She Won't Fuck Me? Okay, He will(2)

~Two days later~

Marcus and his wife came over for dinner. She loved Sarah's company. After dinner, my wife and Marcus’s wife kissed us both on the cheek after dinner, claimed a headache, and disappeared upstairs murmuring “Don’t stay up too late, boys.” The guest room door clicked shut behind her, and suddenly it was just the two of us again.

Marcus sprawled on the couch like he owned it,as always. One arm was draped along the back, his legs spread wide in those gray sweatpants that did criminal things to the outline of his cock. He’d always been big. He had broad shoulders, thick thighs from years of rugby. But tonight, with the wine buzzing in my veins and the silence pressing in, every inch of him felt dangerous and forbidden. I see all of his features almost all the time but tonight,he looked hotter.

I sat in the armchair opposite, pretending to scroll on my phone, but my eyes kept drifting. To the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck. To the way his T-shirt stretched across his chest when he breathed and finally to the faint stubble along his jaw that I suddenly, desperately, wanted to feel scraping my skin.

He caught me looking. Of course he did.

“You good, Theo?” His voice was low, amused, the same voice that used to tease me in college about stealing his beers. Only now it vibrated straight through my gut and settled heavy in my balls.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just… tired.”

He hummed, took a slow sip from his glass, eyes never leaving mine. Then he shifted, stretching those long legs out until one bare foot nudged my ankle. Not accidental and fuck, the contact burned.

We talked about work, the kids, some bullshit N*****x show…but the air thickened with every minute. My pulse thudded in my ears. I kept imagining what it would feel like if he closed the distance. If he put that big hand on me. If he finally said out loud what I’d been jerking off to in secret for years. The contact from two days ago hasn't disappeared completely.

He set his glass down. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re good? You look… tense.”

I laughed. “I’m fine.”

Marcus didn’t smile back. He just looked at me, then slowly moved to the couch cushion right beside my chair. He was close enough that I could smell him. His hand dropped to my thigh.

Fuck.

The touch was light at first, just his palm resting there, heat bleeding through the denim. My breath caught so hard I swear he heard it. He didn’t move, nor did he speak, he just let his thumb trace a small, maddening circle high on my inner thigh dangerously close to where my cock was already swelling, straining against my zipper.

I should have stopped him and reminded him that our wives were asleep upstairs with the kids. Instead I sat frozen, every nerve screaming for more.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” he murmured. “Thought maybe you needed something.”

My mouth went dry. “Marcus…”

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His fingers flexed, sliding an inch higher. “But I don’t think you want that.”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn't think. All the blood in my body had rushed south, leaving me dizzy and aching.

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear. “I know what you look like when you’re turned on, Theo. I’ve seen it enough times across a locker room. But I never got to do anything about it.” His hand squeezed, possessive. “Until now.”

A helpless sound escaped me. It was a half groan and a half whimper. My hips shifted without permission, chasing the pressure.

Marcus chuckled, dark and filthy. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

His thumb brushed the ridge of my cock through my jeans, and I jerked like I’d been shocked. “Fuck—”

“Shh.” He glanced toward the stairs, then back at me, eyes glittering. “You want my hand on your bare dick, don’t you? You want me to stroke you slowly while you try not to moan too loud and wake her up.”

I was panting now, chest heaving. “We can’t…”

“We already are.” He popped the button of my jeans, eased the zipper down tooth by tooth. The sound was obscene in the quiet room. Cool air hit my skin as he pushed inside my boxers and wrapped his big, calloused hand around my leaking cock.

The first stroke was slow, twisting over the head to spread the pre-cum down my shaft. My head fell back against the chair, eyes squeezing shut. I swallowed the moan that was about to slip out from my throat.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Fucking gorgeous. Always wondered how you’d feel in my fist and damn you feel hot and thick. Theo's dripping for me already.” he whispered.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out as he pumped me again, tighter this time, thumb pressing under the crown just the way I liked—no, better than I’d ever managed alone. Every filthy fantasy I’d buried for fifteen years crashed over me at once.

“Tell me,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me you’ve thought about this. About me jerking you off. About my mouth and my magnificent cock.”

I couldn’t lie anymore. “Yes,” I gasped. “Fuck, yes. All the time. Every time I saw you. Every time you hugged me goodbye and I felt you against me—God, Marcus, I’ve wanted you to fuck me for years.”

His hand stuttered, his grip tightened until it almost hurt. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Fuck, Theo.”

He stroked faster and relentlessly, the wet sound of my pre-cum loud in the silence. My balls drew up tight, orgasm already coiling hot and urgent at the base of my spine.

But then, panic sliced through the haze. My wife upstairs, the ring on my finger, the life we’d built. This was wrong and insane. We couldn’t.

I grabbed his wrist, stilling him. “Wait. Stop…we can’t do this.”

Marcus froze, eyes searching mine. His cock was tenting his sweats obscenely, a dark spot blooming at the tip, but he let go immediately.

“You sure?” he asked, voice strained.

I wasn’t, not even close. But the guilt hit harder than the lust for one brutal second. I stood on shaky legs, tucking myself back in with trembling fingers. “I… I need to think.”