Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

18: Written on Skin

18: Written on Skin

 

   Marcel had me pinned to his bed under his weight whilst he sucked the sweet spot he’d found along my collarbone, forcing me to moan with the pleasure of his touch. The fingers on his left hand grazed gently down the length of my torso just hovering over my skin so that I could still feel the warmth of his hands.

   Marcel had already undone my bra and popped open my shirt while I had just barely stripped him of his leather jacket. I started work on the white t-shirt he wore as his lips moved from my collarbone to my mouth. He ended the kiss so I could finish my job and fling his shirt to the floor.

   I let my eyes travel down his chest, noticing how much of a difference there was in muscle tone since the first time we’d slept together. He was well built before, but now, with the obvious workouts and bully beat downs, Marcel was gaining the imprints of ab muscles, and had a faint v-line. But there, just under his fairly visible v-line was where my focus was drawn because on the right side of his body peeking out from the rim of his jeans was a dark marking.

   He made no motions to try to hide something as I further investigated and inched his pants down his waist (after all, why would he? This wasn’t the first time we’d fucked). Inked there forever and always was a butterfly with sapphire wings.

   “You got a tattoo?” I asked to clarify through the bit of shock I felt. It wasn’t often a nerd would get a tattoo, no matter what charade they were putting on.

   He shrugged his shoulders in response, as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, so?” he asked in a heavy accented purr.

   I studied his marking, seeing the detail put into it. There were many shades of grey amongst the black and white used to create the lines. Where the wings didn’t show pattern, they were filled in with the deep blue. The wings were shaped not as the curves a four-year-old would draw, but like the graceful butterflies had; like an angel’s wings.

   “No offense, but it’s not very manly,” I said through a laugh, locking my eyes with his, and watching with a grin of my own as his lips curved into a dimpled smile. “Why a butterfly?” I interrogated.

   “It just means a lot to me,” he breathed. His left hand moved to caress the side of my face, whilst the fingers of his right played with strands of my hair.

   I opened my mouth to continue questioning him about his choice on what he’d scarred his body with when his lips came down on mine. Obviously, he was pressing to stop the talking and get to the sex. Already, through his pants, I could feel a forming erection.

   I worked on Marcel’s jeans, struggling as he bared my torso completely and dropped my bra and shirt to the floor. In a matter of seconds, I was bare of cover; our warm skins touching. We didn’t even kiss. Our eyes interlocked and we both grinned, caught up in the moment.

   Marcel then pressed his lips to me and my arms came up and around him. This time I didn’t need to invite him into me with a gentle pull. He knew what to do. I gasped a the shiver of pleasure he brought me by entering into me a third time and, with that first little shock and introduction of the expected adrenaline I would feel yet another time, Marcel roughly pressed his mouth onto mine and began to thrust further in.

   The euphoria hit me quickly again, speeding my heart and making the butterflies turn my stomach in a way I didn’t mind. The ecstasy of the moment had me moaning loudly until my sounds morphed into wails, then screams of his name in pleasure.

   I raked my nails down his warm, sweating back as he liked. The outlines of his muscles shone with the perspiration, glimmering with a beautiful glamour as they flexed with his movements. I moved my mouth to his shining collarbone as he worked hard enough to send the involuntary convulsions through my body and forced my muscles to shake, biting down on his sweet spot as I had last time we’d had sex.

   Soon enough my gasps and screams had raised to high levels of pitch before the last shutters came over me and I finally climaxed. I didn’t bother catching my breath yet. Marcel wasn’t finished. I brought my lips up to his shiny neck, rewarding him for the orgasm with multiple kisses upon his warm, sweating flesh. I laid there kissing and feeling his thrusts getting more and more intense and sloppier before it all ended when he came and fell next to me, panting with heavy, lusty eyes.

   His left arm went under and around me, and pulled me right next to him so that we were cuddling, my head resting on his clammy chest. I traced the fingers of my left hand over the designs on the wings of the small blue butterfly tattooed on his skin.

   “Are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asked me softly.

   At moments like these, even though we were just friends, I wanted so badly to deny any plans, but all I could say was the truth. “I promised Georgia Rose I’d hang out with her tomorrow afternoon,” I told him through my puffs, “But I’m free in the evening.”

   “That’s all I need,” he confessed to me, showing me his dimples again. At the first hint of my returned grin, he gently placed his lips upon mine for a second and, while the eye contact still held and my gaze was lost in the green of his eyes, he spoke the words which made the butterflies in my stomach viciously stir.

   “I love you, Veronica.”