Marcus Scribner Nude Novels & Stories

he said. I covered my mouth with my hand, and the tears began to come out without stopping them; I extended my hand and took a few steps forward; without hesitation, I opened the door of the cubicle. And there he was with his pants and boxers down to his shoes, that redhead that approached us a while ago, without her dress only with her bra on, and you could see how Marcus had one hand on her ass and the other holding one of her breasts, while he held her tightly penetrating her, kissing her on the neck.

While Jax ordered more drinks, Marcus casually slipped his hand under my cover-up and pushed my bikini bottoms aside. “Stay quiet,” he whispered hotly in my ear as two thick fingers slid inside my soaked pussy. “Don’t let anyone hear what a desperate little slut you are for us.” I bit my lip hard, trying not to moan as he slowly fingered me in public. People were everywhere — laughing, swimming, sunbathing — completely unaware that my landlord’s best friend had two fingers knuckle-deep in my cunt. Jax returned with cocktails and smirked when he saw my flushed face and trembling thighs.

She hugged me tightly, asking about school and stuff as she guided me into the house, and there he was. Marcus. He was at the kitchen counter, shirtless and sweating. He was barefooted. His chest glistened with sweat, his hair rough as though he had roughly ran his hands through them. I couldn't help but drool at him. His pants were on the lower part of his waist, the perfect V disappearing under the waistband, and the clearest, fattest outline of a half - hard cock I have ever seen in my life. I quickly lifted my eyes to avoid being caught drooling, and when I did, he was staring at me. A mischievous sinful smirk on his lips as though he had caught me red handed. I gulped.

Nick groaned, holding me tight as I shook violently, sobbing through the aftershocks. Marcus kept thrusting through it, drawing it out until I was boneless, tears streaming down my cheeks from the intensity. “Good girl,” he praised, voice thick. “Look at you. Squirting like a fucking fountain. So perfect.” When it finally ebbed, I collapsed fully against Nick, trembling. My body felt wrung out, empty, utterly spent. Marcus withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean while watching me with dark eyes. “Taste yourself,” he said, offering the glistening fingers to my lips.

In my tired, wired state, I didn't even care to pull on long sleeves or cover up. I just needed cold water to drown out the dirty, desperate heat pooling between my legs. I thought the house was dead asleep, but the moment I stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, my heart slammed against my throat. Marcus was leaning against the marble island, swirling whiskey in a lowball glass. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and the sight of his bare sculpted chest in the amber light made my mouth go bone dry.

Marcus is in my bed. He is naked. Completely naked. The sheets barely pulled up over his hips, his torso exposed, exactly like in my dream. His pectorals, his flat stomach, all of it is there, real, alive, in my bed. And there are marks on his back. Scratches. My scratches. My brain takes three seconds to process the information. Three seconds during which I don't breathe. Then I let out a scream. A real one. A cry of terror, of surprise, of everything you want. A piercing scream that makes him jump violently.

Click. The door creaked open. She stepped inside. Then froze. Marcus stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, his toned muscles bathed in the dim golden light of his room. But that wasn’t what stunned her. His pants were pushed halfway down, and his hand was wrapped firmly around his huge, aroused d*ck, stroking himself slowly, rhythmically. He groaned softly, his head tilted back, eyes half-shut in pleasure. His other hand held a jar of cream and oil — he dipped his fingers and rubbed it along his length, sliding smoothly over his skin.

I said, a little breathlessly. He led me to the bedroom. Marcus followed, his eyes never leaving me. My man started to undress me, his fingers slow, deliberate. My skirt came off, then my top, my bra. I stood there, naked, my tits already hard. He pushed me gently to my knees. Marcus stood before me, his eyes dark with desire. His dick was already hard, a formidable size, thick and veined. "Get to work, slut," my man commanded, his voice rough.

As I passed the room where Marcus stayed, I noticed the door wasn't clicked shut. It was open just an inch. I shouldn't have looked. I should have kept walking. But my curiosity has always been my biggest curse. I stopped and peeped through the crack. Marcus was there. He was standing with his back to the door, shirtless. The light from the bedside lamp hit the planes of his back, revealing a map of muscle and old, jagged scars that made my heart skip a beat. He was broad, impossibly broad, his skin glowing like polished bronze. He was moving, probably reaching for a shirt, and I found myself frozen, staring at the sheer power of his frame like it was the first time I was seeing him shirtles

I watched Marcus climax inside another woman—his cousin—their sweat mingling. "Enjoying the show?" Marcus said as he finally pulled out of Eunice, standing in front of me, completely nude and sweaty. My throat tightened, a scream trapped inside. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I needed someone to snap me out of the dream, but no one did, because it wasn't a dream. "What did you just do? Tell me this was a dream, Marcus," I managed to speak with a lump in my throat. My whole body trembled, goosebumps covering me.