Rebecca
I wake with my head buried in a pillow that slls like both of us, like sweat, and salt, and sothing for which there is no polite na. The sun is barely up, but even through my eyelids I see the pale light coming through the curtain.
My body is still achy from hours of love making last night. I stretch, and his arm tightens reflexively around my waist, drawing backward into the heat of him.
In the sa mont, his hand slides down, palm flat against my belly as if staking a claim, then further to cup between the legs. He moves his fingers with a goddamn surgeon’s patience, parting with the barest pressure, thumb already finding the secret part of that wants him most.
A jolt of disbelieving pleasure cuts through the fog of sleep. I am still slick and open from the night before.
I bite the pillow, trying not to give him satisfaction, but the sound that cos out is a traitor to my intent. He laughs quietly, breath stirring the hair at the base of my neck, and whispers, "I missed you all night. Every ti you stopped touching , I woke up."
He pushes his thigh between mine and rocks against it. I whimper. "Marcus...I am sore," I manage, but my voice is already giving up.
"I can’t let you rest if you keep making that noise," he murmurs, tracing soft concentric circles on my clit.
He teases to the edge and then stops, just to watch beg. He is infuriating, and I love him for it, or maybe despite it.
When he finally lets co, it is so violent that I nearly black out, leaving trembling and gasping in the aftermath.
"Last ti. I promise," he says and positions himself at my entrance.
I let him. I let him do whatever he wants.
~-~
By the ti I make it out of bed, my legs are wobbly, and my dignity is sowhere buried in the sheets behind . I put on a robe and head to the kitchen.
He grins when he sees pad into the kitchen, hair a ss, sared mascara, and entirely unbothered.
"Morning, dostic goddess," he says, shirtless, standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other.
"You cook?" I raise an eyebrow, easing onto a stool at the counter.
"I do everything," he replies smugly. "Except mop floors."
I laugh and he beams like he just won a prize. He tosses a few chopped veggies into the pan like he’s on a cooking show, then turns to grab two mugs. "Coffee?"
"Please. Make it strong enough to reanimate the dead."
He hands a mug and slides a small plate of toast my way, which has a tiny heart burned into it where he clearly pressed a cookie cutter into the bread before toasting it.
"Seriously?" I ask, holding it up.
He shrugs. "Hailey told I need to act romantic."
I take a bite and try not to smile too hard. "You’re such a nace."
"Oh, I know," he says, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and sothing that may or may not be a sad-looking pancake in front of .
"How did you figure out where things are? Did you do an inventory check of my kitchen when you broke in last night?" I ask.
Marcus raises an eyebrow like I just asked the most obvious question in the world. "Of course I did. What kind of criminal would I be if I didn’t scope out the cutlery situation first?"
I give him a look, but I can’t stop the laugh that escapes . "So what—you broke in, wandered around, judged my spice rack, and decided on breakfast?"
"Pretty much." He pours himself so coffee and slides onto the stool next to . "By the way, you own three different brands of cinnamon and no black pepper. I’m concerned."
I sip my coffee, giving him my most deadpan expression. "You’ve been here for eight hours and you’re already roasting my pantry."
He leans in, voice low, smug. "I’ve been roasting you all night."
I snort into my mug, choking slightly. "God, you’re unbearable."
"And yet." He gestures between us, his grin spreading. "Here we are."
He picks at one of the pancakes, which is, objectively, a little undercooked in the middle. "Okay, maybe I didn’t quite ace the culinary portion of this ho invasion. But I get points for effort."
"You get points for not setting the kitchen on fire," I reply, lifting a bite of eggs to my mouth. "Barely."
He watches eat, eyes softer now. There’s a quiet that settles between us, not uncomfortable, but...full.
"So...um...there is sothing I need to tell you. I should’ve told you this before, but..." he hesitates.
Marcus sets his fork down slowly, his eyes fixed on mine, all the teasing from monts before draining out of him like soone flipped a switch.
I blink. "Okay... You’re scaring . What is it?"
He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, then exhales through his nose. "It’s nothing bad. I have a daughter. She is eight and her na is gan."
For a mont, all I can do is stare at him.
A daughter.
He watches carefully, like he’s braced for to flinch or bolt.
"gan," I say quietly, testing the na on my tongue. "She’s eight?"
He nods. "Yeah. She’s smart. Stubborn. Obsessed with space docuntaries and glitter pens. She lives with her mom in Chicago. We split custody." He hesitates, fingers tightening around his coffee mug.
"Oh," I say softly. For so reason, I never imagined Marcus would be a father.
"Is that a deal breaker?" he asks, still looking at intently.
I set my coffee down slowly. "No," I say, and his shoulders loosen just a little. "It’s not a deal breaker."
His eyes search mine, cautious hope flickering there. "You’re sure?"
"Yes, I am sure," I admit honestly. "I love children. I teach children for a living."
"You will love her," he says quickly. "She is a great kid. Almost too good. I still don’t know how soone like her shares DNA with soone like ."
I smile at him. "You are not so bad."
"If you say so, Rebecca." His voice is rough.
I stare at him for a mont, then, almost shyly, I say, "You’ll have to introduce soti. To gan. Only if you think it’s... right, or whatever."
God, I sound so nervous. Why am I nervous?
He looks over. "I would like you to et her."
I feel a flutter in my stomach. "Really?"
Marcus smiles softly, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes sothing warm bloom in my chest. "Yeah, really."
"Whe-when?" I ask.
He looks thoughtful for a mont. "Next week? It’s my turn to see her. She will stay with for a few days."
I frown. "I can’t. I have a job here."
"Take the week off. Co stay with , Rebecca," he says, suddenly looking intense as if his whole life depended on saying yes.
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden urgency in his voice. "Take the week off? Marcus, I can’t just do that. I have students. Responsibilities."
He nods, his gaze steady. "I know. But she’s important to . And I want you to et her. To see this part of my life."
I bite my lip, torn between wanting to say yes and the practicalities holding back. The thought of eting gan, this little girl who is part of Marcus, makes my heart race with both excitent and fear.
"I want to et her," I finally say, my voice softer.
He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Then say yes. I will handle plane tickets and whatever you need."
The warmth of his touch and the promise in his eyes make my heart lt.
I look at him, a shy smile tugging at my lips. "Okay. Next week, then."
His grin lights up the room. "Great."
God...I am in too deep, aren’t I?
He leans back, still grinning. "So...now that you know my secret, any secret you want to share with ?"
I hesitate, then lean forward, lowering my voice. "Okay... but you have to promise not to laugh."
Marcus crosses his arms. "Scout’s honor."
I take a deep breath. "When I was a kid... I had a huge crush on a cartoon character. Like, full-on embarrassing levels of obsessed. I still rember the the song."
He bursts out laughing, and I glare at him, pretending to be offended, but I’m smiling.
"Which one?" he asks, still chuckling.
I shrug, feeling suddenly shy. "I won’t tell you. It’s too humiliating."
"That’s not fair. Tell now," he orders.
I bite my lip, the heat rising to my cheeks. "Fine," I mumble, barely above a whisper. "It was... Jem and the Holograms."
His laughter bursts out again, louder this ti, and he shakes his head. "Seriously?"
I scowl, trying to hold onto what little dignity I have left. "Hey, don’t judge. It was the ’80s. And those outfits were fire."
He grins, eyes sparkling with amusent. "Alright, I won’t tease you anymore. Tell about your family. Any siblings?"
"Yeah, I have one younger brother, Nate. He is in college in Florida."
Marcus leans back, looking thoughtful. "And your parents?" he asks.
"They’re still together," I say. "Mom’s a nurse, and Dad runs a small landscaping business. Pretty normal, really."
Marcus nods slowly.
I glance at him, feeling a warmth spread in my chest. "What about you? Any siblings?"
His eyes turn dark. "I have a sister," he says.
The sudden shift in the mood catches off guard. I wonder why he looks so sad at the ntion of his sister.
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