help.
Marlow checked his pockets on his way out to be sure he hadn’t left any essentials at his desk, though even if he had, that wouldn’t have stopped him. He refused to face Remy again tonight. He used to enjoy having a rival. Remy was fun and challenging, even if half the time, Marlow wanted to punch him. They’d been at the academy together, always pushing each other to be better. Their one thousand plus sparring matches had started long before t
hey became actual officers.
Having Remy’s dark eyes on him, hard in his jeans, however, was not a dynamic he’d ever wanted to add to their relationship. What must Remy think? He was never going to let Marlow live this down.
Marlow decided to take the long way home to clear his head. He was fully aware he had a date with his right hand, still feeling a burning need in his gut that demanded attention, but he’d do so after walking off any lingering thoughts of Rembrandt Parker.
His fantasies were in overdrive as he ducked behind buildings, through alleyways, and along the usual haunts where midnight purse snatchers might be lurking on his way to the park that separated the bustling city from his apartment. The thing about being a virgin was that he could only imagine what someone else might feel like. Anyone, not Remy! Marlow wasn’t thinking about Remy or the way he’d cocked his hip in that kilt when he leaned against the wall.
Urg, everything had been so much easier before Marlow came into his powers. It had been easier in the beginning simply because of his age. He could ignore it then—for a time. But now, whenever he got hot, which was far too often, he had to do something about it or lose his mind.
Or get a hard-on while pressed up against his nemesis, apparently.
Once he got off tonight, he’d feel better, but while magic could enhance so much of the experience, it could never replace what he really craved.
He just wished he had time to pursue someone. It had been the same story all through school and at the academy to become a Mage Officer. So much more was expected of a Storm Mage. He couldn’t slow down and had rushed his way through two degrees before choosing law enforcement. Simply put, he hadn’t had time for romance, let alone an active sex life.
It was too difficult being a Storm Mage and Marlow King.
Then there was Remy, who’d done everything Marlow had and more—without real magic.
He sighed. Maybe a romp with some stranger, with someone less weighty in his life than a friend or significant other, would be better, so he could stop thinking about losing his virginity as being a bigger deal than it had to be.
When he finally reached the park, he stopped at a bench to rest, enjoying the view and the stillness since it was blessedly quiet this time of night and—huh, not empty.
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