Breathe (His Command Book 5) Page 6

  “Unless you’re adventurous.” A grin twitched Marcus’ lips.

  Owen looked at him flatly. “Says the man without children.”

  “It won’t be that way forever.” Lucian wrapped his arms around Marcus’ neck and pressed a kiss to his jawline. “When I get my degree, we’re going to revisit having a family... but until then, I’ll have what Marcus is having.”

  “Bold.” Marcus nuzzled against his cheek. “Are you trying to impress me tonight, fledgling?”

  The only time Marshall had seen Marcus and Lucian together was at Crawford and Owen’s wedding several years ago, but it was clear from how they played off one another that not even a hint of their love had been extinguished by time.

  Love eternal. A true connection. Marshall glanced away.

  “Sterling?” Cedric asked. “Adrian?”

  “Gin and tonic for me,” Sterling said.

  “I won’t be drinking tonight, but water would be appreciated.” Adrian smiled politely at Cedric. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not drinking?” Lucian asked. He scrunched his nose. “I may have only worked the bar for a few months, but I know that’s unlike you. No vodka martinis tonight?”

  “I would, except I can’t.” Adrian made a face somewhere between mockingly disappointed and far too pleased. “We’re pregnant.”

  It was incredible how such a small statement could bring so much joy. Sterling, every bit the proud father, puffed up with happiness while Adrian leaned into him, his sly smile now more meaningful than it had been before. There was a chorus of congratulations—Marshall’s included—but Marshall found his words were hollow, even though he knew he was happy for his friends. Within the structure of his isolated world, he was safe from poisonous thoughts that made him doubt his decision. He’d been lonely his whole life, married to his work as he built his net worth and established a name for himself within the business community. Nights at The Shepherd had been his release from reality—small, impermanent bursts of raw personal greed that had sustained him when the highs of corporate life crashed into staggeringly lonely lows.

  But he wasn’t safe here.

  The facts hit Marshall squarely in the chest and refused to be silenced.

  He was dying.

  His friends were making families and forming futures, and he was dying.

  He had no one to blame but himself.

  Marshall almost laughed. How long had it been since he’d felt anything but numb? Apart from the last three months, that was, in the small window of time he’d shared with Oliver.

  “Anything for you?” Cedric asked Marshall, stirring him from his thoughts.

  “No, thank you.” The pirfenidone worked his liver hard enough. “If you insist, you can give the drink to someone else who needs it.”

  Cedric snorted. “One drink for Oli, coming right up. I’ll be sure to let him know that it’s from you. If anyone in the bar needs it, it’s him.”

  Marshall’s heart stopped. He knew that it shouldn’t have—that there were thousands of men named Oli in the city—but the hope that had ignited in his soul after seeing his friends happy made him want to believe. Want was a dangerous, toxic thing. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh. I brought a friend tonight.” Cedric gestured at the bar to the lone young man perched on the bar stool. Marshall couldn’t hear what he had to say, but he had a shot lifted as he spoke, and the way he held his body like he was the most confident and simultaneously the most pathetically sad creature in the world felt right. “He’s been having a rough time this past month. It’s been one thing after another.”

  Marshall had never seen Oliver’s face. He didn’t know anything about him other than what he’d learned through their text conversations and the shoulder-down picture messages Oliver had sent. But after everything tonight—after seeing his friends so happy with men they adored, and who adored them back...

  He had to try.

  He abandoned the booth, only vaguely cognizant that someone from the group was calling after him. The distance to the bar wasn’t enough to leave him gasping for breath, but the nervous anticipation in his chest squeezed his lungs tightly. By the time Marshall reached the young man perched on the bar stool, his heart was in his throat, and the bottom of his stomach had dropped out.

  Oli—who may very well have been his Oliver—was chatting with Clarissa with the dry enthusiasm of a man who had nothing to lose, and who knew it. The sarcastic light in his eyes kept his face animated, but dulled his vibrancy, like his emotions had been bleached by exposure to the sun over time.

  That pain.

  He wore it well, but Marshall saw it. How couldn’t he? He’d never met Oliver before, but he already knew his soul.

  There was no mistaking him.

  Oliver set the shot down on the counter and ended his conversation with Clarissa. He turned to look at Marshall, and Marshall met his eyes for the very first time. It was impossible to tell their true color in the muted light of the club, but Marshall could already tell they were perfect. The scent of him was in the air, and no matter how light and suppressed it was, Marshall smelled his heat.

  His cock twitched, and he doubled down on confidence. It was Oliver. It had to be. No one else should have smelled that good.

  Oliver’s lips parted, but no words came out. Confusion clouded his gaze and furrowed his brow.

  “I told you I would meet you soon, Oliver,” Marshall said. “I heard that you’ve been having a hard time. I’m here to make it better.”

  “Alcrest?” Oliver asked as his confusion turned to shock. His voice was so faint it barely made it through the thrum of the bass.

  It was all the confirmation Marshall needed. He lifted Oliver’s chin, tilted his head to the side, and claimed his lips in the crushing kiss that he thought would never happen.

  8

  Oli

  Alcrest.

  Oli knew it was him without knowing it, and he returned the passion of the kiss with everything he had as his heart threatened to explode from his chest.

  Alcrest.

  His mind stumbled over the name and the meaning behind it, struggling to catch up to the swelling euphoria flooding his veins and hot-wiring his body.

  Alcrest!

  What was once confined to words on a screen was now lips working his mouth and a hand on his cheek. The rewiring was jarring, but Oli refused to fight it. He’d rather be dazed than underwhelmed, and Alcrest absolutely dazzled him.

  He was more handsome than Oli ever could have imagined.

  Dark hair with the slightest hint of gray, especially around the temples. A proud nose. The kind of jaw that other men envied, and the cheekbones to support it. Rough hands. A sturdy body. And his lips? Oli never wanted to be apart from them again.

  He stumbled down from the stool, the kiss breaking momentarily. Alcrest was already winded, but Oli wasn’t far behind. What passed between them was more than common attraction—it hooked a sacred part of Oli’s soul that made him feel that all the shit he’d been through didn’t matter so much anymore. With Alcrest’s broad hand cupping his cheek, his firm chest to press against, and his strong arms to keep Oli safe, no problem was insurmountable.

  Not homelessness. Not unemployment. Not anything.

  “Alcrest,” Oli uttered, his voice almost lost to the pounding beat of the bass from the dance floor downstairs. Their lips brushed when he spoke, and he was sure Alcrest could taste the Amaretto on his lips. “F-fuck.. I thought...”

  “Nothing could keep me from you, Oliver,” Alcrest murmured back. When he spoke, the words buzzed through Oli’s lips and shot directly down his spine to his groin. The passion between them ballooned, crackling with electricity. It tightened Oli’s stomach and hollowed his bones. Just for a little while, the boundless energy it brought with it made Oli feel like he could fly.

  How had this happened? How had Alcrest found him?

  Why hadn’t he given up?

  Tears beaded in Oli’s eyes, but he blinked them
away. The how and why didn’t matter when his heart was so hung up on the who. Alcrest, the mysterious man who’d charmed him from their very first hello, was kissing him. Nothing so good had ever happened to him before.

  He had to show Alcrest what it meant to him.

  He had to make Alcrest his.

  Oli flung his arms around Alcrest’s neck and ignited the kiss once more. Alcrest gasped into his mouth, but Oli didn’t care how winded he became—the passionate energy between them was fueled by their exertion, and like a fire drawing oxygen from the room, it left Oli equally as dizzy and lightheaded as Alcrest appeared to be.

  “I want you,” Oli whispered against Alcrest’s lips through the breaks in their kiss. “So. Fucking. Bad.”

  Alcrest chuckled, and the sound of it turned Oli wild. He started the kiss all over again, this time parting Alcrest’s lips so he could lick his way into his mouth. Their tongues met, and although it had been Oli who’d forged the path forward, it was Alcrest who took the lead. His tongue guided Oli’s, and soon enough, Oli had relinquished control to him completely.

  He could have cut steel with his erection.

  Standing by the bar wasn’t going to cut it—not with the things Oli’s lizard brain was telling him to do. All their dirty conversations and racy picture messages didn’t have to be virtual anymore. Oli could beg for his knot tonight and actually get to feel it stretch his ass. Alcrest would see him come in person. And Oli? He’d seen Alcrest’s face, but now he’d get to explore Alcrest’s body, too. Every sculpted muscle. Every freckle. Every inch.

  “Come,” Oli panted as he took Alcrest’s hand. He was delighted to see that Alcrest was struggling to regain his breath, too. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Alcrest asked. The way his lips moved when he spoke was hypnotic, and Oli found he couldn’t reply. All he could do was push their lips together again and escape back into the kiss that sent sparks cascading down his spine and tightened his groin in anticipation.

  Alcrest, luckily, didn’t seem eager to know the answer. His tongue pushed into Oli’s mouth, and he claimed him all over again.

  Only vaguely aware of his surroundings, Oli tugged Alcrest across the bar floor as they kissed. On their way, Alcrest pinned him to the bar and pushed their bodies together. His fat erection brushed against Oli’s stomach, and Oli had to break the kiss to suck in a needy breath that did nothing to calm him down. The sparks inside burst into flames, and his logical mind took a vacation as his lizard brain took over in full.

  He started to fumble with Alcrest’s fly, too hot to care who saw their bodies. He’d let Alcrest prop him up on the bar and fuck him right there if that was what he wanted. It was sure as hell what Oli wanted. He’d never been so horny in his life.

  Alcrest grabbed his ass, and Oli gasped as he lifted him up and planted him on the bar counter. Their kiss broke out of necessity, but Oli didn’t miss it—not when he got to look into Alcrest’s eyes and see them clouded with total desire. Alcrest’s hands were on his belt then, tugging it open so he could get at Oli’s fly.

  They were going to fuck on the bar counter, and Alcrest would show every man in the club who Oli belonged to.

  Oli’s belt fell open. Alcrest gripped him through his pants, squeezing, and Oli bucked forward into his hand. He couldn’t reach Alcrest’s fly anymore, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The only thing he cared about was the way Alcrest was touching him and the promise of what was still to come…

  … At least, until something stiff but hollow hit the back of Oli’s skull. Oli yelped in surprise and jerked his head around. The bartender—a woman roughly his age with blonde hair—stood behind him with a hand on her hip and her eyes narrowed in frustration. There was a gossip magazine rolled up in her hand. She’d used it to swat him.

  “No sex on the bar counter,” she said sternly. “Honestly, Marshall, I’m surprised at you. I know you haven’t been here for a few years, but that’s no excuse. You know better. I expect more from you.”

  She came across as an exasperated older sister fed up with her younger siblings’ shenanigans. Oli blinked, and he was midway through composing an awkward apology when Alcrest—Marshall?—took his hand and pulled him off the counter. He tucked Oli beneath his arm, and Oli melted against his chest.

  Why the hell did he smell so good? No alpha had ever smelled quite as good as Alcrest, even when Oli was balls deep in his heat and horny as all hell.

  “Sorry, Clarissa,” Marshall said. “Got carried away.”

  “Well, go get carried away in one of the play rooms.” Clarissa gestured down the hallway at the far side of the bar. “I don’t need a closeup of you getting your dick wet.”

  Oli’s cheeks burned, but even as embarrassment ripped through him, arousal stitched him back together. He was going to make Marshall’s dick wet, wasn’t he? He was going to make it so fucking wet. The wettest. Fuck yeah, he was, and he was going to be amazing at it.

  He was going to make the most stunning man alive come. Tonight, Marshall was his.

  No one else’s.

  His.

  “Come, Oliver,” Marshall told him. He directed Oli away from the bar, and Oli followed without hesitation.

  “Do you mean like... like come come, or come come?” Oli asked. His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “Because I—”

  Marshall brought them to a sudden stop and tugged Oli into his arms. The sudden change in trajectory stopped Oli’s rambling, and he tilted his head to look up at Marshall, totally smitten.

  Marshall met his gaze. “When I want you to come, Oliver, you’ll know it.”

  In times like these, when his emotions were running high, Oli defaulted to humor, but he found he had nothing to say. He stared into Marshall’s eyes, equally as stunned as he was aroused.

  There was a quality in Marshall’s voice that stuck with him—a dark, but not unkind dominance that informed Oli that tonight was no longer of his design. When Marshall wanted him to come, he would come, if only because it was what was being demanded of him. And whatever they chose to do next, wherever they ended up, it would be Marshall calling the shots. In his capable hands, Oli had no more worries. As long as he listened, and as long as he obeyed, Marshall would make sure nothing was complicated.

  For tonight, Oli could let go.

  The realization was stunning, and it left Oli weak as a kitten. He shivered. Was this what submission was all about? Was this what made Gabriel blush when Cedric asked him to perform a simple task, and what was responsible for the abundant pride in Cedric’s eyes when Gabriel listened?

  Was it really as easy as that?

  Marshall ran his thumb across Oli’s lip, and Oli parted his teeth for him, certain that Marshall would claim his mouth. But he didn’t. Once it was done tracing from one corner to another, it fell away, and Marshall took his hand once more.

  “Tonight, you’re mine,” Marshall whispered in his ear. “The rules we’ve established? The way we play? I want to apply it now. Here. In real life.”

  BDSM wasn’t Oli’s thing. He didn’t want to be tied up from the ceiling while his nipples were clamped, and he dreaded the thought of anyone hanging weights from his balls while they stuffed his ass with a butt plug. That was what BDSM was about, wasn’t it? The whole purpose behind The Shepherd.

  Whips, chains, and torture, the men who wanted it, and the men who wanted to give it.

  But that wasn’t Marshall. Even when Marshall had been Alcrest, that wasn’t what they’d been doing. It had only been sexting, right?

  That was all it was.

  Sharing orgasms. Pining for each other. Wanting more, and more, and more...

  But the idea of being under Marshall’s thumb, and of trusting him so completely while the rest of his life went to shit... there was something in it that made Oli crave what he offered, no matter what it was.

  Marshall wanted him, and Oli didn’t care what that meant. He wanted Marshall, too.

  “Yes, Sir,” Oli wh
ispered. He’d always cringed when Gabriel said it, but now the word turned him on like nothing else. “I’d like that too, Sir.”

  Marshall’s eyes lit up, and he claimed Oli’s lips in a sweltering kiss that killed whatever doubt Oli had left. When it broke, Oli did, too.

  He was Marshall’s. He wouldn’t fight it.

  He was owned.

  “Then come with me, Oliver,” Marshall said. “It’s time you learned how much I’ve missed you.”

  9

  Marshall

  The door to the bathroom stall slammed shut behind them. It hit the metal piece that kept it from swinging too far and bounced back, and Marshall broke his kiss with Oliver to push it closed. He turned the latch to make sure it stayed shut. The thudding music from the dance floor was nothing more than buzzing in Marshall’s ear now, and he didn’t miss it. The public play rooms wouldn’t do—he needed to be alone with Oliver. Somewhere quiet and out of the way, where they wouldn’t be interrupted. The seldom-used bathrooms near the stairs to the third floor of the building would have to do.

  Oliver didn’t let Marshall step back once he’d flipped the latch—he grabbed the front of Marshall’s shirt and crushed their lips together again. Dull dots of light, like static, crept in from the corner of Marshall’s vision. Pressure built behind his eyes.

  He had no choice but to push Oliver away.

  Oliver, bright-eyed and panting, hit the recently locked stall door. His face was painted with total devotion. He was still too young to have been jaded, and too inexperienced to believe that Marshall would fail him. He may have been closing in on his thirties, but there was still childish delight in Oliver’s soul. It made Marshall as afraid to hurt that innocence as it made him crave to corrupt it.

  “Come here,” Marshall demanded. He watched as Oliver obeyed, stepping forward to close the distance between their bodies. Marshall’s lungs begged him to take it easy, but his poor, overworked heart hadn’t had enough yet. He tugged Oliver closer, his hands clenched in his shirt, and delighted as Oliver sucked in a surprised breath. “Do you know why we’re here, and not in one of the public rooms, Oliver?”