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Hoped he knew.
    Timur pulled almost all the way out. His fingers twitched on Marcus’s hips.
    Yes, please. Please. Please…
    Timur gripped Marcus’s hips tighter, and then he thrust hard, hilting himself all the way inside Marcus, and he didn’t stop. The intensity was mind-bending, reality-shifting, and all Marcus could do was hold on for dear life and enjoy all of it—the strength, the movement, the size, and that Timur did exactly what he wanted him to do, and did it apparently by instinct alone. He’d rarely had that with a one-night stand.
    This was just perfect, and Marcus gave in to it—he didn’t have much choice, but he completely gave himself up to the sensations anyway, to this stranger and what he was doing, settling down on his elbows and rocking back against Timur’s movements, groaning with every thrust to spur him on. The bed was creaking, but Timur could have been shaking it apart, and Marcus still wouldn’t have cared. The whole building could have collapsed around them, and he wouldn’t have cared.
    When Timur was getting close, they were both shaking with exertion, and just then, Timur reached around to take Marcus’s cock in hand. That was way too much stimulation—he was already too close—and before Marcus could push the hand away, he was coming. Timur proved merciless—stroking him and delivering some of the most powerful thrusts yet—and then they were both coming in a shared orgasm that felt like the equivalent of a core meltdown. Way too much, all thoughts gone, nothing but pleasure, bliss, relief. Marcus collapsed on the bed, half expecting Timur to pull out and away, but Timur stayed where he was, covering him almost completely but keeping most of his weight off. He circled his hips just the tiniest bit, as if to remind Marcus of the sensations.
    â€œOh shit.” Marcus gasped for breath. Oddly, Timur on top felt safe, nearly protective, despite the soreness that was now definitely creeping in, even though he was no longer at full size or hardness.
    â€œGood?”
    â€œVery.” Marcus turned his neck and kissed Timur, their kisses now more sloppy and breathless than before. “Let me turn around?”
    Now Timur pulled out, and, by the feel of it, nearly lost the condom on the way, but rescued the situation. With an exasperated growl, he caught hold of it and pulled it off, then vanished briefly into the bathroom, giving Marcus the opportunity to turn around and regard Timur’s sweat-gleaming backside. The Madonna wouldn’t mind, right?
    Marcus cleaned himself up, then collapsed onto the bed just as Timur came back from the bathroom. He watched Timur ease himself into bed, and marveled at the powerful muscles beneath scarred, inked, tanned skin. Marcus’s “thing” had always been lean, ripped men, the kind with six-packs and ridiculously low body fat. Especially runners. A 26.2 sticker on the back of a car piqued his interest like nothing else—a man who could run a marathon often proved to be a beast in the bedroom.
    Timur was nothing like that. He was all muscle. Big, defined muscles. Marcus had no idea if the guy could run, but he’d have bet a weekend’s worth of tips that Timur could bench-press a small vehicle. Not usually his type, but damn. How could anyone not be attracted to a man like this?
    Marcus slid closer and ran his hand over Timur’s flat stomach, his fingertips brushing a thick scar.
    Timur’s abs quivered under his hand. Marcus stopped, looking up at him. “Something wrong?”
    â€œNothing wrong.” Timur turned his head to look at Marcus. “Men usually leave after. Not…” He gestured at Marcus’s hand.
    Marcus arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”
    Timur met his eyes, and Marcus wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Timur actually seemed to be considering it.
    He started to draw his hand back, but in a