Marcus
I hear the bathroom door click shut, and I stretch out across her bed like I own it.
God, she’s going to kill . And I deserve it.
But I flew across the country, sat through two layovers, and broke into her house using a rock that honestly insulted both of us. She’s going to listen to what I have to say.
Even if she pelts with a curling iron first.
I look around her room. It slls like her. Warm. Soft. Slightly floral. There’s a cardigan tossed over the chair, a book with a cracked spine on the nightstand, a little dish full of jewelry.
The bathroom door creaks open. I sit up a little straighter, but don’t bother hiding the fact that I’m still very naked under the blanket. She erges looking flushed, eyes sharp, jaw tight, like she’s gearing up for war.
Good. Let her fight .
I can take it.
"I should call the cops," she says, arms crossed.
"You won’t," I reply calmly, watching her like she’s the last thing tethering to Earth.
She narrows her eyes. "You are so sure of yourself."
I tilt my head, studying her. God, she’s beautiful when she’s furious. All flushed cheeks and fire in her eyes, like she’s seconds away from either kicking out or kissing —and I honestly don’t know which one would hurt more.
"Why don’t you take your dress off and join ?" I offer.
She doesn’t blink. "What if I invited Kevin inside for a nightcap?"
"But you didn’t." I stand, tossing the blanket aside. I cross the room in three strides and stop in front of her, bare and unashad.
Her cheeks turn pink. "You are insane," she breathes.
"Probably." I let my fingers brush the inside of her wrist, feeling the pulse going wild. "But you didn’t say you wanted to leave."
Her eyes go to my face, to my mouth, up to my eyes. "No, I didn’t."
I slide my hands up to her elbows and pull her gently closer. "I guess I have to undress you myself."
She inhales sharply but doesn’t move away.
For one suspended second, all the noise in the world vanishes. Just her breath hitching. Just my fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. Just the wild, silent storm of her wanting as badly as I want her.
Then she whispers, "Marcus..."
And I know I’m either about to be slapped or kissed.
I lower my mouth to her ear. "You drive insane."
Silence.
I reach behind her, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress. It glides open like it’s been waiting for this mont too. She exhales slowly. The dress slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet.
She’s just as stunning as I rember.
I lift her, arms around her thighs, and she wraps around . "I...I am heavy," she stamrs.
"If you are so heavy how am I carrying you so easily? Don’t ever say shit like that again. You think I flew over here, broke into your damn house, and stood here naked like a lunatic because I don’t want you exactly the way you are?" I growl.
"You are ridiculous," she says, but her arms are tight around my neck, and her mouth finds my jaw, hot and electric.
I back her toward the bed, every muscle alive with need, and we both collapse onto the mattress together, gasping at the fall. The earrings glitter in the bedside light, the absurd little broccoli crowns wobbling as she tilts her face up, eyes wide and dark and entirely focused on .
I pin her wrists above her head and slide down, trailing my teeth against her stomach, the flutter of her laugh turning ragged as I take the waistband of her panties in my mouth and pull, slow, never breaking eye contact. The fabric stretches, then gives.
Her breath stutters and goes loud, and I savor every twitch as I peel the lace from her hips, tongue following, greedy and ticulous.
The taste of her is salt and heat. I drag my teeth along her thigh and drop the ruined panties onto the floor, then lever her legs open with my palms, pushing until she surrenders all tension and just waits, shivering.
I don’t rush. I want her insensible, so I make it slow and devastating, tongue and teeth and the idle threat of fingers never quite where she needs.
She gasps, then curses , and I grin into her, lapping at her until her legs quake. Her hands fist in the bedding, in my hair, nails biting down until I know my scalp will bear tiny crescent marks for days.
"Marcus," she bites out, voice shredded, "fuck—either finish or leave alone forever."
"Not a chance," I murmur, the words lost in her skin, and then I do—hard and sudden, until she shudders, thighs clamping around my head with a violence that feels like victory.
She breaks, and I don’t stop. Not until she is laughing and weeping in equal asure, breathless and undone. Only then do I ease up, crawling up to taste her mouth, to let her taste herself.
I roll her onto her stomach with a casual force, and she arches back into , half growl and half plea.
I thrust into her hard and fast.
She takes , all of , with an eagerness that makes my teeth grit. Her head turns, face mashed into the linen, and her laughter’s muffled but bright as a flare. I brace my palm atop her spine, holding her in place, and ride out the punishing rhythm of skin and hunger and weeks of wanting.
"You think about Kevin now?" I taunt, voice ragged.
She claws backward with her hips, greedy and exact. "Never crossed my mind," she spits, and I reward her with a slow, grinding twist, burying myself to the root.
Her legs tremble, and I lean low, mouth at her shoulder. I taste salt and her perfu, breathe her in, feel her clench and whine.
"Mine," I say, and she only whimpers in answer.
When I finally co, it’s an annihilation. For a mont, there is nothing but the slip of my skin on hers, the liquid heat, the way her back bows and her whole body shivers to accept all of . I bury my face in her neck and bite down, just hard enough to mark, because of course I want her branded.
She rolls to her side, pinning with a sleepy, wrecked smile. "You’re a bastard," she says, but her fingers are gentle as they play with the hair at my nape, her touch slow and unconsciously tender.
"Don’t tell anyone," I whisper, and she laughs until her whole body shakes against .
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