Rebecca
For a mont, the only sound in the room is our breathing—his, steady and close; mine, shallow and quick like my heart’s trying to catch up.
I don’t pull away. I don’t laugh it off like I normally would. Instead, I lift my eyes to et his.
He’s watching with that look again. The smoldering look that lts from the inside.
"Rebecca," he says again, quieter this ti. Like my na is sothing he’s trying not to break in his mouth. "I am serious."
"I know," I whisper.
And I want it too. More than anything. I’ve been wanting him all day.
My hands slide up his chest, resting over the steady beat of his heart.
"Take to bed then?" I ask.
His eyes hold mine. "Yes."
I lean up then and kiss him, slow, like we have all the ti in the world. He groans low in his throat and pulls in deeper, his hands splayed across my back, holding .
He scoops up in his arms like I weigh nothing and carries to his room.
Marcus lays down like I’m sothing precious. Like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he’s not careful.
He hovers for a mont, just looking at , his fingers brushing my cheek like he’s morizing the mont.
"You are beautiful, Becca," he says. "I’ve said a lot of stupid things to you before. Said I wasn’t attracted to you. But I was lying through my teeth."
"I know," I whisper. "I know a liar when I see one."
He grins and kisses again.
He starts undressing , slowly like it was important for him to take his ti.
Marcus’s fingers tremble just slightly as he unbuttons my blouse.
I watch him, my breath hitching as his knuckles graze my collarbone, a fleeting touch that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
We had sex many tis already, but this...this ti feels different. I don’t know why.
I reach for his shirt, tugging at the hem with unsteady fingers, needing to close the distance to feel his skin against mine.
Marcus’s breath catches as I pull his shirt up, the fabric sliding over his shoulders with a soft rustle. His skin is warm under my fingertips, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with sothing deeper, more primal, as I trace the hard lines of his chest.
He leans down, his lips brushing my neck, a slow, deliberate trail that makes my toes curl against the cool sheets.
My hands grip his shoulders as he presses closer. His fingers slip under the waistband of my jeans, teasing the skin there with a maddening slowness. I arch into him, a quiet gasp escaping as he growls softly, "Fuck, Becca, you’re driving crazy."
I want him so badly. I want him to hurry and fill already.
Marcus’s hands pause at the button of my jeans, his thumb brushing over the denim as he looks at , eyes dark with a hunger that mirrors my own.
I shift under him, the ache building as his fingers finally pop the button open with a small, deliberate snap. His touch is slow, torturous, sliding the zipper down inch by inch, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
The tension coils tighter as he tugs my jeans down my hips, his hands rough but careful, skimming over my thighs. I kick them off, the fabric pooling on the floor, and suddenly, I’m bare under his gaze, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten. He lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw as he murmurs, "Shit, Becca, you are fucking perfect."
I pull him closer, my nails digging into his back as I urge him on, my voice a breathless plea, "Marcus, please, don’t make wait."
His jaw clenches, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he sheds the rest of his clothes, the rustle of fabric and the creak of the bed filling the space.
I stare. He is beautiful.
"Tell you want inside you, Becca. I want to hear you say it," he growls.
Yes...god, yes.
"I need you inside , Marcus," I croon.
His grip tightens on my hips, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he presses himself against , the heat of him making my pulse race even faster.
He doesn’t rush, though, even now. His hands slide down my thighs, parting them with a slow, deliberate touch, his fingers brushing against in a way that makes gasp, my body arching toward him instinctively.
He positions himself, the tension between us snapping taut. I feel him, hard and ready, and my breath catches as he eases in just enough to tease, drawing a soft moan from my lips that I can’t hold back.
Every inch of him feels like fire, a slow burn that stretches , fills , until I’m clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. His forehead presses against mine, sweat beading there as he moves with a controlled, agonizing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, punctuated by his ragged breaths and my stifled whimpers.
"You feel so fucking good," he growls, his lips brushing mine in a ssy, hungry kiss. "You always do, like a perfect piece of a damn puzzle. My Rebecca. My love."
His love? He really shouldn’t say stuff like this because I don’t know if I can take it.
He shifts, pinning my wrists above my head, his weight pressing into the mattress as his hips roll harder, deeper, each movent drawing a sharp cry from my throat.
"Harder, please," I beg, my voice raw, my nails digging into his palms as I arch beneath him, chasing that edge.
His breath cos in ragged pants, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest, the heat between us unbearable as he fucks with a relentless pace, the tension coiling tight in my belly.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, the friction sending sparks through my nerves as I gasp, I’m so close. And I can tell he is too.
He drives into with a force that makes the headboard slam against the wall, bang after bang. The room spins with the heat of our need, my body shuddering beneath him, every muscle taut as the wave builds, ready to crash.
Marcus’s mouth crashes into mine as I co undone beneath him, shattering around him with a cry I can’t contain, my body pulsing, trembling. His na escapes again and again, a mantra on my lips as the wave takes , drags under, then leaves breathless in its wake.
He follows right after with a low, guttural sound torn from deep in his chest. His movents stutter as he buries himself inside , his hands gripping mine so tightly our fingers ache. I feel the way his whole body tenses, then shakes as he finds his release, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes clenched shut like he’s holding on to sothing that scares him.
Then there’s silence—only the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between us.
He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t roll off or say sothing to break the mont. He just stays there, our bodies tangled, skin flushed and damp, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.
I run my fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, grounding myself.
Marcus finally speaks, his voice barely audible, rasping against my skin. "I didn’t an to say it."
My stomach flips. "What?"
"That you’re my love," he murmurs. "I an...I didn’t plan to say it out loud. I don’t know if I know what love is yet."
I blink up at him, feeling like the ground has tilted just slightly. "Oh."
He pulls back enough to look in the eyes. "Is that okay?"
I don’t answer right away. I just stare at him. Because he’s Marcus—the complicated, bruised, maddening man I fell for without even realizing it.
"Yes," I whisper. "It’s okay."
His eyes close for a beat, sothing raw flickering behind them when he opens them again.
He kisses slow, soft this ti. No urgency. Just a kind of reverence that makes my chest ache.
And then, finally, he pulls away and lies beside , his arm curling around my waist like I belong there. Like maybe I always have.
I rest my head on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.
For now, this is enough for .
"Rebecca," he says quietly as he draws invisible shapes on my back.
"Hmm?" I hum.
"I need to tell you sothing." His voice is different now. Soft, but with an edge of vulnerability that makes lift my head to look at him.
He’s quiet for a long mont, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin like he’s buying ti. Finally, he ets my gaze.
"I have to go stay at Germany for a while," he says. "For work. We are opening an office there."
My stomach drops. "How long is a while?"
"A month."
A month. Four weeks.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling because looking at him right now feels impossible. The warmth of his body next to mine suddenly feels temporary.
"That’s a long ti," I whisper.
"I know," he says. He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together.
His hand is still in mine, warm and solid, but it feels like he’s already halfway across the world.
He shifts beside , propping himself up on an elbow to look down at . His face is shadowed in the dim light, but I can see the worry etched into the lines around his eyes. "Becca, I don’t want to go," he says, his voice low, almost rough. ’But I don’t have a choice. It’s a big deal for the company, and they need there to set things up."
He pauses, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, absent circles. ’
"I’ll call every day. We will video chat." There’s panic in his voice.
"It’s okay, Marcus. We already live far away from each other anyway, right? I live in Portland, you live in NY," I try to reassure him, even though I’m not reassured myself.
What if...what if his going overseas makes him realize that I’m just a phase?
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