“Perhaps I came to the laundry looking for clean clothes.”
My hand slides further downward, wrist catching against the sash, causing it to loosen, the robe opening like a curtain. “No.” I continue my downward mission, over the soft flesh of her stomach, past her neatly trimmed mound to the silken heat below. “You’re here because you can’t get enough of me.” I dip my head and press my lips against her shoulder as I move my fingers through her juices. “I’ll bet you were in the shower, touching yourself”—I push two fingers inside her deliciously wet opening—“hoping I’d come in there and fuck you against the tiles.” I thrust my fingers in and out to punctuate my words, loving the way her mouth falls open and her fingers dig into my biceps.
“No. I’ve never wanted you like that,” she teases, rocking against my hand as I bring her closer to climax, stopping just as her eyes lose focus.
“Then you’ve never wanted me like this either,” I grunt, freeing my cock as I hoist her against the wall and push inside. Her hot walls envelop me, her muscles gripping me as I tip her over the edge, the pulsing of her orgasm gripping my dick like a vice as I thrust some more then come inside her.
“Marcus. Oh god.”
“Lisa.” I take her mouth with mine, my mind blown because I have never had sex this good. This is next level.
Lisa
Coffee. I smell coffee.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Marcus sits on the edge of the bed, a sexy grin on his face and a takeaway coffee in his hand. God, he’s gorgeous. It hurts my chest just looking at him.
“What time is it?” I force myself to sit, my entire body aching from the delectable workout it got last night.
“After ten.” He hands me the coffee which I gratefully accept.
I wipe a hand over my face to try to clear some of the grogginess away. I haven’t slept this late in years. Perry normally wakes me to feed him at seven. “Where’s Perry?”
“He’s in the backyard. Fed, walked and watered. We took a trek to the local bakery, and I bought one of every pastry. Plus coffee.”
I frown. “Did anyone see you?”
“There were definitely people around.”
“You know what I mean.” I take a sip of the deliciously hot and strong coffee, touched he paid enough attention yesterday to get my order right, but concerned he was recognised out in the wild on his own.
“No one recognised me. I wore my cap and glasses and paid with cash. I’ve purchased coffee incognito before.”
Releasing the tension held in my breath, I relax into my pillow. “Thank you. And thanks for taking care of Perry and letting me sleep.”
“My pleasure. Gotta convince you I’m worth the risk somehow.”
Pressing my lips together, I hum. “We’ll see about that.”
He grins, reaching out and brushing the hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear before threading his fingers through the mass of it and cupping the back of my head. “I need you to understand something,” he says, his voice low, soft yet commanding as he leans in and closes his fist within my hair. “I’m keeping you.” He yanks my head back as he brushes his stubble against my jaw. “No matter how hard you push, I won’t be walking away.” My heart hammers in my chest, my core flooding with need.
“That’s a bold statement coming from a man who’s longest relationship has been with his mirror.”
He releases an amused burst from his nose then crashes his mouth against mine, the hand in my hair controlling my movement as his tongue takes over my mouth. I can barely breathe as he devours me, dominating my senses. The coffee falls from my hand, the heat from the spilling liquid hot against my thigh.
I cry out, and he releases me immediately. I right the cup and he scoops me in his arms, spiriting me into the bathroom and setting me on the vanity beside the sink. “Did it burn?” He inspects the reddened skin on my thigh, grabbing the tan washcloth and running it under cold water. He presses it against my leg.
“I don’t think so. It was just the shock of something hot against my thigh. I didn’t realise I dropped the cup.”
His mouth curves in a half grin. “You are so affected by me.”
“That’s a load of shit. I was bored and falling asleep.”
Even I’m smiling as he laughs and lifts the cloth, squatting down to inspect my injury closer. “Does it sting when I do this?” He brushes his lips lightly over the area, and I shake my head. “I think you’ll survive then.” He places the cloth back on the sink as he stands. “Think you can hobble into the kitchen and have breakfast with me?”
“I might need a new coffee to entice me.”
“You can have mine. I keep making you spill yours.” He takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen where he’s set up a plate of pastries in the middle of the table. He pulls out a chair for me to sit, then he places his full coffee in front of me before transferring a custard and apricot danish to a plate and putting that in front of me too. “Eat.”
I bite my lip to fight a smile. How did he know that’s the exact pastry I wanted? “You’re good at reading people, Marcus.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.”
He sits across from me. “Maybe I’m just good at reading you?”
“Maybe.” I lift the danish and taste the delicate pastry, sweet and buttery on my tongue.
“Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“That I know what you want more than you do?” He sits back in his chair, eyes gleaming as he watches me eat. It’s an odd thing to say, but he’s right. I’ve refused him in every way I can think of, but he doesn’t hear my words, he only reads my body language, and my body doesn’t believe my words either. Like my dog, my body’s loyalty is swayed whenever Marcus is around.
I lick my lips and take a sip of coffee before I can answer. “I don’t know yet. But I do know that if you keep showing up here, you can’t keep driving that Porsche. It sticks out like a sore thumb.”
He nods slightly. “I’ll get a new car.”
“A normal person car. Not a luxury one.”
“No problem.”
“And when you show up here, you need to put your car in my garage.”
He grins like he’s twelve. “I’ll happily put my car in your garage.”
“I’m serious. I want you to park in there and enter the house through there too. You never know who’s watching. And if Sandra shows up and sees a car out front, she’s gonna ask questions, and I already feel bad enough as it is.”
He leans his elbows on the table and picks up an apple danish, tearing off the corner before chewing it thoughtfully. “Why don’t you come to my place then?”
“Because I’m more likely to get my photo taken walking into your place.”
He narrows one eye. “This actor guy really did a number on you, huh?”
“He messed up my life. And since you won’t listen to reason, I at least need you to respect my privacy.”
“That’s fine. On one condition; tell me who he is?”
“Why? What difference does it make?”
“Because I wanna track the bastard down and beat the shit out of him.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Marcus would never get near Jon. They’re both famous, but they’re in different leagues. It’s like comparing the popularity of the Hemsworth brothers. Liam is a star in his own right, but Chris is the one with the power and sway.
“You think I couldn’t take him?”
“I’m sure you could, but you’d both be petrified of damaging your pretty faces,” I tease, tossing a piece of danish across the table. It lands in the floor.
“I don’t give a fuck about my face. Theo’s punched me in it several times.”
“Have you spoken to him?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
He reaches across the table and takes the coffee, drinking before returning it to me. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“You don’t miss him?” Perry saunters i
n and finds the bit danish I threw.
“Sometimes. But I don’t even know what to say to him.”
“Maybe you could just say, hey.” Finding nothing more on the floor, Perry jumps onto the couch and rests his head directly on the TV remote. MTV comes on. “He does that all the time,” I say. “I swear it’s on purpose.”
“Smart dog. He likes the classic rock too, huh?”
The screen fills with the hunched over figure of Jimmy Marx, probably the only Aussie music export in the last forty years whose international popularity rivals Marcus’s. His guitar riffs are legendary, his throaty lyrics known by young and old. He’s a national treasure. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a total arse hat. My hatred of famous people runs deep.
“Oh god. Turn it off, Perry,” I say, even though Perry never listens to me.
“You don’t like classic rock?” Marcus asks.
“This is the intro to that stupid reality show he does, parading around how brain dead he’s become and how broken and dysfunctional his family is.”
“Sounds like a hoot.”
“Well, it’s not,” I say, getting up to turn it off myself. “Reality TV is the lowest form of entertainment. It’s embarrassing to watch them cling to the vestiges of their fame like people don’t think they’re a total joke.”
“Didn’t he get this show after his daughter went crazy and posted all his sex tapes online?”
“I wouldn’t know.” My ears burn as I shut off the screen and put the remote on the side table where Perry can’t get it.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what put him in the limelight again. She drove a car through some movie star’s living room and nearly killed the guy. Then she set her sights on ruining her father.”
“She must have had a very good reason.”
He shrugs. “Infidelity if I remember correctly. But it all backfired, everyone’s more famous than ever and she’s gone to ground. Shame, she was a great musician.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
He shakes his head. “Saw her at a festival once, but I wasn’t in the big leagues until after she disappeared. She was this tiny little thing with bleached hair and black shit around her eyes. Kinda weird, but cool, you know? You should give her a listen. I reckon you’d like her stuff.”
“I’ll do that,” I say as I run my hand over Perry’s head.
“I actually got an invite to go on that show.”
I snap my head up. “You’re not considering it? You can’t. No. I won’t let you.” I touch my forehead, my skin buzzing slightly with annoyance. Shit.
“You won’t let me?” Marcus rises from his chair and stalks towards me. Oh fuck. This isn’t going to end well.
“Well, I…I…I’d rather you didn’t,” I stammer, feeling oddly warm as he stops in front of me.
“Why?” My mind gallops through the fog, desperately grabbing for a legitimate excuse to explain my outburst.
“Because you’re better than those people,” I try, hating the way my voice tilts, making it sound like a question.
One of his eyebrows lifts. “Then tell me you’re all in.”
“What?”
“Tell me you want me. Tell me you’re mine and mine alone, and I won’t do it.”
“I…” I open my mouth, but I can’t say it. I want him, yes. But I can’t tell him I’m his. No matter what this is between us, he can never own me. He’s too temporary in nature and personality. “I’ll do you one better.”
His eyes widen, interested as I pull open the drawer in my side table and take out a small black and green remote with a key attached to it.
“What’s this?” he asks when I hand it to him.
“The garage remote and the key to that door.” I point to the door that connects the garage to the house. “You can come and go as you please. Have me whenever you want.”
He looks from the remote to me before he shoves it in his back pocket. “Deal,” he says, grabbing me by the back of my neck and crashing his mouth against mine.
“This doesn’t mean I want you,” I say when he lets me up for air.
He grins. “Yes it fucking does,” he says before having me exactly when and how he wants. And I love every second of it.
Ten
Marcus
The last thing I wanted to do was leave Lisa’s. But all I had were the clothes on my back. I’d happily stay naked, but if I show up to the studio Monday morning in the same clothes Craig saw me in on Saturday, there’ll be questions. Then there’ll be prying and background checks, and I’ll be called into a marketing meeting to discuss if she’s good for my image. And since the one thing Lisa’s been adamant about since we met is not wanting to be involved with my work—she doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want me—I want to respect those wishes and keep her the hell out of it. If I fuck up and Craig gets in her face, she really will mean it when she tells me to go away. And I don’t want that. I’m nowhere near done with her yet. So to protect our private little bubble, I tore myself away with a plan to get my arse back to her, extra clothes and all, as soon as I’m finished in the studio Monday night. I’m literally counting seconds here.
You know how it is when you find a great pair of jeans that are so comfortable you could live in them? That’s how it feels around her, how it feels when I’m with her. She fits me. And it’s not because the sex is out of this world, it’s because she seems to get me, and she’s not afraid to call me out, and she doesn’t try to fit some preconceived idea of what she thinks I want like every other girl I come across. She’s just her. Like it or lump it.
I prefer to hump it, but that’s probably the worst thing to be thinking in this moment. I’ve stopped in to visit my parents on the way home, and my mother is ranting at me in Italian, crying because I’m home, crying because I didn’t visit sooner, crying because I haven’t given up my gripe with Theo yet. She curses my stubbornness and makes the sign of the cross about twenty times. I’m surprised she’s not dressed in mourning.
“Mamma, English, per favore. My italiano non è buono. You’re speaking too fast, and I’m struggling to understand.”
“Why won’t you call your brother, huh?” she cries. “I’m getting old. I want to see my boys together before I die.”
“You’re fifty-seven.” I fight a smile. She does the dramatic Italian mother well. “And you’re fit as a fiddle.”
“It’s the stress. It’s ageing me. I want to see my oldest boy married. I want my youngest boy to come home and find a nice girl—preferably Italian—to settle down with. I want grandchildren. I want family meals. I can’t live with this tension, Marcus.”
“Listen to your mother, son,” my father intones.
I lift my shoulders and sigh. “Fine. You win.”
Mamma’s eyes go wide. “I do?” Then she grins before her expression falls and she frowns. “Wait. Which part?”
“All of it.”
“What?” She exchanges glances with my father and he just shrugs.
I sit forward with a smile. “I can’t promise to stay in the country. But I’ll come back as much as I can. I’ll also find a nice girl to settle down with.” Once I convince her to quit freaking out about being seen with me. “Grandchildren will have to be up to her. Same as the family meals. And I’ll talk to Theo.”
“You will?” She turns to my father and starts speaking excitedly in Italian. I catch the drift of what she’s saying. She’s telling Papa that nagging works. After twenty-six years she’s nagged me into submission.
Papa rolls his eyes and mutters, “Dio ci aiuti tutti.” God help us all.
I take that as my cue to leave and promise to come and see them soon.
“Bring that girl of yours to dinner,” Mamma says, squeezing my cheeks like she would when I was a boy.
“I didn’t say there was a girl, Mamma.”
Her eyes shine as she beams. “You didn’t have to. It’s written in your eyes. My baby boy is in love.”
Love?
&nb
sp; Fuck. How did that happen so fast?
Lisa
A grin creeps over my face when I open the garage door after work and another car is in there. It’s a Toyota Corolla, one of the most common car models around. And it’s not even new. Wow. This boy’s serious.
I’m half expecting him to be buck naked with a rose between his teeth when I walk in, but instead, I find Marcus sitting on the couch with his guitar. He’s hunched over with a pencil in hand, scribbling something in a book he has open on the coffee table.
“This is nice to come home to,” I say, slipping out of my heels and walking over to him.
“Careful. I might start thinking you want me here and lose interest in the chase.” He closes the book and sets his guitar to the side before holding his arm out for me, pulling me onto his lap to greet me with a hair pull and a passionate kiss.
I slide my arm around the back of his neck and smile. “If that’s all I need to get rid of you, I’ll start worshiping at your feet.”
“No.” Gripping me by the waist, he tips me until I fall back on the couch and he’s holding himself above me. “That’s my job.” He grinds his hips into me, his hand sliding down my thigh, igniting my senses until he sits back and takes my foot in his hands, pressing his thumbs into my arch. I moan.
“Oh god, that feels good.”
“Not god. Marcus.” He winks, and I giggle, letting the ache of the workday leave my body as he expertly massages my feet. As I relax against the couch, I let my arm drop to the side, knocking the coffee table. The book he was writing in flips, but I catch it before it falls to the floor.
“Is this your lyric book?” I ask, setting it back on the table where it was.
“Sure is,” he says, shifting to my other foot. “You’re not gonna try to read it?”
I shake my head. “That would be like reading your diary, wouldn’t it?”
He grins before he nods and picks up the well-worn journal. “When I was in Matiari, the bass player Lachlan never understood how sacred these things are. If you left yours lying around, he’d pick it up and leaf through it like it was a magazine. We were always clobbering him for it.” He licks his lips, releasing an amused burst of air at the memory as he opens the book and runs his fingers along the torn edges of missing pages. “I haven’t even opened this since I left them. I started writing on my phone instead. But half the songs I release aren’t even mine.” He meets my eyes. “They think my originals aren’t mainstream enough. So they make me rework them until they fit that four chord mould you dislike so much.”
Rock (Beautiful Book 4) Page 11
