Cross the Line
Without wasting any more time, I gunned the engine and roared out of the garage and away from the house, towards the only person I wanted to see.
The large warehouse owned by our mate Mack provided the backdrop for what was proving to be an epic party. Smoke pumped around the cavernous interior, neon lights pulsed in time to the music, and the DJ worked the crowd into a frenzy. Out the back, we’d set up a chill-out zone—a shipping container we’d filled with seating and dim lighting, and a paint run where people tried to avoid getting hit by paint bombs as they ran through the course. Mack’s idea, rather than mine, but I’d taken the credit.
Bottle of beer dangling from my fingers, I leaned against the wall of the shipping container, my eyes on Preston as he made his way over to me with a tray of paint in his hand. We’d been in here for a while, but most of our friends had disappeared now, back in the warehouse either dancing or running around in LED masks, pelting unsuspecting people with paint bombs.
As he reached me, he leaned in close, his eyes dark in the dim lighting. “Ready for me to mark you?” He’d been decorating faces and even bodies for half the evening, smearing neon colours across skin, while I’d watched him, mesmerised, unable to tear my gaze away.
I nodded, placing my drink on the upturned crate next to me. He dipped his fingers into the paint, and then he brought his hand up to my face. Shivers raced down my body as he dragged his paint-covered fingers across my skin, slowly and surely.
Preston had an effect on me that I wasn’t even sure I understood. When I’d shown up at his house, pissed off and upset, he seemed to instinctively know how to handle me, letting me work through my fucked-up mess of emotions until I was calm. And the physical effect he had on me…there was a reason why I’d been trying not to stay too close to him this evening. I wanted him all the time.
Standing with him here right in front of me, his gaze focused as he drew careful lines across my face, the urge was becoming harder to ignore.
“Done. You look…” He paused, raking his gaze over me as I stared at him, hungry. “Like a delinquent. My delinquent.”
“Want me to do you?” Swiping my fingers through the paint he was still holding, I leaned closer to him.
“Oh, I want you to do me.” His voice was low and seductive. My dick strained against my jeans.
“I…” Licking my suddenly dry lips, I tried again. Preston’s eyes followed my movements, his body so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “Fuck it,” I muttered, wiping the paint on my jeans. “Let’s get out of here.”
He laughed as I pushed away from the wall, heading for the exit as fast as I could. “Wanna try the paint run?” he murmured low in my ear, as we exited the container. This close, it took all my willpower not to turn my head and close the gap between us, to claim him as mine.
When would I be ready to do that? I’d come out to my dad, and Preston’s parents knew; why was it so hard to do the same with my friends?
I shook the thought off for now. “The paint run? Not what I had in mind.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “I know. I know what you want.” Moving past me, he ducked around the corner of the warehouse. “This way.”
When I reached him, leaning against the warehouse wall, hidden by the corner of the container, he tugged me into him, burying his face in my shoulder, before drawing back to look at me.
My hand went to his hair, running my fingers through the soft strands and down to clasp the back of his neck. “I missed you so fucking much.” I rested my forehead against his, staring into his blue eyes. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all night.”
“I know. Me too.” He pressed his lips to mine, before drawing back.
His words sent a spike of guilt straight to my gut.
He seemed to know what I was thinking because he ran his hands up and down my back in reassuring strokes. “Hey. I’m not trying to give you a guilt trip.”
I nodded. There’d never been any pressure from him, just never-ending patience as he let me come to terms with everything in my own time. “I know. Sorry, it’s…”
“Don’t apologise.”
“I—”
He shut me up effectively by lunging at me and slamming his mouth down on mine. Everything else was forgotten as our lips collided in a bruising kiss.
Fuuuuck.
I gripped his ass, pulling his hips into me, kissing him harder, our teeth clashing as we fought for dominance. My hand went to his jeans, undoing them and yanking them down, and he reciprocated by doing the same, before grinding against me again. Through the thin barrier of our underwear, my cock rubbed against his in a way that was both hot as fuck and insanely frustrating, because all we had was this stolen moment around the back of the container.
“Kian…” Preston’s voice trailed off as I went for his neck, sucking at his warm skin. Maybe I wasn’t ready to tell people about us yet, but in the meantime, I was going to mark him as mine.
A curse fell from his lips when I dragged my teeth across his throat, and he pushed down my boxers, before shoving his own down. “Spit,” he commanded, his palm by my mouth. Then, his hands were grasping both our cocks. “Hands on the wall. Now.” He bit my jaw, his teeth scraping against my stubble, thrusting his hips towards me.
“So controlling,” I rasped, my hands going to the cold bricks either side of his head almost of their own accord. I felt the wall vibrate under my palms, the heavy bass of the music from inside the warehouse reverberating through the entire space and permeating our dark corner.
“You love it.” He left bites across my jaw, before pulling my lip between his teeth.