That was when he kissed me.
We fell back to the bed when Marcus pressed into me.
I immediately went after his suit jacket.
He went after the zip of my hoodie.
He let me win and I shoved the jacket down his shoulders.
He threw it off and then took down the zip.
I yanked his shirt out of his trousers and dove in at the back.
God, not for the first time I encountered skin that felt amazing.
Through all this, Marcus kissed me.
Suddenly, he rolled so he was on his back, I was on top, and he sat up, so I was forced to straddle him.
My coochie liked the kissing.
It liked the straddling better.
“Baby,” I whispered.
He pushed the hoodie down my shoulders.
I tossed it away.
His eyes holding mine, he went after the back clasp of my bra.
His fingers there, and that was it.
He needed me to give him permission. To let him know where I was at. To show him I was with him, only him, this was only him and me.
God.
Marcus Sloan.
“Please,” I breathed.
It came loose then the bra was gone.
He looked at me exposed to him in his bed for the first time, not on a stage, and he whispered, “So beautiful.”
God.
Marcus Sloan.
“Kiss me, honey,” I begged.
His hands went up my back, into my hair, pulling my face to his, and he kissed me.
He did a lot of kissing. In fact, he kept my mouth occupied with his lips and tongue the whole time it took him to get my clothes off, his clothes off (but he let me help with that part). And he kissed me the whole time he touched me, no, caressed me, his hands roaming, slow, gentle, sweet, over every inch of me.
Finally, finally, he bent and took my nipple in his mouth.
That shot so hot up my coochie, I slid my fingers in his hair, my neck twisting to the side, and I gasped, “Yes.”
He worked me there just like he always worked me with his kisses these past weeks and everything he’d done that night.
Slow. Gentle. Sweet.
And just the same way, as his lips moved to my other nipple, his hand slid over my hip, over my belly and down.
I opened my legs for him.
His fingers slid through me.
My lips parted, my hips lifted, his mouth went away, and I righted my head to catch his gaze.
Watching me, his face dark and beautiful, he stroked a finger inside.
And when he did, his face got darker, more beautiful.
And hungry.
My hands darted out and clutched his arms, my eyes drifting closed, I whimpered, “Marcus.”
His thumb hit me, my body jolted, my eyes shot open, and I saw he was still watching me.
“Inside,” I gasped.
“In a minute, baby.”
“Inside,” I pleaded.
“Daisy—”
I lifted my hands to wrap them around either side of his neck, moaned as his thumb put on more pressure, and then I demanded huskily, “I need you inside, honey.”
He was Marcus.
He didn’t make me ask again.
He rolled between my legs. I felt his hand leave me but right after something hard and silky started gliding, sliding.
And then…
Then…
Eyes locked to mine, slow, gentle, sweet, Marcus Sloan, my man, the man every step of my life had been leading me to, slid inside me.
“Now, this…” I breathed. “This is where I was always meant to be.”
Beauty scored through his expression before his head dropped, he shoved his face in my neck and he groaned, “Daisy.”
I turned so I had my mouth to his ear. “Take what’s yours, baby.”
He did.
Pulling his face out of my neck, taking my mouth, he moved inside me and he took what was his.
Giving himself to me.
And a whole lot more.
I cried the intensity of my orgasm down his throat, clutching him with everything I had, limbs wrapped around, fingers gripping his hair, body shuddering.
He returned the beauty when his head snapped back, he buried himself inside me, his body bucked into mine, and I received it gratefully (still shuddering).
When he was done, he dropped to me but only for a breath before he rolled us but kept us connected and held me tight on top of him.
My forehead pressed to the side of his neck, I didn’t bother trying to steady my breathing. I just let each breath rush out against his skin as I committed every second of the last twenty minutes to memory.
Every second.
It was only when I felt his fingertips drawing patterns on my hip that I realized both our breaths were steady.
His fingers clenched into my flesh suddenly and his voice was thick and astounding when he asked, “You’re falling in love with me?”
I drew in breath.
Then I lifted my head and looked down at him.
God, he wasn’t handsome.
He was everything.
“I was,” I answered.
His sated gaze went guarded.
“You were?”
“That ship has sailed, sugar. And I’m on it. It’s called,” I drawled out my last, “the Love Boat.”
And I grinned when, under me and all around, I heard, saw, and felt my man burst out laughing.
Chapter Ten
The Second
Marcus
When it was almost too late, Marcus pulled out of Daisy’s mouth and got to his knees in their bed.
Her torso shot up so she was on her knees, too.
Her eyes also narrowed and she snapped, “I wasn’t done!”
Marcus hooked her with his arm around her waist, felt her surprised, breathy cry carve through his throbbing cock as he lifted her up and swung her in front of him.
He turned them so her back was to the headboard.
One arm around her, his other hand guiding the way, he slid her down on him.
Her head fell back, her hair brushing his arm.
He fell forward, on top of her. Her platinum hair all over his pillows, he lifted an arm to brace his hand against the headboard and he started moving.
She focused with effort on him.
“You’re done,” he growled.
She gave him a dazed grin.
He kissed her.
Five minutes later, he made her come.
A minute after that, she gave him the same.
* * * *
It had been three days since they’d consummated their relationship.
Three days Marcus gave Daisy to get used to this change. Three days Marcus gave himself to watch over her and make sure she was good with the change.
And three days for him to get over being pissed she’d tried to leave him.
She was good with the change if the amount, variety, and magnificence of the sex was anything to go by.
He wasn’t complaining. Weeks with her in his life and the last of those with her sweet little body, beautiful face, and all that gorgeous damned hair sleeping beside him in his bed had been torture. He was fucking thrilled it was over.
Obviously because the torture was over.
But mostly because Daisy was good with it.
However, to be certain, he’d called Bex and discussed the change with her.
“It’s a process,” she’d explained. “Some people adjust. Some people it takes longer. Some people let it haunt them. If you perceive this is going well, just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Be watchful. Encourage her to communicate. And be patient. She’ll never be over this, Mr. Sloan. I think you understand this isn’t a bruise that fades away. It’s coming to the understanding that what happened, happened. It was no fault of hers. Then learning how to cope with the fact it happened and giving herself permission to move on. That’s the key. But if you can sho
w her you’re a man who’ll handle her with care, that you’ll be there in those times she needs to cope, then I have every faith you two will be good.”
One thing Marcus knew, Daisy could cope with anything.
The thing he didn’t know was if she knew he would always be there to help.
So right then, after they’d shared what they’d shared on a night when she didn’t have to work so they had all night to get through what he needed them to get through, he was going to make certain she knew that.
“We need to talk,” he declared.
She stopped tracing patterns on his chest with a pearl-white fingernail that had a pink tip with a swirl of black across it, the black embedded with rhinestones.
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him.
“Uh-oh,” she mumbled the minute she did.
Marcus tightened his arm around her at his side and pulled her over his chest.
Then he clamped his other arm around her.
“I’m thinkin’ this is a serious talk, you need me fixed to your chest,” she kept mumbling, her eyes aimed at his chin.
“This is serious, darling, so please look at me while you listen to me.”
She looked into his eyes.
She was holding her body stiffly and Marcus wanted to shake her.
She was preparing for the worst.
This shouldn’t be a surprise, not with the life she’d led.
However, Daisy lost it with him taking his time completing them. The operative part of that was taking his time.
She was far from dumb.
And he’d taken his time and taught her better.
Holding his patience, he stated, “I handle you with care.”
She stared at him.
“Have I ever not done that?” he asked.
“No,” she said slowly.
“So you know that.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you tensed and looking freaked out?”
“Uh…I don’t know, because you’re freaking me out.”
“How am I doing that?”
“You’re bein’ real serious and we just had a fun time, sugar. After fun times don’t come serious times. After fun times there’s cuddling and whispers which lead to kissing and groping and then more fun times. Unless you’re sleepy, then they lead to sleepy times. They don’t lead to serious times.”
A variety of things with Daisy would be a lot easier if she wasn’t so goddamned cute.
“You don’t use your last name,” he announced.
She stared at him again.
“Smithie’s got it on your employment records but you don’t use it. Ever. None of the girls know it. None of the bouncers. Waitresses. Nobody.”
“Well, I’m Daisy like Cher’s Cher and Charo is Charo. But I’m more like Charo. She has better hair…and cleavage.”
Yes, a variety of things would be easier if Daisy wasn’t so fucking cute.
“That’s not it,” he pushed.
Haltingly, she replied, “I…it’s not mine. It’s…well, his. And he hasn’t been a part of me in, uh…maybe really in forever.”
“You’re right. It’s not yours. You’re Daisy. And the only last name you’ll ever really have is Sloan.”
Her body lurched on top of him.
He just held her tighter.
“So let’s get this straight, shall we?” he suggested.
“Okay,” she whispered, her eyes bright and still staring.
Marcus had a feeling with what he’d already said she had it straight.
But he went about making certain.
“I handle you with care. I’ll always handle you with care. I will never, not ever, Daisy, give you reason to leave me. I won’t cheat on you. I won’t beat you. The gambles I take will be in business only, but you’ll always be covered financially regardless. I like to drink but I never drink too much. I’ve never taken drugs in my life. I like control and you can’t be in control inebriated or stoned. To end, you’re safe with me. You’ll get from me only what you deserve, which is everything I can give you doing it handling you with care.”
“Okay, sugar.” She was still whispering.
“Is that completely understood?”
She nodded.
She was staring at him so closely he decided she did understand.
Completely.
Regardless, he kept going.
“If I break any of those promises, you’re free to leave me. If I don’t, you’re not. Not ever. If something isn’t working, we talk it out and make it work. Which means we’ll always work so there will be no reason to leave.”
With that, a different understanding was all over her face when she said softly, “I got stuff twisted in my head, Marcus.”
“That was clear.”
“It’s untwisted now, baby.”
“Good.”
She drew her fingers down his jaw, dropping her face closer to his.
“Never gonna leave you, Marcus.”
“Good,” he grunted.
“God,” she whispered, her gaze moving over his face. “Who woulda thought, givin’ my heart, havin’ it broken, learnin’ to guard it, I’d learn something else one day. That bein’ the best way to keep it safe is to find a man who’d prove he could handle it with care and give it to him.”
That felt good.
Fucking good.
So fucking good, he’d never felt anything that good in his whole goddamned life.
But Marcus didn’t share that with her because he knew without a single doubt she knew it too.
“I’m glad you got that part, Daisy. It’s important.”
She looked into his eyes.
“Now,” he continued, rolling them to their sides, “we can get to the cuddling, whispering, and groping part.”
She smiled at him, a brilliant flash of teeth added to a dazzling flash of humor in her cornflower-blue eyes.
Then she started giggling, filling their bedroom with the sound of bells.
While doing that, she kissed him.
This meant they skipped the cuddling and whispering parts and got right into groping.
And again, Marcus wasn’t complaining.
* * * *
His phone rang.
Marcus rolled.
Daisy rolled with him.
She snuggled into his back as he looked at the display.
At what he saw, he kept his body loose as he flipped his phone open.
“Yes?”
“Lee got him. We’re at the warehouse,” Darius said.
Nightingale got him.
Finally.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” he told Darius.
“Right,” Darius replied.
He felt Daisy press into his back.
Marcus flipped his phone shut and turned to her.
“Everything okay?” she asked sleepily, but he heard the concern in her voice.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to go see to something.”
She’d clearly looked at his bedside clock because she asked, “At three in the morning?”
“Yes.”
She got up on a forearm. “Does this happen a lot?”
“No.”
They fell silent as he slid a hand up her hip to her back and moved into her.
“Right. Okay. You’re comin’ right back?” she asked.
He grinned.
Fuck, his Daisy.
“Yes,” he said against her mouth.
She let him take it for a brief, deep kiss then she didn’t let him go, brushing soft, light kisses on his lips before she finally stopped.
“Be safe,” she whispered.
“I will, darling. And I won’t be long.”
He watched her hair nod in the dark.
He kissed her nose.
Then he rolled out of bed and made sure the covers were over her before he moved to his walk-in closet.
He called Ronald from there and spoke to him quietly.
That
done, he dressed.
* * * *
Marcus walked into the warehouse, Brady at his back, Louie at his, Vince at his. Ronald was standing outside by the car.
The space was large. There was a couch in it, a folding table with two chairs, a deck of cards on it arrested in a game. Hiding a corner, there was some ripped, opaque-with-grime plastic sheeting hanging from the ceiling, a good deal of dust on the floor, and not much else.
However, the room was populated.
Darius Tucker was there, standing next to his aunt, Shirleen Jackson.
Darius was a tall, lean black man with twists in his hair and a face that would be handsome if it wasn’t so cold.
Shirleen was a tall, full-figured black woman with a very large Afro. She was wearing purple and looked like she’d come to that warehouse from choir practice at a church where all the women vied to be best dressed.
Standing opposite them, there was a man built like a linebacker. His dark hair was thick and wavy, his dark-brown eyes were alert and locked on Marcus. He was wearing jeans, brown boots, and a long-sleeved cargo shirt.
Lee Nightingale.
At his side was a man known on the streets as Stark. His last name. His first was Lucas but everyone called him Stark, unless you were someone he’d allow to call him Luke, and there weren’t many of those. He had black hair, dark-blue eyes, a full beard that was trimmed precisely along his jaw, and he was wearing black cargo pants, a tight, black, wicking shirt, and black combat boots.
And last, there was a man on his knees. His hands were not bound. But his head was bent forward and it looked like he was listing.
Shirleen and Darius had been playing.
Perhaps Nightingale and Stark, too.
Though, at a glance, Marcus noted it was only Stark who had cut, bloody knuckles.
Marcus stopped and looked behind him.
Brady jerked up his chin but it was Louie who moved forward.
He went to the man on his knees, grasped him by his hair, and yanked his head back.
The man grunted but nothing else. However, he looked like he’d keel over if Louie didn’t keep hold of him.
Although his face was blooded and very swollen, there was no mistaking he was the man Marcus saw in the video in Smithie’s security room.
The man who’d raped Daisy.
He nodded to Louie, who let him go.
He swayed so Marcus ordered, “Make him keep his knees.”