Marked

by Charisse Spiers

  The door opens and closes. He reaches over and locks it, before sliding off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack beside the door. His belt buckle starts to jingle and then the zipper sounds as it slides down. "You know what happens to someone that's gone without the love of a parent, had it, then lost it, all within adolescence and the beginning stages of adulthood, before finding a different kind of love?"

  "What?"

  "You start to fucking panic when it starts slipping from your grasp. You start formulating a plan in your brain on the next move, the next course of action to hold onto it a little longer. I have to do that a lot with you, because every damn time I turn around you're trying to run. It makes me angry. You want to know why?"

  He walks toward me with his pants undone, pulling his button-down shirt free from the tuck it's in. He removes my shirt in one swift motion, throwing it on the floor, before walking forward again, pushing for me to walk backward.

  "Why?"

  "Because you never fucking think you're good enough. You always think you're the one out of place. You always refer to yourself as the dirty little secret, the whore in the mix to satiate a man's filthy need to shove his dick within every crevice he can find. It's not totally your fault. It's hers. I've sat back and held my tongue in regards to your mother, because of her death and the mental hold she has on you, but I'm fucking fed up."

  My butt runs into the desk, stopping me. He un-buttons the top four buttons and the cuffs, before he grabs the collar and pulls the shirt over his body, removing it, and baring his upper body just as me. "I'll never be what you need," I state.

  "Says fucking who? Guess what, Lux? Since I fucking shoved my dick inside of you I don't want anyone else. It doesn't matter what you say or do that's not going to change. I don't care how many men you've fucked before me, how many times you've been sampled out of guilt, or how many times you've shut yourself off from me to avoid being hurt like you were growing up, because I'll still want you every damn second of every fucking day for the rest of my life. I can fuck you once a week or twenty times a day and it will never get old. I'll never want you less."

  The closer he gets the faster my chest rises and falls. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra, before scraping the straps off of my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. "No matter how many times you run I'll chase you, how many times you hide I'll find you, or how many times you close off I'll open you back up. If you fall I'll catch you. You jump I'll jump with you. I'll never fucking give up on you, because no matter what you say I know you love me too. One day you'll realize it. One day you'll trust me. I will never leave you, forsake you, nor will I stop loving you. No one is better for me than you. I know that's what you think with her. It's written all over your face. I will spend the rest of my fucking life showing you and everyone else. I've promised in blood, I'll put a ring on your fucking finger, and I'll bind myself to you with a legal contract if that's what it takes. As I've said before the only way out of this is in a box with no heartbeat. If you think I'm bluffing, then call me on it. I have no fucking problem proving it. They say love makes people crazy and I guess they're right, because I would fucking kill for you without blinking. One question remains, because I'm so wound tight right now I can barely breathe. Do you want me?"

  I blink repeatedly. I need to think, to process everything he's just said, but I can't with him staring at me like he's doing. I go with the simplest form of the truth. "Yes."

  He grabs my hips and lifts me onto the desk, before running his palms across it to clear the middle, knocking things on the floor. "I'm not bending you over the desk, because I want to look into your eyes when I make you come. I want the emotional as much as the fucking physical. I'm addicted to the way you look when my dick is inside of you, pleasuring you. I'm hooked on the way your pussy feels when you come and squeeze my cock. That is my fucking mancave. Do you deny it?"

  "No."

  His tone is cold and angry, but at the same time packed with so much emotion it's stifling. His hands grip my thighs and rub upward, his callused hands causing chill bumps to form. My skirt rises with his hands. When he is blocked from going any further by the desk, he lifts me and continues over the curve of my ass, pushing my skirt to my midriff and leaving it, before grabbing the waistband of my panties and pulling them down my legs. I lay back. The desk is cold. "You're angry at me."

  "Yes."

  He lifts underneath my knees and pulls me to the edge. This is making me feel worse. He just screamed his aggravation at me, and now nothing. He's barely speaking. I feel like I'm getting whiplash from the sudden mood change. "Are you going to elaborate?"

  "No. I'm talked out."

  He presses his tongue to my pussy and swipes the tip between my folds, stopping on my clit. He sucks it into his mouth, before continuing up to my stomach, running his tongue over my tattoo along the way. His hands are no longer on my body. I look down. They go for the waistband of his pants, before pushing them down to his thighs. He's toying with me, not spending too much time on any one place. He's the only thing I see, the only thing that matters right now. He licks my nipple and then blows, the cool air hardening it. He then bites down as he thrusts inside of me, drawing the focus of the pain away with the addition of the pleasure. I arch off the desk; the second time today I've been on my back for him to do with me as he wants. "Always wet for me..."

  "Always." His pace is slow, making me feel every inch as he pulls out and thrusts back inside. I wrap my legs around his waist, and then dig my heels into his buttocks. "You aren't going to hurt me like before?"

  He kisses me, sliding his tongue inside of my mouth, and then pulls back, grabbing my lip between his teeth before releasing it. "No. Sometimes you need different things. It's my job to know what those things are and when you need them. My one fucking fear is losing you. Right now, I need to show you that you're scared to lose me too."

  He reaches between us and places the pad of his thumb against my clit, rubbing up and down with pressure against it. I moan out, loud, before he smothers me with his mouth. It doesn't take long before my orgasm starts to build, and then I clench around him, but he continues to make love to me, striving to hit deeper with each thrust until he stills altogether. If I focus I can feel his dick pulsating inside of me, releasing himself. He places his palms on the desk beside me and pushes his upper body up, but doesn't pull out.

  A knock sounds at the door, drawing me into the present. He's staring at me, as if he didn't even notice. "Shit. We shouldn't have done this here. This is your job, Kaston."

  I place my hands on his chest, trying to push him back so I can get up. "I pay the salaries. They work for me. I'll do what I want."

  "Mr. Cox. You're appointment is here."

  "Just let me up. Please."

  "Show them to the conference room, Mary Elizabeth. I'll be there in a minute," he yells.

  "Yes, sir."

  He pulls out of me, and stands, pulling his pants back in place and tucking himself in, before fastening them. "Stay here."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I need some air."

  His eyes narrow. "You're trying to fucking run again, aren't you? Dammit, Lux, are we back to that?"

  I hop off the desk and grab my underwear, quickly pulling them back on and putting my skirt back in place. I walk past him, grabbing my bra off the floor. I wrap it around me and fasten it, before turning it around and pulling it into place, then go for my shirt, pulling it over my head and aligning it in place. "I just need to think, Kaston. You take away my ability to think for myself. You consume me. It doesn't change that I'm a fucking nobody and you made something of yourself. I'm not on your level. It doesn't mean I have low self-esteem. That's just the reality, the hand that was dealt for me. I accepted it a long time ago. It made it easier. It's not a weakness. It's called knowing my place in society. We’re unequally yoked. This was just supposed to be about sex, sex for money, and for lavish things. The funny thing is that sinc
e I met you it hasn't even interested me. At least before you I knew what to expect of my life. Since I met you I'm fucking confused all the damn time, I have no idea what I'm feeling, bad memories are returning, and I'm having emotions that I've blocked out for years. You want to know why I always viewed myself as the dirty secret, because that's what I've always been."

  I walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek, then point to his heart. "Your heart is like a rare diamond. It deserves to be with the person that makes it shine the brightest, not the one that makes it look dull. She's the best compliment for you, and she just admitted to loving you. That's something I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do. I'm giving you an out. The two of you would be like Brad and Angelina, the one couple in Hollywood that's made it when the rest have failed. With me, you would probably crash and burn. I have too much baggage to be good for anyone. If you really love me, then you'll let me go, you'll choose the Emerald city instead of the farm in Kansas."

  I grab my purse from where I dropped it on the floor when he slammed the door earlier. I run my fingers through my hair and look at him, memorizing that beautiful man just like he is. He's one you'll never forget. He's passionate, but hard. He loves, but he commands. I've lived my entire adult life being selfish, constantly taking from others to make up for what I couldn't provide for myself, and for what my mother couldn’t ever provide for me. I used my body as a tool, because that’s what I was taught. I'm done. I can't do it anymore. I laid that trade to rest when I met him, when he showed me a different life. I'm going to strive to formulate a pursuable dream and go after it. I'm going to sacrifice selfishness for him to have a better life. He deserves a wife, babies, and a white picket fence. I'll never want a white picket fence with a yard full of kids.

  "Just because something is yours doesn't mean you can give it away, Lux. It doesn't work that way."

  I hold up my hand for him to stop before the guilt takes over. I can already feel the blade piercing my skin, trying its damnedest to penetrate my chest. "Bye, Kaston."

  I open the door and walk out, closing it behind me. I take off running through the lobby, headed for the elevator. My lungs are starting to constrict, my air supply decreasing like the day at the beach. Fuck!

  I stab my thumb against the down button beside the elevator, anxiously waiting for the car before he comes running out here. It finally opens and I run in, pressing the close button. My stomach flips as the car starts to descend. I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest while having a pillow held over my mouth. I need to breathe.

  When the doors open I run out, barreling into a chest. I put my palms out to stabilize myself. "I'm sorry," I say, trying to continue around him.

  "Lux? Is that you?"

  I look up at the recognition of my name. He, too, is wearing a suit. Fuck my life. They're everywhere now. Drunk or not, no one forgets that accent. "Flynn, right?"

  "Yes, are you okay? You look flushed."

  "I'm fine. Just had a rough day. It was good to see you, though. Take care."

  I push past him, but he grabs my hand. "Hey, are you still dating that guy? The guy from the club."

  "No," I say in a clipped tone. "Why?"

  He looks at me and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, pausing. "I don't usually do this, but I'm actually heading out for Los Angeles this weekend to take care of some things with work. My roommate backed out last minute, leaving with me an open spot and extra plane ticket. You want to tag along? We have already met, so it's not that weird, right?"

  "Thanks, Flynn, but..."

  "Hey, I'm not trying to sleep with you, Lux, unless that's what you want. Don't base your opinion of me by the guy you met drinking in a bar." He looks around at his surroundings. "I'm not drinking and we're no longer in a bar. Believe it or not some of us just like to make new friends. I'll be working half of the time, anyway, so you'll be on your own a good bit. You can lay on the beach or sightsee. Call it a free vacation from someone that just wants the company of a familiar face. Sometimes it can be a little awkward meeting people in a new place. I haven't been in the states all that long. I'm still adjusting."

  I stare at him, thinking. What do I have to lose? I said I was going to let Kaston go. Maybe it's time to get out of Atlanta for a bit. I need a break. This could be my sign for finding a new dream. Maybe I'll go and never come back. Maybe getting out of the south is the change that I need. I'll never know if I don't try...

  "Okay, if you'll take me by a friend's place to get some clothes. My stuff isn't really an option right now."

  "Sure. We have time before the flight. I was going to hang around here and work, but I don't have to. It was just to kill time. It'll give us a chance to get to know each other a little better."

  I button the last button on my shirt, leaving the top one open so that I can breathe worth a damn. Like a robot I tuck my shirt in my pants and refasten my pants and belt. I rub my hand through my short hair, trying to relax. I never thought I'd fucking be here. I feel like a pussy. I also need a drink, a stout one. If I don't get something to calm my raging blood then I'm in deep shit. I have a client. This behavior would be frowned upon.

  I walk to my desk and sit down, before leaning forward in my chair and resting my forearms on my thighs, staring at the floor. It's building inside. There is nothing I can do about it. I haven't felt like this since I first moved back from my long stay in Spain. I spent six months learning everything about both businesses from the only man he trusted with his life, and taking care of Dad's death, as well as the personal shit with his lawyer like transferring ownership for pretty much everything to me. I went from a cop to a killer in a matter of days.

  "Get ahold of yourself, asshole."

  In a rage I yank my desk drawer open. The flask is sitting on top right where I left it. I've barely drunk anything since the night I first fucked her at the club, nothing more than a glass here or there. I don't need it like I used to. Smoking hasn’t appealed to me at all either. That's what she does to me. She smothers the darkness I’ve always been pulled toward, she adds a burst of light to my life, and she takes away the fucking pain...of losing him. She makes living easier.

  I twist off the cap and place the rim to my lips, turning it back and letting it drain. The liquid burns my throat, but it fucking feels good. I feel like I'm being gutted, bleeding slowly while my heart remains in tact, dying out as it beats slower with each passing minute of her absence.

  I throw the flask across the room. "You didn't tell me it would hurt this fucking bad. You made it look easy," I say in a growl. "It's been fifteen fucking minutes since she walked out on me and it feels like an eternity. You expect me to stay on the good side like this? Huh? What reason do I have not to go on a fucking killing spree? Fuck! I wasn't ready for this. I didn't ask for this, Dad. You were supposed to wait. Everything is by the book. It was your damn rule."

  I stand and walk to the wall of windows, looking out over the city. I lace my hands behind my head and rock it back and forth, thinking. "Fuck this shit. She's the one that walked away like I meant nothing. I may have only met her at the beginning of summer, but I gave her my all. She was different. She was the one I couldn't take my eyes off of. She was the one I wanted to try for. I gave her something I've never given another woman, and for what? To have it thrown in my face? Be a fucking man. Pick up your balls and move on. You have a job, expectations, and shoes to fill."

  I walk to the door and grab my jacket, sliding it on, and then adjust it while I compose myself before opening the door. Mary Elizabeth scurries down the hall when she sees me, handing me the file. I grab it and open the cover, reviewing the first page of the new client paperwork.

  I close it and open the door, before walking inside and shutting it behind me. The client is sitting on the left side closest to me. "Mrs. Smith." I drop the folder on the table at my seat and hold out my hand. "Kaston Cox. What can I do for you?"

  I pull out a chair and sit to make her more comfortable, also to make this more persona
ble. It's probably the same fucking thing, different day, usually trying to catch cheaters. They are pretty easy, because if you think your spouse is cheating then they probably are. The client just wants proof. What I really want to do is to be contracted for inside jobs by the government, but that takes a reputable name, something I'm still working towards. Marks hold my interest while this makes me a legal income, plus the business back in Spain. You can't really claim kill for hire on your tax returns. That money sits in offshore accounts, only being transferred a little at a time in deposits small enough it won't get reported to the IRS.

  "I think my husband is cheating on me."

  Just as I thought...

  "What brings you to such a conclusion, Mrs. Smith?"

  "He isn't coming home several nights a week. When he's home he barely touches me. He stays on his phone and keeps it on silent. If I get anywhere near it he gets jumpy, defensive. Money is disappearing from our account with no explanation as to what it's being used for. When he comes home he washes a load of his clothes. Until six months ago he never washed anything, not even a load of towels. When I ask him about things he jumps down my throat, accusing me of not trusting him and being paranoid because of things I watch on television like reality TV. I just get the feeling there is someone else."

  Well, fuck, what do you need me for? Options one through three are dead giveaways...

  "I'll do everything I can to find out what your husband has been up to, Mrs. Smith," I say like a broken record, the same thing I've said in ninety perfect of my cases since I took over this business. I'm starting to wonder if anyone believes in monogamy anymore. Fuck, why be with someone if you want to stick or spread your legs for everyone else? Just leave them and be done with it. "Did you bring all of the information requested in the packet?"

  "Yes. It's all there." I'm about to get up when she touches my wrist. "I know you think I'm crazy and probably stupid for staying, but I've loved him since I was fourteen. I'm still young enough to start over, but we've been through a lot. I've been with him for half of my life and we share two kids. We've had some financial problems since he was laid off ten months ago and hasn't been able to find stable work. Sometimes the people we love hurt us and act out in distress, but that's usually the times they need us the most. A lifelong commitment doesn't burn down at the first sign of a fire; it withstands it, even if it comes out on the other side a little charred. Giving up is my last option. I don't want to stop fighting until I've been defeated and the ability to carry on is no more. This is my tool to get him in the ring."