Get What You Need (6 page)

“Didn’t think that would happen again.” Marsh’s voice was low, his gaze down.

Greg’s head was still a jumble. “Of course it did,” he mumbled, reaching, wanting to touch some part of Marsh.

Marsh shook his head and hopped over Greg’s leg to sprawl out on his back at Greg’s side. He ran a hand through his hair, breath still coming fast although the laughter had subsided. Turning his head to look at Greg, he asked, “So is this a thing now?”

The question was simple enough, but there was a little twitch to Marsh’s eye. As if he didn’t realize how sure a thing Greg was—how sure a thing Greg had been from the instant Marsh had first leaned over and kissed him.

Greg hesitated. The chance to keep doing this was so tempting. Greg didn’t have time for a real relationship right now. Other men had given up on him in the past because he was so damn busy with all of his work. But he’d been losing his mind without anything to distract him, without any relief and without contact. Without Marsh lying beside him and making him feel easy and loose when usually he was so tightly wound.

Greg needed the outlet. The sex was amazing, the company just as good, and Marsh was so beautiful.

And there lay the problem. Marsh was beautiful, and fun, and popular. Greg couldn’t possibly keep up with everything else Marsh had in his life, and he knew himself. His chances of staying detached over the long term were somewhere between slim and none.

Could he really turn this down, though? If he got attached—
when
he got attached, he could deal with it then. Maybe Marsh would laugh for real, but Greg would get the chance to touch and be touched until then, and when his feelings did change, he’d be able to walk away before things got too messy. He’d get to have this for now.

Greg blew out a long breath and turned his gaze toward the ceiling. “Do you want it to be a thing?”

Marsh shrugged. “I could do a thing.”

That should have been enough of an agreement. Only Greg had to know. Twisting his neck around, he edged his hand toward Marsh. Bumped the back of his knuckles against his thigh. “Casual, right?”

“Sure.” Marsh’s eyes pinched.

Greg could do casual. “Okay.” The words were hardly shaky at all.

“Okay.” The grin that lit Marsh’s face thrummed all the way through Greg, better than the afterglow. Brighter than the sun. Marsh rolled to the side and lifted his arm, like he was going to throw it over Greg’s chest.

And Greg could go for that. The sex was so much of what he missed about trying to do the relationship thing, but he missed the affection and the talking and the other, simpler touches. He missed holding and being held. His hand twitched at his side.

Marsh dropped his arm. He shook his head, and another little snicker left his lips. In a sharp, abrupt motion, he rolled to seated. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes for a second, then he stood and strolled over to his closet.

Greg’s vision narrowed to the twin globes of Marsh’s ass and the long line of his spine. Damn, his shoulders were broad.

And, shit, Marsh was talking to him. Greg snapped his gaze up to Marsh’s face. His eyebrows were cocked, his mouth twisted in a smirk.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Marsh stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and Greg just about lost the power of speech all over again, knowing there wasn’t any underwear underneath Marsh’s sweats. Did Marsh do that often? Greg would never be able to concentrate again, wondering.

Then again, this was a thing now. He didn’t have to wonder. Any time he wasn’t certain, he could ask to see something in Marsh’s room. If nobody was looking, he could slide a hand beneath the waistband of those pants.

But Greg was getting distracted again. With a little groan, he got his arms braced and levered himself up. For a few seconds, he sat there on Marsh’s floor, watching all that gorgeous skin disappear beneath a T-shirt. Pity.

Oh, well. One hunger satisfied, Greg’s stomach gave another growl. Sighing, he rose the rest of the way to standing. “I’m going to go try to find some food.” He hesitated, but then asked, “You want anything? I think there’s some sweet and sour chicken left from last night.”

Crap, maybe he had it bad already, if he was offering to share.

Marsh shook his head. “Nah. Meeting the team for pizza before weight training.”

Right. “Okay,” Greg said, as if he wasn’t irrationally disappointed by that. It was probably for the best anyway. Two guys who were just fucking didn’t need to hang out. “So I guess I’ll…”

“…see you around,” Marsh finished for him. He was standing in front of his closet still, half-turned toward Greg.

And guys who were just fucking didn’t necessarily touch or interact once their clothes were back on, but Greg couldn’t resist. He took the couple of steps over to where Marsh was standing. He transcribed his movements, waiting for the brush-off, but it didn’t come. Damn it, what did he have to be scared of?

Channeling all the attitude that had let him proposition a half-naked Marsh in the hall, and pin him against the wall, and lick him out, Greg put a hand to the side of Marsh’s face.

It was a quick kiss. Light and chaste, without any tongue or anything at all, but it still lit a fire in Greg’s chest. A fire that didn’t have anything to do with sex, and he was going to be in
so much trouble
.

But Marsh was smiling as Greg pulled away. “Catch you later.”

“Yeah.” Greg dropped his hand.

Then he walked away without looking back.

Chapter Four

“Hey! Sulkowski!”

Marsh whipped his head around, scanning the crowd until— He nodded at Ben over the sea of heads. It was a wonder he’d heard him at all over the noise, but Ben always did have a set of lungs on him. Taking a good slug off his beer so he wouldn’t spill it, Marsh turned away from the keg set up in the corner and started across the room.

The Delta Upsilon guys had really outdone themselves this year. Their parties were never lacking, but from the looks of it, they’d gotten every undergrad with two legs and two tits to come this year.

One of said pairs of tits brushed up against him as he pressed forward. Marsh paused, looking over. Very nice. He glanced higher to find the rack also had some serious come-hither eyes, and he smirked out of instinct as he did another quick up-and-down. But it was an idle appreciation. Two years ago—hell, two
weeks
ago, that kind of thing would have done it for him, but tonight his interest was lukewarm.

Because it wasn’t exactly horniness driving him tonight. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was itching under his skin, making him restless and uptight. He gave Cute, Blonde and Perky a wink, then tilted his head toward the other side of the room, communicating as best he could over the crush that he had to keep moving. It was a brush-off, but not a personal one.

Not like the one he felt like he got every time he’d finished letting Greg come down his throat.

And he really didn’t need to be thinking about that right now. Yeah, maybe he could appease the itchy feeling in his palms with a quick suck-and-duck up in Greg’s room, but he’d already given that a couple of goes since he and Greg had decided to make whatever they were doing a regular thing. It had made him feel better, but only for a little while. Every time, after, he’d been left just as twitchy, just as wanting for something more. So, yeah. Not something he wanted to revisit tonight.

No, tonight he was here, at a party with half the campus, and the better-looking half, at that. His too-smart housemates and his frustratingly perfect fuckbuddy were far away. Out of sight and out of mind, and there were a lot of other distractions here to push it all even further still. Mind made up, he weaved around another tight cluster of kids.

It was a little less crowded over on the other side of the room where Ben and the other guys from the team were set up. As soon as Marsh got close, Ben held out a hand, and they clasped, pulling each other in for just a second. Ben clapped Marsh on the back before letting go.

“Glad you could make it, man.” Ben held out a silver flask, and Marsh took it and downed a swig. Nice and smooth. Ben always brought the good stuff.

Marsh passed the flask back and wiped his mouth with his wrist. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He exchanged similar greetings with the other guys, but before he could get pulled into whatever they were talking about, Ben grabbed his attention again. Ben was leaning against the wall as he quirked an eyebrow up. “So, what’s this I hear about you living over on the west side this year?”

Oh. Right. A knot formed in Marsh’s stomach, and suddenly he remembered why he’d been a little scarce at team social things for the past month. He covered up his discomfort with a one-shouldered shrug as he took a pull from his beer. Christ, that tasted like piss after Ben’s bourbon. “Just how it worked out.”

“Is that right?” Ben’s skepticism was clear.

Marsh gave another shrug. “More or less.”

Who knew what Ben had heard about the whole situation. Chances were, the other guys involved hadn’t painted Marsh in the best of lights. They still thought he’d screwed them over, after all.

From Marsh’s point of view, though, it had been exactly the opposite. He’d been excited as hell when the other guys from the team had invited him to go in on an apartment with them last spring. Told them how much he could swing and what he was looking for in terms of space. Figuring it was all in good hands, he’d gone off to do his training camp thing over the summer, leaving them to sort out the details. Come fall, he’d headed back into town only to discover the place they’d picked had been about double what he could afford, after everything had changed.

And that didn’t stick in his craw. Not at all. He downed some more beer to try to wash down the bitterness that was even sharper than whatever crap they were serving at this thing, striving all the while for the casual nonchalance that had always carried him through.

Whatever problems he was having with his housemates and his team both now, he’d been damn lucky the geek squad had put that ad up on Craigslist. Even the room he was letting from them was at the edge of what he could swing with his budget the way it was, but he was managing.

And he didn’t need to take any shit for it.

Before Ben could ask any follow-up questions, Marsh caught the eye of the girl from before. She was looking at him like he was something to eat. Like he was exactly what she wanted, and like he wasn’t lacking, and yeah. Forget two years ago or two weeks ago. He could go for that.

“Excuse me.” Marsh downed what little was left of his beer and shoved the empty cup at Ben as he stalked away. The girl’s sly smile was a full-on sultry grin now. When he was just a few feet away from her, he keyed in on the music playing, matching his stride to it. He stopped way too close to her, right in her space. She was dancing, and her tits were perfect even if she wasn’t what he really wanted. It was probably just as well, because at least he wouldn’t have to feel like shit when
she
hightailed it out of there as soon as they were done.

Moving his hips in time with hers, he leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear and asked, “What’s your name?”

“You gonna remember it tomorrow?”

“Depends. Don’t you want me to scream it tonight?”

“Just call me ‘baby’,” she murmured, and her mouth was hot and wet against his throat. She danced in closer, pressing the tight-wrapped denim of her thigh against his dick. He wasn’t hard, but that was fine. He would be soon enough.

“Wanna get out of here, baby?”

She pulled back long enough to catch his eye, and then her mouth was on his. She tasted like lipstick and blueberry punch, and it was awful, but when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairs, he followed.

Up the stairs and past the pile of people smoking in the loft and down the hall. She must have known someone, because she slipped a key into a lock and opened a door.

She didn’t turn on the lights and neither did he. He slept with girls from time to time. They did it for him well enough, but as he ran his hands over her curves, he was thinking about sharper angles. About stubble and dick and thrusting hard into a nice, tight ass. Or giving in. Opening his legs for it and letting someone take him.

Just like Greg had promised, right after he’d given Marsh the rimming of his life. Marsh groaned into a different mouth, and in his head he was up against the wall, hands braced on plaster, soft tongue loosening him up while he bucked forward into Greg’s fist, drowning in all his filthy talk about how next time he’d open Marsh up and fuck him.

That was all Marsh needed. In the span of a breath he went dizzyingly, achingly hard, and he whirled Whatshername around to press her into a wall, because that was what he really wanted.

He wanted to go back in time and make Greg take it, but that wasn’t what their non-relationship was about.

Self-loathing burned his throat. Oh, no. His and Greg’s thing, it was about getting off and getting back to their rooms, and Marsh was just a stop-gap. Greg hadn’t said it, but Marsh could tell. Greg was the guy who was looking for forever, and Marsh was for just right now, and that was fine. Even if he wished…

Even if he wished someone wanted to keep him.

Tiny hands palmed his ass, big breasts pushed up against his chest, and fuck, this girl didn’t want him either. Not really. Marsh bit down on her lip and tried to blank it all out, but he couldn’t. He gave one more rough push against the wrong-shaped hips, and actually growled in frustration.