Page 91 of King of Hollywood

“Ten years, Marshall,” Felix said softly, like I wasn’t wrapped around his finger. “Ten years, I’ve wanted you, just like this. Sitting in my kitchen. Sharing our nights—sharing my bed.”

I didn’t know what to do with a declaration like that.

No one had ever said anything more perfect.

“I was raised differently,” Felix continued, toying with me—his grip lightening to the point of madness. I squeezed his ass, and he sighed, lashes fluttering. “Where I’m from, we wait till marriage to share what you so clearly want.”

“I’d marry you tomorrow.”

Felix laughed, startled. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Marshall—” I could tell he was about to release my cock. And I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want that. For the first time in my life, I understood the appeal of sex. I understood why people might chase this. Why they might go out in public hunting for one-night stands if this kind of pleasure was at the other end of the long, overstimulating evening. Though…once again, I was forced to face the fact that I’d never be comfortable having sex with someone other than Felix.

It was him and me. The only equation that made sense in my head.

The only reason this sort of intimacy felt comfortable at all.

I’d never had an interest in it before.

And now…I…well…

I was insatiable.

“What if you don’t know…the truth about me?” Felix asked, voice wobbling. “Because you don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” He didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand—

But…that was my fault.

That was my fault, because I hadn’t told him, had I?

I’d shown up with a hard cock and a pizza box, and expected him to know how I felt.

“I hate the world,” I told Felix, my voice shaky. “I hate going out. I hate people. I hate touching. I hate pop music. I hate Nascar, fried chicken, olives on pizza, pickles, picnics, and pastels.”

“Marshall—”

“I hate Christmas in July, buying presents, bullies, flip-flops, sand, soda, and Barry (the blockhead).” I sucked in a steadying breath. “I hate sunscreen, SPF50 specifically, those popsicles that always break before you can get them out of the bag, dogs that are brachycephalic.” Another breath. “I hate people that say good morning to strangers, hot sauce, and when my sister, Winnifred, calls me Marshall the Martian.”

I had never laid myself bare like this.

It was terrifying.

Awful, awful, awful.

But if it meant I’d get to keep Felix… If it meant he’d understand that this wasn’t only physical for me but that it was more, that it was…everything I’d never offered anyone before, perhaps, he’d say yes. Perhaps, he wouldn’t be lonely anymore if he knew that he was my supernova.

My obsession.

Steady as the stars.

“I hate so many things that I can’t possibly keep track of them all,” I said, voice quaking. “But, Felix…I…” Just do it, Marshall. You’ve already laid your heart on the line. What’s one more truth? The biggest truth. The most important truth you’ve ever hoarded. “I don’t hate you.”