The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 18

18

Marcus couldn’t do it.

The pressure of his life being at stake couldn’t even make him fold. His stubbornness usually worked in his favor, but this time, no amount of scare tactics could make him drop to his knees—figuratively and literally. As much as he wanted to be free of Roman, he didn’t have the guts to let the man do that to him.

The awkwardness had settled in far before they stopped dancing. Marcus’s face was aflame as he stepped away. Roman seemed reluctant to let him go, his hands lingering on Marcus’s waist as he moved away from him. The silence was more deafening when Marcus wasn’t trying to pretend they were in a club.

The whole idea had been idiotic. It was just another ploy to get Marcus to trust Roman. He hated to admit that his guard had lowered since they started dancing. Something about it had made him feel safe even if it was a false feeling. He chalked it up to being starved to get out of this cabin and for human touch. It seemed he didn’t care where it came from. As long as he wasn’t alone.

Marcus turned away, quivering hand on his mouth as he tried to rationalize what he was doing. Seduction? Did he really think it would work? Did he think someone as intelligent as Roman would fall for something like that? He was a man without any feelings. He’d play with Marcus before chucking him to the side without a second thought.

He flinched as he heard Roman walking away. He turned around to find the man sitting in the recliner. He gazed lazily at Marcus as if nothing had happened. Of course. This didn’t mean much of anything to him. It was all a game before he got what he wanted from Marcus. Which Marcus still didn’t know.

Roman touched the left side of his chest. He frowned.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

The question was out of Marcus’s mouth before he could think twice. It had been bothering him since the first time Roman had done it—reaching for something that was no longer there and making that face.

Roman pulled his hand away and feigned innocence. “Keep doing what?”

Marcus fully turned and gestured. “You keep reaching for something and when you realize it’s no longer there, you make a face like you smell shit.”

Roman snorted. “I do not.”

Even though he was denying it, he looked away as if Marcus was going to call his bluff again. His eyes searched the books on the shelf meaninglessly.

Marcus swallowed his pride. He took one step and then another. His hand grabbed the arm of the recliner, fingers lightly braced on the worn fabric for a second before he swung his leg over Roman’s lap.

Roman jerked upright. “What are you doing?”

His hand grabbed Marcus’s waist, but unlike it had been when they were dancing, he seemed afraid to touch Marcus.

It was that hesitance that gave Marcus the willpower to fully seat himself on top of Roman. He was extremely uncomfortable. His skin was aflame from head to toe. His heart was beating so fast he was having trouble breathing.

But it all seemed worth it to see the look upon Roman’s face.

Marcus played coy.

“What do you mean?” He mocked Roman’s words back at him, cocking his head. The forced innocence made him feel dirty on the inside, but there was a sick thrill he got by throwing Roman off.

The cocky bastard had been able to derail Marcus’s life without barely lifting a finger. It was only fair that Marcus dish out the same.

Roman pressed his back hard into the recliner. His neck was straining so hard it looked like he was about to pop a vein. He was definitely going to have a kink in it later. His hand clenched Marcus’s waist, attempting to push him off. Marcus was sure he was strong enough to do it. Marcus might have been over two-hundred pounds, but Roman had some height on him—it wouldn’t be a question who’d win in the end.

But as much as Roman probably wanted to throw Marcus off, he looked like he didn’t want to touch Marcus as much as possible. Which completely went against everything that had taken place during their “dance”.

Roman’s left hand clawed at the recliner’s armrest. His nails turned white with how much he gripped it. Marcus glanced down at that clenched hand, then the one on his waist, then at Roman’s flushed face. It wasn’t just flushed—he was sweating . He was reacting like Marcus was about to interrogate him.

Marcus relished in the domination. He would worry about how wrong it was later when he was away from this psycho. For now, he delved deeper into the persona he was creating just for this.

His thighs tightened on Roman’s hips. With a slight upward thrust, he fully seated himself on Roman’s crotch. The little movement drawled a noise from Roman that got stuck in the back of his throat. He tried to disappear further into the chair.

Marcus understood why when he felt the unmistakeable hardness pressed just under his balls.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. If he was being honest, it didn’t. Roman’s offer still lingered in the back of his mind. The way he said it made it obvious it wasn’t a hang up for him. It would be another layer in the game, another box to tick off at the end of the way.

However, the way Roman was practically quivering beneath him told a different story. Maybe when the roles were reversed—Marcus taking the lead—the man lost his confidence. Every killer had an inadequacy they were trying to disprove. It was the foundation for what they based their whole life around.

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, but God , 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 a serial killer thought.

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.

Their pants harmonized as they worked together to reach a high that could only come about between two people. Marcus clutched at Roman’s chest and then at the man’s neck. He palmed his throat as he tilted his head down, still thinking of Roman’s mouth, his tongue, and his teeth on his skin. Their eyes never broke contact even though Marcus was embarrassed to be watched as he was coming undone.

There was no denying it. He was wrecked. His mind was aflutter and there was no logic to be found. There was no game and there was manipulation as he chased after a high he’d only gotten from one-night stands that seemed even lackluster to the simple act of grinding.

He shoved all those thoughts away as he rolled his hips one last time and stuttered to a stop. His thighs clenched the hardest they ever had as he threw his head back. He squeezed his eyes closed as he moaned and fell into the black abyss of pleasure.

Roman growled loudly as he bucked his hips hard into Marcus’s. As Marcus relished in his climax, Roman pulled him down, smothering his face into Roman’s neck and scent. His mouth opened and he sucked on the sweat covered flesh. His hips twitched again, seeking pleasure that had turned painful but still made him ache for more.

Roman moaned as Marcus sucked on his neck. With one hand on Marcus’s head, keeping him pressed to his neck, his other grabbed Marcus’s ass and pressed him harder to him. He came, grunting as his hips kept grinding.

Marcus shuddered. He felt everything all at once. An overload of sensations washed over him. His mind was overridden with it all, but as much as it was overwhelming, he wanted it to continue. All these sensations combined culminated into his mind going blank. It was the first time in a long time that his mind shut off. He was swimming in black space.

He didn’t know how much he longed for peace until he had it.

He slumped on top of Roman. He didn’t care if he was crushing the man or if he should be running right about now. He didn’t even care when Roman wrapped his arms around him. Roman’s touch was what he needed while he floated in this feeling. He’d forgotten how nice it was to cuddle.

Their breaths settled to something normal. Marcus could hear Roman’s heartbeat. It had been racing when they’d first finished. Now it was a steady rhythm lulling Marcus to sleep.

He was just about to when Roman shifted.

Marcus started to get up, thinking this was where their “bonding” ended, but Roman held him.

“Stay.”

The words could have been taken as an order, but it was gently said, which made Marcus believe it was more akin to a request.

He met Roman’s eyes. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. He was more so curious. He was starting to realize that everything Roman did was more so a curiosity to him than anything else. It was like being around a cat. Their behavior was fun to watch and you were expected to be ignored. No bit of training could work on them.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes that they looked at each other, but to Marcus it felt like a lifetime.

He closed his eyes when it became too much. His heart started to speed up and after coming so hard—harder than he had in his whole life—he needed some rest.

He blocked everything out except this simple moment. The rise and fall of Roman’s chest, his big warm hands holding Marcus, and the feel of his body against Marcus’s. It took him time to fall asleep, but he was glad. He wanted to bask in this moment before it disappeared like smoke.

Because when it all cleared, Marcus would have to come to terms with what he’d done.

The reckoning came faster than Marcus had hoped.

He was wide-awake when he woke. There was no delay in his memory. He knew exactly what had happened and the potential mistake he’d made crystal clear even before he opened his eyes.

Still, even though his stomach tightened with guilt, he was disappointed to not find himself still in Roman’s arms or even curled in the recliner.

Roman had moved him to the bed. He wasn’t with him.

Roman’s silhouette moved from behind the curtain, illuminated by the lamp he used, the only light in the otherwise dark cabin.

Marcus felt only a little upset that he’d been abandoned for some hobby. He shook his head at how absurd he was being. They weren’t a couple. They weren’t even a one-night stand.

Clearly, he was getting too close to the persona he’d put on last night.

Was it last night? Or was it just a couple hours later?

He tried to come up with a clear timeline as he studied Roman from the other side of the curtain. A moment passed as he was sucked in his thoughts. The warmth of the bed didn’t feel right. It was foreign not because it wasn’t his actual bed but because he was remembering how it had felt to lay against Roman.

He ignored that feeling as he pulled the covers away. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at the small bed. He vaguely remembered waking for a brief moment. He thought Roman might have been laying with him in the bed. He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know if it would be more concerning if he’d imagined it or if it had actually happened.

He shook his head once more, trying to jostle those thoughts out of his head, but they were stuck like leeches.

The coldness of the room prickled his skin. He lowered his feet to the floor and hissed as it felt like he was stepping onto ice.

His eyes flickered to Roman’s form, but the man was focused on whatever he was working on.

Marcus pushed himself up. Slowly and as quietly as possible, he tip-toed to the curtain. His hand hovered over the opening for a moment as he ran through all the scenarios that could happen. What was supposed to help his anxiety only made it worse.

Fuck it.

He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back.