Happy Hump Day! Today we've got an excerpt that will take you back to your college years — who remembers cuddling up with their crush and watching a movie? Ok, maybe it's something you'd rather forget, but in Get What You Need by Jeanette Grey, geek Greg and jock Marshall test the attraction between them in a very hot way. Enjoy!
The room went dark and quiet all at once. There was just the faint glow of the still-powered-up TV, thin lines of light from the slats in the blinds. There was just silence.
Just the sound of breathing.
And that was all it took. Suddenly, although they weren’t touching, they were entirely too close. Greg could feel the static, could feel the inches between their bodies.
His swallow was an audible gulp in the quiet and the dark. He turned his neck, only to find eyes staring back at him. Marsh’s gaze was a buzz of electricity, something that had Greg lighting up from the inside out. Everything blurred except those twin points, and beneath them the curl of Marsh’s lips.
Marsh closed his eyes and shook his head. Beneath his breath, he muttered, “This is such a bad idea.”
Greg didn’t have time to ask what he was talking about, because then Marsh was opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbow, twisting and leaning forward, and putting his hand on Greg’s face. Greg sucked in a breath, all harshness and too loud in the space.
“What are you—”
It was confusion and want and disbelief, a complete short-circuiting of his brain at the first press of lips, and he froze. His hand stuttered in the air, and his eyes were wide, everything cracking. Because never, not through the month of stilted not-quite conversation, not through the sudden appearance of this man in his door or the way they’d almost touched…never had it occurred to Greg that he might not be the only one to feel this way.
Air rushed into his lungs, realization dawning, and it was too impossible a thing. But the second kiss was a question, and the answer was yes, of course it was yes, if Greg could only get it out. He scrabbled at the sheets, wanting to haul Marsh closer. But Marsh was drawing away, dragging his fingers down Greg’s cheek, breathing out a laugh that sounded like an apology, and Greg made a choked little noise. He surged forward. In a blur, he latched on to the collar of Marsh’s shirt and reeled him in, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to Marsh’s and licked the surprise from his lips.
And it was…perfect, really. Marsh tasted warm and real, a tang of hops on his tongue as he opened up and let Greg suck at his bottom lip. All the curled-up energy from lying beside Marsh leapt from Greg’s skin, electricity crackling through the wet push and pull and the grip of Marsh’s hands on Greg’s hips. Greg groaned into the kiss, because he’d been wanting this for so long, had been starved for someone to touch him and to let him touch, and Marsh was gorgeous. Was so out of his league, but he was here. Greg got his hand up under Marsh’s shirt and pressed his palm to smooth skin. Marsh’s stomach was all muscle, the trace of hair down the middle so sensitive as Marsh shuddered and pulled Greg closer. Rising up, Greg pushed Marsh back and climbed into his lap, straddling him, and maybe this was too fast, but it felt so good.
“Yeah,” Marsh said, one big hand coming up to cup Greg’s neck, holding his mouth there, and a thrill went through Greg. Being held in place like that made him harder, made him want nothing more than to rub himself off against Marsh’s thigh. Maybe, someday, Marsh would really pin him down and take him apart, put all those muscles to the task of turning Greg to liquid, but tonight he wanted something different.
He ground his hips into Marsh’s, shivering when Marsh grabbed his ass and thrust up. Heat pooled deep in Greg’s belly at the answering hardness against his own, and he wanted skin, wanted the musk of arousal and the taste of pre-come and the fullness of hot flesh in his mouth.
“Wanna suck you,” he mumbled into Marsh’s mouth, and Marsh gave a pained little grunt that seared Greg to his bones.
There was a hand on Greg’s shoulder, the one on his ass coming to rest on his hip, and both urged him down. “Yeah, that sounds so good.”
Greg scrambled, crawling down Marsh’s body and taking needy bites at him, getting damp fabric between his teeth. At his navel, Greg pushed Marsh’s shirt up to run his tongue along the ridges and dips of his abdomen, to taste the salt from his skin. Marsh’s hand pressed into the space between them, tugging at the fasteners of his pants, and Greg nosed down into the gaps, pushing fingers out of the way to part his lips around the clothed head of Marsh’s cock.
Marsh groaned and shoved at the waistband of his underwear, and Greg loved this. It had him aching and desperate, the way Marsh arched and the push at the back of his neck. The long, flushed line of Marsh’s dick, the tip slick, and the neat thatch of gold-brown hair, the scent of male wanting. Greg flicked his gaze up Marsh’s body, and his own dick throbbed inside his briefs.
Oh God. Marsh was a wet dream. His eyes were locked on Greg, his chin tilted back, and Greg loved the sharp point of his jaw, the shadow of his stubble in the dim light. His abdomen gleamed, and he wrapped a hand around himself and tilted it toward Greg’s lips.
Greg didn’t hesitate. There was the low frisson of shame, because he shouldn’t love this so much, but he did. He loved a good mouthful of cock and the way the head shoved up against his throat; he loved letting go like this. He pushed himself farther than he could take, only letting himself up when he choked, and then he bobbed, up and down. What he couldn’t fit in his mouth, he stroked with his hand. He sucked and licked, and he loved this. He ground himself into the mattress, making his lips nice and soft, slurping and working at the underside with his tongue. Marsh was all little gasping sounds, threading his fingers through Greg’s hair and whispering, “Yes,” and “Oh,” and “Like that.”
Marsh rocked up into Greg’s mouth. His thigh was tense beneath Greg’s palm, the muscles of his abdomen rigid. Greg bobbed faster, tightening his fist.
Marsh keened, fingers tugging hard at Greg’s hair, and Greg had to shut his eyes, because that felt so good. He gave his own little whine, cock kicking, balls going tight. And he wouldn’t move, he’d take it all, drink it down, and then it was pouring in. Marsh bowed off the bed as he rasped Greg’s name. Salty come slicked Greg’s throat, and he swallowed and chased every shudder, every spasm until Marsh let go. His hips sank back down, and he gave a little nudge at Greg’s shoulder that Greg ignored. He laved Marsh clean and sucked at the tip until the sounds spilling out of Marsh turned from wrung-out pleasure to the faintest lick of distress.
He let Marsh slip, softening, from his tongue and flexed his jaw as he rose up onto his knees. Holding Marsh’s gaze, he dragged the back of his wrist over his lips. They were swollen, probably looked red and used. Marsh reached for him, and he came readily, tugging at the drawstring of his sweats, and then they were pushing them down together. Marsh got a hand around Greg’s aching dick and stroked it, fast and punishing as Greg panted and fell into his mouth. It was less a kiss and more a sharing of air, more just a place to rest and connect and feel. Marsh’s other hand was on Greg’s cheek, holding him and grounding him, and Greg pressed his forehead hard against Marsh’s brow.
Pulling away, panting for breath, Marsh swiped his thumb through the slick at the tip of Greg’s cock and twisted his wrist. “Fucking loved your mouth, so filthy, you felt so—”
Greg didn’t hear the rest. He shook his head and buried his face against the hot, damp skin of Marsh’s neck as he shot across his naked hip. Shaking pleasure made his vision go blank.
And he was laughing and pulsing and convulsing, because, God, he’d needed that.
You can downalod a copy of Get What you Need available now digitally. For more steamy reads, visit our Everything Erotica page.