Page 65 of The Butterfly Killer

Roman’s might just be his inability to control anything and everything. Predictability was his safe-haven and Marcus was shattering it piece by piece.

The death grip on his hip should have warned him he was messing with a chained wild animal. But Marcus ignored the warning signs. He latched onto the little bit of power he had and was going to make damn sure he didn’t lose it. Not willingly anyway.

He pretended he knew what he was doing when he placed both hands on Roman’s chest. He made sure to keep a cool face as he looked the man in the eyes, gauging the reaction he got with each little movement.

Roman took in a sharp breath.

“Get off me.” His words were heavily labored. While he was trying to sound angry, he only ended up sounding like he was on the verge of breaking down.

A dark seed had started to grow in the corner of Marcus’s mind. Where he would have immediately stopped before, his conscious had taken a smoke break and that dark seed was taking charge.

He slowly rolled his hips, grinding just firm enough to be a tease over Roman’s straining cock.

The hand that had been tearing at the chair’s arm detached itself and latched onto the other side of Marcus’s hip. Roman attempted to push Marcus off him, but his commitment faltered when Marcus ground down on him again, harder this time.

He wanted to say he wasn’t affected at all by what he was doing. However, it was hard to deny the arousal growing in the pit of his stomach. It was like a parasite, feeding off the guilt and the wrongness about the situation. He thought briefly how he shouldn’t be doing this, even if Roman wasn’t a good person.

But all logic went out the window when Roman stopped trying to buck him off and thrust his hips up to meet Marcus’s.

The searing heat was electric. Marcus’s mouth dropped open as he let out a moan. He squeezed his thighs, rocking his hips as Roman’s cock brushed over his own. Marcus was fully hard. There was no denying that. Not to himself and not to Roman.

“Fuuuck.” Roman’s head dropped back on the chair. He stared at the ceiling as he continued to grind into Marcus. His thrusts were becoming harder and harder until he was slamming his hips into Marcus’s at a bruising rate.

Marcus was forcefully bounced on Roman’s lap. The recliner creaked back and forth beneath their combined weight. Each hard thrust threatened to break the chair, but neither of them cared to notice.

Roman lifted his head again. He bit his bottom lip.

Marcus stared at Roman’s mouth. He started to lean forward. He wanted to bite those lips until they were cherry red.

Before he could do just that, his conscious reared its head. He lurched back hard enough that it sent the chair out of balance.

Roman grabbed Marcus’s hips, stabilizing him so both of them didn’t go sprawling out onto the floor. It was very much like the fight they’d had earlier except the heat between them hadn’t died at all. Not even when Marcus realized he was going beyond simply manipulating someone.

This was dangerous. It was an awful thing to do and he didn’t even know if he could hide behind the excuse that it would all be for his survival.

He panted as Roman pulled him back forward. There was hesitance in Roman’s touch, but he didn’t look half as afraid as he did before. Some fear lingered though Marcus didn’t know what it was exactly from because from his stand point, Roman was the one holding all the power.

The flush on Roman’s face was a painting. He looked like one of the angels that were painted over and over again in cathedrals around the world.

Marcus wasn’t a religious person, butGod, did he fucking believe right then.

Roman grabbed Marcus’s hand clutching his shirt amidst the almost fall. He pulled it upward to his mouth. There he let his lips brush over Marcus’s rough skin. There were callouses on some fingers—some from the gym, others from anxious wringing on the steering wheel.

A flare of self-consciousness had him pulling his hand away. But Roman didn’t let him.

He held Marcus’s gaze as he opened his curled fingers. He kissed the wrist first. It was delicate, barely a kiss if Marcus was judging. Roman kissed again, this time on the bottom of the palm. He trailed upward, the kisses becoming harder and harder until they turned to nips that had Marcus gasping.

His fingers twitched. Roman didn’t break eye contact. The look in his eyes both turned Marcus on and frightened him. He was frightened because he didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself from this turning into more. He didn’t know if he could draw the line between an act, simple manipulation, and reality.

Roman licked across the callouses as if to bring Marcus away from his swirling thoughts. He wished then that he’d taken more care of himself. He’d never been self-conscious about his body. He didn’t even think it was possible to be ashamed of something as normal as callouses and yet here he was, worried about what aserial killerthought.

Roman finished off by nipping his fingertips and tugging Marcus hard so he fell on his chest.

He held Marcus’s hand as he started to rock his hips again.

“Ride me,” he rasped. The command came effortlessly as if all the fear he’d showed before had all been a ruse.

Marcus’s brain melted as all his blood rushed to his dick. He frantically started grinding in rhythm with Roman, fueled by the order. His skin tingled but felt numb at the same time.

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