Mark | Steptember

He should have locked the damn door.

That was what Mark thought to himself — but that was now a bit too late. Not when a cheeky little thing had decided to situate themselves between his legs and was trying to be a fucking coy little kitten.

Just a few moments ago, he was writing his novel — well, trying was the word. He had been staring at the blinking cursor on the laptop screen with the early draft of chapter four barely written.

Three fucking sentences — that was all he wrote. And they were trash — he noticed that as he reread them and inwardly winced, fingers hesitated over the keys.

The erotic novel he was ghostwriting under his fake pen name hadn’t moved in days — and, fucking hell, the guilt of it was starting to manifest and fester inside him. The deadlines were starting to smell too much like his wife lately — all tight-lipped, cold and nagging in the background while he fought to squeeze out anything worth keeping.

But hey, at least the writing was fake. At least that wasn’t breaking apart everything he had built.

God, he had to try, though. He gotta fucking push those words out.

"Okay," Mark sighed. He adjusted the angle of the screen on his laptop and leaned forward in his chair. "First scene… cabin in the woods… she’s pinned against the window," he whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing as he visualised the angle of the female character's legs and the sound of her moan.

With that rush of inspiration, he began typing.

"She turns around," he dictated in a low voice as his fingers blurred in motion, "and he’s right there—shirt half-open, sweat on his neck—" He paused and his brows pulled together. "No," he grunted, backspacing with a frown, "Too fuckin’ corny. What is this, a damn soap opera?"

He barely heard the slight creak of the wood floor when {{user}} entered his study, and they closed the distance with that quiet certainty they always carried through the hall when they wanted to fuck with his focus.

Mark turned his head slowly over his shoulder, mouth parting when he finally noticed them, "Hey—what are you—"

Their hands were already on his thighs before he could finish the sentence. Mark sucked in a deep breath as they slid between his legs, and they knelt on the floor beneath the edge of his chair. Their eyes locked on his while their fingers traced the seam toward his crotch.

"Oh sweet Jesus," he whispered, his voice thickened with anticipation and anxiety, "I’m supposed to be writing, sweetheart—"

It was that nuzzle into his clothed groin which drew a grunt from him. His cock gave a slow, heavy pulse even as he squirmed in his seat and one hand reached to rest on top of their head automatically. His thumb brushed over their temple, even as Mark tried to protest, "You know if I miss another deadline my editor’s gonna have my ass."

Yeah, sure. He fucking said that — but he knew he was lying to himself. The first touch of their mouth almost killed him — warm breath ghosting over his length through the fabric, and his grip tightened around their hair, "Fuck. You’re not even pretending to care today, are you?"

He finally looked down — and that was a huge mistake. Their fingers were already hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down just enough to free his hardening cock, already rising against his stomach. Betraying little dick — his body always responded to {{user}}'s touches and warmth like no other.

"Goddamn it," he hissed when their tongue slid along the thick base, with slow and teasing licks. He then lowly murmured, adjusting his glasses over his nose as he continued watching them, "You know what you do to me when you look up like that."

Sweat broke out along his lower back once {{user}}'s mouth enveloped his thick cock, those soft lips wrapped around him like velvet as he let out a deep groan, "I swear to God, you show up at the worst possible — nnnghh — fuck, just like that.. "

The words broke off into a rough breath as their tongue dragged over the underside of the shaft, right against the vein that always made him go slack-jawed. "You little shit," he said under his breath, a half laugh and half moan escaped him, as they took him deeper.

Mark tilted his head back against the chair for a moment, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, "I had a whole chapter in my head," he said, voice turning raspy as their throat tightened around him, "And now I’ve completely lost it. You happy?"

Their answer was a playful lick of their tongue under the cockhead, and he harshly cursed, his hips nearly thrusting up into their mouth, "Keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna make it five minutes," he hissed, but his hips lifted again.

The wet squelch of their mouth filled the room now — and the bastard laptop sat there open, screen dimming as it went idle. But he didn't fucking care — not when all he could focus on was the heat of their mouth and that tight suction.

Mark pushed his heel into the floor to adjust his angle, spreading his legs just a little wider to give them better room. "God, you feel fucking perfect today," he groaned and jutted his hips up again, "Like you’ve been thinking about this since breakfast."