“Watch my cock when you come,” he demands and my eyes focus back on him.
I stare at his cock, relishing in the way his large hand moves over it, stroking so softly it’s almost lazy. It’s beautiful, though, and in a moment I’m coming. My back arches and I push my breasts into the air, gasping as my body trembles with pleasure. I don’t have the chance to even finish my last shudder before Marcus is over me, his cock gliding against my flesh, his body pressing mine into the sofa.
He reaches over, fumbles about for a second and then comes back up with a condom. His eyes pin me with feral intent as he tears the packet with his teeth and pulls the condom out. He reaches down, rolls it over his cock and then his mouth is on mine again, hard and deep. His tongue probes and his kiss becomes intense. I return the intensity until we’re kissing with a fevered frenzy that has my mind spinning. Without warning, he takes hold of his cock and slides inside me.
He does it painfully, beautifully, amazingly slow. I moan into his mouth and he catches it, kissing me so hard my lips feel as though they’re going to bruise. His hands go down to cup my breasts, and he uses them to control his thrusting. I press my hips up, taking him deeper, spreading my legs wider. He fucks me perfectly; not hard, not soft, just right where I need him.
Neither of us says anything. The only sounds in the room are his panting grunts and my whimpers as my body takes me higher and higher, bringing me to the edge. I want to come, shamefully fast. I pull my lips from his and close my eyes, clenching my jaw as I try to hold it back. Marcus growls, low and deep, and removes his hands from my breasts. He lowers them, gripping my hips and he starts fucking me harder.
“Marcus,” I finally breathe, unable to hold it back.
He says nothing; he doesn’t need to. He gives it all without a damned word. Besides, he’s not the kind of man to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. I know that even after a few hours. My mouth opens on a cry as he tilts his hips and finds that spot. He hisses, I scream and then my body is exploding beneath him. His fingers bite into my hips as he continues on through my clenching, his thrusts slowing as he pushes forward.
Then he slides out of me, lifts me up and throws me over the back of the sofa. He gets on his knees behind me, presses a flat palm to my lower back and drives his cock back into my depths. Holy mother-fucking shit. I can’t even gasp; my voice has run off and hidden itself deep, deep inside my body. All I can do is throw my head back, open my mouth and shake as he fucks me like I’ve never been fucked.
In minutes I’m coming again.
I didn’t even know that was possible.
Marcus rides me until I feel his cock swell inside me, and then he roars to the ceiling as he explodes inside me. I gasp finally, and my fingers curl into the sofa as I feel him milking his cock inside me. After a solid few minutes, he pulls out and the sofa shifts as he gets off it. I turn, slowly sliding down until I’m sitting. God, that was . . . I can’t even . . . there are just no words.
Marcus disappears into the bathroom, and I hear water running. A moment later he returns, handing me a warm washcloth. I stare at it, then at him. What does he want me to do with that? Clean him? He must see my confusion, because he murmurs in a deep, sexy voice, “Clean yourself.”
Right.
Clean myself.
I’ve never had a man take care of me after sex before, it’s kind of...nice.
I take the cloth and stand, rushing into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and stare at the massive bathroom. Well then, Marcus certainly isn’t suffering in life. This bathroom is bigger than my bedroom and bathroom combined. That’s sad. It’s all dark polished tiles and masculine intensity. There’s a massive bath that I could swim in, and a shower with twin heads. Two sinks are set in a beautiful marbled stone counter.
I walk over, staring at myself in the mirror. Nice, my mascara is running. I look like a freshly fucked raccoon. Pouting, I use the warm cloth to clean up my face. Then I deal with the rest of me. My pussy is sensitive as I run the washcloth over it. Marcus knows how to use his dick in a way I’ve never experienced in a man before.
Probably because all the men I’ve been with haven’t been players.
Marcus is good, because he’s probably fucked half of the United States.
Lucky country.
I finish cleaning up and head back out to the room. Marcus is sitting on the sofa, black pants back on, no shirt. He’s got a glass of whiskey in his hand, and when I step out, he looks up. The ice in the glass rattles as he brings it to his lips, studying me as he sips the amber liquid. I feel suddenly self-conscious, and I quickly rush around, finding my panties and bra. I put them on and fetch my dress.
“Don’t put that on,” he says.
I turn to him. “Why not? I thought . . .”
“We’re not done.”
We’re not?
“Ah . . .”
“Over here, now,” he orders.
“Okay,” I say, putting my hands up. “Pretty sure we’ve got our wires crossed. That was great sex; I mean, seriously, amazing, but that’s where it ends. Now I leave and dream the rest of my life about how fucking awesome it was.”
“The bed. Now.”
Right, so he has hearing difficulties.
“You’re a player.” I laugh nervously. “You do this enough to know how it goes.”
“Yes,” he answers, sounding almost . . . bored.
“I’m sure you’ve got a list up to your . . . your . . .”
“Sixty-seven.”
I stare at him, mouth open. “What?” I gasp.
“Sixty-seven women have been in my bed.”
Oh. Shit.
“Are you always so . . .” I gulp. “. . . honest?”
He stares at me and says in a clear voice. “No.”
I blink at him.
“Now, get back into the bed. I’m not done. Not even close.”
I do as he asks.
I get back in the bed.
CHAPTER 5
NOW
Marcus
“Marcus,” Yasmin protests as I curl my fingers around her arm and drag her into the car park. “Please.”
“Listen,” I hiss. “We’re fuckin’ done. Do you understand me?”
Her green eyes blink up at me as I let her go, shoving her back. She makes a squeaking sound. “I heard you got married.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you love her?”
“No.”
Fuck. What the hell did I just say that for? Way to make people believe it’s real. I inwardly kick myself for answering without thinking.
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
“Nothing. Get out of here, Yasmin. We’re done. We were done the last time I shoved my cock inside you.”
She steps forward, her hand pressing against my chest, her body pressing against my dick. Fuck. She was a good lay, can’t deny that, but she was also clingy and fuckin’ annoying.
“She doesn’t need to know about us.”
“I said,” I whisper, low. “Leave.”
“You will come back, Marcus.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
I curl my fingers around her arms and haul her up against me. She squeaks and her eyes drop to my lips. Fuck me.
“Get it through your fuckin’ head, I don’t fuckin’ want you.”
“Marcus...”
I shake her slightly. “Get out of here, I don’t need your shit and I don’t want it.”
“This isn’t over!” She cries.
“Fuck. Off.”
“Marcus!”
Jesus. What was I thinking with this one?
She’s the only woman I fucked more than once. Can’t say why, I don’t even know. She was good in bed and she was easy. Now she’s fuckin’ crazy.
“Mar-”
“Leave.”
My phone rings in my pocket and I raise my hand flicking my fingers. Minutes later two of my guards walk over. “Escort her out.”
; “Marcus!” she yells.
I turn, giving her nothing more and answering my phone.
“Yeah?”
“Heard my woman paid you a visit.”
I grin. “Mack.”
“Sorry ’bout that, bro.”
“No problem.”
“Heard you’re havin’ issues with Lucas.”
I snort. “Lucas is a pain in my fuckin’ ass and is screwin’ up my business. You seen him?”
“Nah.”
“Fuck. Anyway, how’s things going with that little fucker Jaylah was goin’ out with?”
“Gone missin’.”
“Fuck.”
Mack laughs. “Yeah.”
“You need me, you tell me, yeah?”
“All over it, brother.”
“Come around, you and the guys. Anytime.”
“Hold you to that.”
I step into the office. “Later, Mack.”
“Later, bud.”
I hang up.
I’ve known Mack for around three years. Met him when he was on the road. He came into a bar, we got talking and shit went from there. He’s helped me with some of my jobs and a friendship grew. He’s an adopted brother to the Jokers’ Wrath MC president, Maddox. They’re good guys, and Mack helps me out when I need information or to track someone down.
As for Yasmin? Let’s hope that bitch doesn’t come back.
~*~*~*~
KATIA
I stare at Marcus in the shower. Hot water is running down his ripped body. Yum. I lick my lips and let my eyes travel from his broad, bronzed shoulders, down his gorgeous muscled back, over his fine ass and to his thick, strong legs. My husband is hot. Fucking hot. Mega hot. Amazing.
“Can I help you, Katia?” he murmurs, not turning around.
“Aren’t I allowed to look at you?” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
“Depends,” he says, turning with no shame. Showing me the perfect front. Chiseled chest, washboard abs, a sexy V and that cock. I press my legs together.
“On what?” I breathe.
“If you’re there to just look, then leave.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “If you’re there not to just look, then come in here and make good use of that pretty mouth.”
Oh, boy.
I lift my shirt over my head as I rush towards him. The only time Marcus and I seem to be close is when we’re together like this. His hands, his mouth, his body—it makes me feel what we did was right. Maybe even real. I fell in love with Marcus after three months, but there are times when I wonder if he loves me, or if he’s just doing the best he can because he doesn’t know how to love.
I mean, he married me, right?
That has to count for something.
I drop my panties and step into the shower. Marcus reaches out and hooks an arm around my waist, hauling me against him. Our mouths collide and he presses my back against the shower wall. He lifts my hip over his and his hand roughly cups my breast. Seems like we’re skipping foreplay. I’m totally okay with that. I moan into Marcus’s mouth when he presses his cock to my entrance.
Marcus is either one or the other. He takes it slow, or he fucks quick and hard. Tonight it’s quick and hard.
Oh, yes.
He slides his cock into me, and I mean slides. Slow. Sexy. Perfect. I whimper his name and he tilts my hips, hand curled around my ass, the other in my hair, and he fucks me deep. My lips find his neck and I suck the water off the skin there. It runs over his body like a fountain, making him look that much better. His fingers bite into my ass as he thrusts and I want it, all of it, and more.
“Marcus,” I breathe.
“Fuck,” he growls.
This is the only word he says during sex. Not baby, or honey, or sweetheart. Just fuck.
“Oh God.”
My body jerks and I come, hard and fast. I scream out his name and he begins slamming harder. My cheeks flush with shame over how quickly I came, but I don’t get to think too much about it because Marcus groans, deep in his throat, and he comes. His body trembles when he comes, and it’s fucking beautiful.
When he’s done, he slides me down his body and we step apart. His eyes are dark, dangerous and lusty. Yum. “Have I been starving you?” he murmurs.
I swallow, shame rising in my body. “Ah, no.”
He studies me, his lips quirk, and then he finishes up and gets out. I step back under the water, watching him dry his gorgeous body. My heart pounds as I think about the fact that he never stays in the shower with me. He never washes me. He never runs his fingers over my skin. Nothing.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s just Marcus.
Or maybe it’s more.
CHAPTER 6
THEN
Marcus
She tastes like fucking honey. Sweet, sensual honey.
I spent the night inside her, fucking her over and over. Listening to her little pants of pleasure as she arched up, her breasts pressing into my chest. Out of all the women I could have picked, Katia is so far from my type. She’s tiny, she’s fiery and she’s opinionated. In the sack, she’s a fucking firecracker. She fucks as good as she gets fucked.
She’s the right choice.
I press a cigar to my lips and stare down at her sleeping form. Her hair is fanned out over the pillow, her lips parted and swollen from being curled around my cock just before she went to sleep. Her hands are rested over her chest, and her dark lashes are fanned out over her cheek. As I stare at her, I know that she’ll fit. She’ll make the perfect wife, and she’ll fit my plan exactly how she needs to.
My cell vibrates on the table beside the bed, and I reach over, answering it as I stand and walk out of the room. “Yeah?” I mutter, inhaling as I near the balcony.
“Ah, Marcus.”
Fuckin’ Walter.
“Ringing at this time, Walter. Must be urgent.”
He chuckles. “I hear you found out about your father’s will?”
“And?”
“How wonderful you’ve accepted that you’ve lost the family business so easily.”
I snort. “I haven’t lost anything.”
He’s silent, and then he mutters, “You haven’t got a wife, Marcus. How, I wonder, are you going to get past that?”
“Simple; find a wife.”
He chokes on something, coughs, and then growls, “Marcus Tandem, player, finding a wife?”
“There’s a girl,” I lie.
“Do you think I’m so stupid?”
“I’m not entirely sure you’re smart, Walter. If you were, you wouldn’t have honestly believed that simple request would hold me back from getting what I want.”
“Do you really believe any girl will just fall for your lies?”
“I can make it very believable, Walter.”
“A simple phone call from me, and she’ll know exactly what you’re doing. This won’t work out for you, Marcus. I’ll make sure of it.”
Fucker. He’s forcing my hand, forcing me to make this so fucking real she won’t be able to question it, at least until after we’re married. If Katia doesn’t believe I care, then she’ll never say I do.
And if she never says I do, I lose every-fucking-thing.
“Go ahead. The girl I’m seeing already knows about the will. You’re not as smart as you think, Walter.”
It’s a bluff, but I’m hoping it’s enough, for now.
“You won’t win this, Marcus,” he splutters.
“But Walter—” I laugh, low, “—I already have.”
I hang up the phone, my heart pounding. It would be easy for me to call in a hit and get Walter killed. I have the contacts, but that’s too risky and too obvious. I have no choice; marrying Katia is the only way I can bring this forward professionally. I need to keep my business front, I need a woman on my arm, and I need to take this business as my own.
I step inside, locking the door. Then I crawl into the bed beside Katia.
Before I close my eyes, I wonder how easy t
his is going to be. Katia seems like the type I could win over fairly quickly. She’s not the fuck-and-leave kind of girl.
I’m wrong about that.
Because by morning, Katia is gone.
CHAPTER 7
NOW
Katia
“Two weeks,” I whine, swallowing another gulp of red wine.
“Stop complaining,” Dusty mutters. “You get us here the whole time.”
“It also means I don’t get my nightly fuck,” I point out.
Candy laughs, crossing her legs and leaning back into the couch. She’s wearing bright pink flannel pajamas. Classy.
“It’s not funny, Candy.”
“Dusty, there, could give it a whirl; you never know, you might convert him.”
Dusty snorts and I grin at him. “Aw come on, Dust. I have a great—”
“Do not say that word,” Dusty warns, curling his lips in disgust.
“Vagin—”
“Ew!” Dusty cries, covering his ears. “La, la, la, la.”
Candy laughs loudly and leans forward, grabbing a handful of cashews.
“For Dusty’s sake, tell us all about Man Candy Marcus.”
“What do you want to know?” I giggle, drinking more wine.
“Is he still as good in the sack, even after this long?”
I wink. “Ohh, yeah.”
“Every day, kind of thing?” Dusty asks, tapping his fingers together, with a big grin.
“Most days,” I begin. “He comes into my bed each night and—”
“What?” Dusty asks, losing his grin.
I blink.
“Honey,” Candy says.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“He comes into your bed?”
Oh, dear.
“It’s not what you think; Marcus is a restless sleeper. He moves a lot, dreams a lot . . .”
It’s only partly a lie. He told me he’s a restless sleeper when I asked why we don’t sleep together, but I’ve never seen it for myself. The dream thing is probably not true. I made it up because if I didn’t, it makes me question things, and I don’t want to question things.