Breaking Point

Jake's Pov 

I woke up hard and aching, tangled in sheets that felt like sandpaper against my oversensitized skin. 

The morning light cut through the blinds in sharp lines, and I could hear movement downstairs.

My phone said 6:47 AM. Too early for Devon to be awake, which meant it was probably Marcus down there, making breakfast in God knows what and looking like temptation itself.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will away my erection, but my brain wasn't cooperating. 

All I could think about was last night – the way he'd caged me against the counter, the rough edge in his voice when he'd said fuck you, the barely controlled restraint in every word, every look, every almost-touch.

My hand drifted down under the sheets before I could stop myself. I was so hard it hurt, my cock pressing insistently against my boxers. I palmed myself through the fabric and bit back a groan.

This was insane. I was in Marcus's house, in his guest room, thinking about him while I touched myself but I couldn't stop. 

My hand slipped inside my boxers, wrapping around my length, and I had to shove my face into the pillow to muffle the sound I made.

I thought about his hands on the counter. His body crowding mine. The way he'd looked at me like he wanted to devour me but was holding himself back by a thread.

 I stroked myself faster, my hips rocking into my fist, chasing that release.

What would it feel like if those were his hands? Rough and sure and experienced.

 Would he be gentle or would he take what he wanted? Would he pin me down and make me beg for it?

I came hard into my hand, Marcus's name caught between my teeth and the pillow. 

The orgasm ripped through me in waves, leaving me gasping and shaking and even more messed up than before.

Because it wasn't enough. Jerking off to thoughts of my best friend's dad wasn't enough. I wanted the real thing. 

I wanted his hands on me, his mouth, his cock. I wanted everything, consequences be damned.

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, avoiding my reflection because I didn't want to see whatever guilt or shame was supposed to be there. But when I finally looked, all I saw was determination.

This week was going to happen. Whatever this was between Marcus and me, it was going to happen. I just had to push hard enough for him to stop fighting it.

When I got downstairs, Marcus was alone in the kitchen. He had his back to me, wearing worn jeans that hugged his ass perfectly and a faded gray t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. 

His feet were bare on the tile floor. 

Somehow more attractive than anything I'd seen yet.

He was pouring coffee, and the smell made my stomach clench with hunger, though whether for food or for him, I wasn't sure anymore.

"Morning," I said, and he tensed.

"Morning." He didn't turn around. "Coffee's fresh. Mugs are in the cabinet."

I moved closer, deliberately invading his space. "Thanks."

I reached past him for the cabinet, my chest brushing his back for just a second. He went completely still, and I heard his breath catch.

"Jake." My name was a warning.

"What?" I grabbed a mug, playing innocent. "Just getting coffee."

"You know what." He finally turned, and the look on his face sent heat straight to my groin. His eyes were dark, jaw tight, and there was something almost dangerous in the way he was looking at me. "You're playing a very risky game."

"Maybe I like risk." I poured my coffee slowly, letting him watch me. "Maybe I'm done playing it safe."

"You're going to get yourself in trouble."

"Or maybe I'm going to get exactly what I want."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist hard enough to make me gasp. The mug clattered against the counter but didn't spill. "And what is it you want, Jake? Say it."

My heart was hammering. His fingers were hot brands on my skin, his body close enough that I could see the pulse jumping in his throat. "You know what I want."

"Say. It."

"You." The word came out rough, desperate. "I want you."

His pupils dilated, his grip tightening for a second before he released me like I'd burned him. "Fuck."

He turned away, both hands bracing against the counter, his head dropped forward. I could see the tension in every line of his body, the way his shoulders rose and fell with each controlled breath.

"You can't just say things like that," he said, his voice strained. " Not when Devon could walk in any second."

"Then where?" I stepped closer again, emboldened. "When? Because you feel this too, Marcus. You admitted it last night. So when do we stop pretending?"

"We don't." He spun to face me, and there was genuine anguish in his eyes now. "This can't happen, Jake. I'm forty-three years old. You just turned eighteen. I'm Devon's father. Those aren't just obstacles, they're walls for good reasons."

"I don't care about –"

"Well I do!" His voice rose, then dropped immediately to a harsh whisper. "I care about you, which is exactly why this is so fucked up. You have your whole life ahead of you. Berkeley in the fall, opportunities, freedom. I'm not going to be the mistake you make at eighteen that haunts you for the rest of your life."

"You wouldn't be a mistake."

"You don't know that." But his eyes betrayed him, traveling down my body before snapping back up. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then show me."

The words hung in the air between us, dangerous and thrilling. Marcus's jaw clenched, and I watched him wage an internal war with himself. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but wouldn't let himself.

"Show you," he repeated, his voice low and rough. "You have no idea what showing you would mean. What I want to do to you."

Heat flooded my body. "Tell me then."

"Jake –"

"Tell me what you want to do to me." I was breathing hard now, my entire body thrumming with anticipation. "You said I was looking at you yesterday like I wanted you to fuck me. You were right. So tell me what you'd do if Devon wasn't here. If there were no consequences. Tell me."

Marcus stared at me for a long moment, something breaking in his expression. When he spoke, his voice was dark and thick with want. "I'd push you against this counter like I did last night. But this time I wouldn't stop."

My breath caught.

"I'd kiss you until you couldn't think straight. Until all you could think about was my hands on you, my mouth." His eyes were locked on mine, burning. "I'd turn you around, bend you over this counter, and show you exactly what you've been begging for with those looks, with that mouth, with every fucking word out of your lips since you got here."

I was rock hard, my jeans uncomfortably tight, my entire body screaming for him to stop talking and just do it. "Marcus –"

"I'd make you beg for it." He took one step closer, then another, until we were inches apart. "I'd tease you until you were desperate, until you were saying my name like a prayer. And then, when you couldn't take anymore, when you were shaking and pleading –"

"Morning!"

We jumped apart like we'd been electrocuted. Devon shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up, wearing boxers and a ratty t-shirt.

 He was completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the room, and the way both his father and his best friend were breathing too hard.

"Coffee," Devon mumbled, making a beeline for the pot. "Need coffee. Emma's still asleep. Why are you guys up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep," Marcus said, his voice remarkably steady considering what he'd just been saying. 

Considering what he'd just been about to – what? Finish the thought? Act on it? "Jet lag, probably."

"You didn't fly anywhere, Dad."

"Old age then."

Devon snorted and poured himself coffee. "Jake, you good? You look kind of red."

"Just hot in here," I managed. "Might go for a run or something."

"A run? Dude, we're on vacation." But Devon was already wandering toward the living room, coffee in hand. "I'm gonna play Xbox. You want in?"

"Maybe later."

As soon as Devon was gone, the air in the kitchen changed again. Marcus and I stared at each other across the space that suddenly felt too large and too small at the same time.

"That was close," I said.

"Too close." But he didn't look relieved. He looked hungry, frustrated, like Devon's interruption had made everything worse instead of better. "You need to stop pushing me, Jake. I'm serious."

"Or what?"

"Or I'm going to stop being able to control myself." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Is that what you want? For me to lose control? To cross every line that keeps this from being a disaster?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "That's exactly what I want."

Marcus closed his eyes like he was in pain. "You're going to ruin me."

"Good."