by Shandi Boyes
“Tell me how to fix this, Cleo. Show me what to do.” His voice is softer and more understanding, and it instigates a restless yearning inside of me. “I’ll do anything you want—except give you up.”
My lips quiver as I begin to speak, “If that were true, you wouldn’t have waited a week to make contact. You would have arrived at my door begging for forgiveness days ago. Or you would have never let me leave to begin with.” My last sentence comes out heavily laden with sentiment.
“I made a mistake.” The shortness of his response is unable to hide the pain in his voice. “But I am here now trying to make things right. I can’t take back the errors I made, Cleo, but I can make you forget they ever happened. Give me the chance to do that. Let me show you how much I need you.”
His words impact my heart, striking it with an equal amount of disappointment and grief, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “You’re talking nonsense, Marcus. You’ve only known me a matter of months. You don’t need me. What we have is nothing more than an infatuation with one another.”
Now he is touching me. His fingers trace the throb in my neck before dropping to trail the collar of my shirt. His touch is only brief but intense enough for a spark of ardor to roar through my body. I try to act unaffected by his meekest contact, but my goosebump-covered arms and shallow breathing give away my deceit.
"This isn't infatuation, Cleo. It's something much, much greater than that." Each word is spoken with a brush of his thumb on my bare collarbone. "Your body knows it. Your heart knows it. It's just self-judgment clouding your perception."
“I’m not the one who is confused, Marcus,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Men of your stature are not often told they can’t have something, so you’re mistaking the signals your brain is relaying. You’re not reading them for what they truly are: a man who for once was told no.”
My confession stills and silences him. Even though he is no longer touching me, his quietness doesn’t have the effect I am aiming for. It enhances the insane sexual connection between us instead of dampening it. Even without personal contact, my body’s attention to his closeness is still paramount. There is no use denying my attraction to Marcus. My body yearns for him even when angry and harboring a decimated heart. But he broke my trust. No amount of sexual energy can regain broken trust. Can it?
When Marcus’s silence becomes too great to ignore, I decide to risk a sneaky glance. I know he hasn’t left as my body’s alerted response is undeniable, but I’ve always been overly inquisitive and can’t hold back my curiosity for a moment longer.
After exhaling a nerve-cleansing breath, I lift my eyes from the ground. Now I wish I weren’t so darn inquisitive. Our eye contact is brief, but it's long enough for the earth to shift under my feet. Marcus must feel the change in the air as well, as a hint of a smile graces his lips.
Smirking, he steps closer, caging me in more firmly. He is so near, his sinfully delicious body squashes my purse into my stomach and increases the wetness between my legs. He watches me in silence, categorizing every emotion streaming from my soul-baring eyes. His nearness makes my skin clammy with sweat and sends my pulse skyrocketing. As if his lust-provoking eyes aren’t enough to contend with, his well-fitted jeans are incapable of warding off the heat of his body. I am surprised I have wilted under his furious heat.
“I won’t give up, Cleo. I’ll never stop until you are mine,” Marcus mutters, his warm breath bouncing off my dehydrated mouth. “Is your brain strong enough to fight the yearnings of both your heart and your body?”
The predatory gleam in his eyes darkens when my tongue delves out to moisten my lips. My reaction can’t be helped. His determination is making me so needy and hot, my mouth is void of a single drop of moisture. I’ve never felt more desired than I do right now—or conflicted.
Sensing my body’s response to his closeness, a grin tugs Marcus’s full lips high. It sends arousal flowing over me like a rush of warm water. I close my eyes, hoping to conceal my body’s betrayal to his wolfish grin. It's a pointless endeavor. Even angry, there isn’t a drug in the world strong enough to curb my body’s desire for this man.
Marcus buries his head in my neck and inhales deeply. “It only takes one glance,” he quotes, his warm breath fanning my neckline. My knees crash together when he licks the shell of my ear before muttering. “You charred my soul from the moment you fell into the elevator, Cleo. I can’t misread signs like that.”
Wary and heartsick, I snivel, "You broke my trust, Marcus. You invaded my privacy. That's not something I can simply forgive and forget. You played me for a fool. I was nothing but a game to you. A little plaything for you to mess with."
I gasp in greedy breaths when Marcus pulls back from our embrace, easing some of the pressure spread across my chest. The veins in my neck strum when he curls his hand around the curve of my jaw. His touch is warm and inviting, and it adds more cracks to my already depleted heart. How can one man make me feel such opposing emotions? My brain is screaming blue murder at him, loathing that in such a short period of time he broke down its usually guarded perception, whereas my body is prickling with exhilaration, beyond pleased he isn’t backing down without a fight. My heart. . . it’s too tangled up with my internal quarrels to articulate a response.
The sweetness of Marcus’s breath hits my lips when he growls, “If I weren’t fearful of you walking away and never seeing me again, I’d take you over my knee for lying. But since I am standing here as Marcus and not Master Chains, I will let your lies slide. Don’t continue to test my patience, Cleo. I am not a patient man.”
Pushing aside the way his threat increased the moisture between my legs, I pop my eyes open and maddeningly shout, “I’m lying?!”
When Marcus nods, my teeth grit and anger overtakes some of the aroused blemishes on my cheeks. "How am I lying?" I ask, my pitch ear-piercing.
“You were never a game to me. Not once,” Marcus implores, his tone stern and direct.
“You broke my trust! Why should I believe a single thing you say?” My words are weak and expose the conflicting set of emotions pumping into me. I am equally angry and exhilarated by our exchange.
Peering into my eyes, Marcus runs his finger over the curve of my top lip. His tame touch sends a tingle of euphoria dancing across my face, and it fires my heart with hope that not every negative thought I’ve had about us the past two months is true, that maybe the manic throb my heart gets every time I think about him isn’t solely based on infatuation and anger.
Just like they do every time I peer into them, Marcus’s beautiful eyes lure me into a trap, tempting me with promises of love, honor, and commitment, while also soothing the irritation his disloyalty prickled.
The frantic speed of my pulse accelerates when I spot a new gleam emerging in his eyes—one deeply embedded and previously unseen. I wouldn't necessarily say it's love, more like panic, or perhaps even fear. My brows scrunch, sending a large indent of wrinkles across my forehead. Does the thought of me not being in his life scare him?
“Yes, Cleo,” Marcus replies, answering my silent question as his mesmerizing eyes dance between mine. “I will give up everything I have to make this right, but I won’t give you up.”
“Then why did you do it?” I ask, my tone low and full of anguish. “Why did you invade my privacy?”
My pulse rings in my ears when Marcus stares straight into my eyes and pledges, “Because you make me reckless.”
My back molars grind together. “That isn’t an excuse for reading my journals, Marcus! They were my private thoughts. Those words weren’t for anyone’s eyes but mine,” I yell, expressing my true anger for the first time.
Although I am irrefutably angry at Marcus’s lack of discretion in my private life, most of my anger stems from him reading my journals. I poured my heart and soul into my journals on the assumption they would never be read. They showed a side of me I’ve never been game to express until my weekend with Marcus.
I thought
the inane connection Marcus and I had was based on his ability to intuit my desires without me needing to express them. It was only once I discovered he read my journals did reality smack into me. He didn’t know me at all. He was just using the information he’d read in my journals as a way of knocking down my barriers. Knowing he used my private thoughts to his advantage hurts me more than him watching me in secrecy for two months.
My eyes rocket to Marcus when he says, “The first time I laid eyes on your journals was when I picked my Mac off the floor last weekend. And I swear to God, Cleo, I didn’t read a single word. Not one.”
I return his fervid watch, gauging for any deceit in his forthright eyes. I take a step backward as bewilderment registers its intention. There isn’t any deceit in his eyes. How can that be true? If he didn’t invade my privacy, why was a background search for me on his computer? Why did his Mac open on a live stream of my bedroom? And, most importantly, why should I believe him?
“And the surveillance camera? What about that?” I question, my anger not as wrathful as earlier after being leashed by his honesty.
Marcus licks his lips as the concern in his eyes grows. “At first, the camera was set up to seek confirmation that you were the girl in the elevator. Deep down inside, I knew you were her, but I wanted to see your unmasked face to be sure. It was only supposed to be one glance; I just couldn’t stop myself.”
The truth in his statement staggers me. I envisioned him brushing off my concerns under the guise that he is a celebrity, meaning my privacy was revoked for the sake of him keeping his. I didn’t expect him to hit me with straight-up honesty.
Taking advantage of my stunned composure, Marcus continues to subdue my anger with honesty. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was something different about you. Not just because you fell to your knees in front of me, but because no matter how many times I told myself I only wanted you to be my sub, nothing followed my usual routine with a new sub.”
If his declaration is meant to mollify my curiosity, it hasn’t. I’m more confused now than I’ve ever been. “How is this different? You wanted me to be your sub. You had a contract drawn up. The only difference between me and your previous subs is this: I’m not your sub, Marcus. I never signed the contract. I will never sign it.”
A wry grin tugs on Marcus’s lips, forcing my heart rate to merge into coronary failure territory. “Your refusal to sign our contract is not what makes our relationship different. Generally, if a sub wishes to forgo signing a formal contract, I move on. No ifs or buts.”
Even disgusted by his nonchalant response, my pulse quickens from his declaration.
“The difference this time around is me, Cleo, not you. I don’t chase. I don’t spend hours conversing on the phone. I don’t date. And I most definitely don’t put my need for control on the backburner at the request of my sub. But I did for you, Cleo, because I need you, I want you, and I won’t stop until I have you again.”
“I’ll never be your sub, Marcus. I’m not submiss—”
“I don’t want you as my sub, Cleo,” he interrupts, his deep timbre vibrating my heart out of my chest. “I want you as mine.”
My knees curve inwards as a spark of ardor runs rampant through my veins. Spotting the mask of eagerness slipping over my face from the way he growled “mine,” a lusty grin tugs on Marcus’s lips. His wicked smile is an erotic invitation to my libido. It sends it skyrocketing to a point I can no longer hide. My cheeks flame as the hairs on my nape prickle.
Sensing my weakening defenses, Marcus moves in even closer, leaving not an ounce of air between us.
“I’m going to kiss you, Cleo,” he informs me, his minty breath fanning my parted lips. “I’m going to kiss you until last week is forgotten; then I’m going to kiss you some more just for the hell of it.”
My brain commands for me to walk away before I lose the chance, but my body is too busy demanding my lungs breathe to follow its judicious counterpart’s plea. Even knowing he is exploiting my attraction to him doesn’t have me packing up stumps. I am beyond saving when it comes to this man.
Like he can sense my internal battle, Marcus mutters, "Self-judgment can confuse you, Cleo, but emotions never lie. Stop letting fear lead your desires. Dance with them instead."
For every millimeter his lips incline toward mine, the battle of my lungs doubles. My heaving lungs aren't my biggest concern, though. It's the conflicting array of emotions pumping through me. I'm wheezy, flushed, and incredibly aroused.
As his breathtakingly flawless eyes coax me into an intangible lure, Marcus mutters, “If you want me to stop, Cleo, you know what to say.”
Pineapple.
The fact he reminds me of the one word that will instantly halt his campaign to seduce me eases the panic flaring through my veins. If he were here purely to coerce me back into his bed, he wouldn't have given me an out; he would have steamrolled me into submission by tricking my heart into deceiving my brain.
Just as his lips are about to seal over mine, I mumble, “This isn’t a good idea; we still have so much to discuss. I have to. . .” My words trail off when the most delicious pair of lips I’ve ever tasted press up against mine.
9
The scent of Marcus's skin and the plumpness of his lips causes a flurry of memories to bombard me. Not just ones from last weekend; but ones that involve the stranger in the elevator and the masked man from the Bentley. It makes me want to forget last week ever happened. To push aside the pain and focus on the recovery.
Acting purely on the instincts of my wildly beating chest, I adjust the tilt of my head and part my lips. Marcus’s mouth scarcely catches the throaty growl rumbling up my chest when his tongue delves into my mouth in a long, leisurely lick. Cradling my cheeks in his big, manly hands, he bites, sucks and caresses my lips at a tortuously slow pace, savoring every morsel of my mouth.
I vaguely register my purse falling to the floor before my fingers rake over his clipped afro. I return his kiss with just as much passion, a stimulating mix of playful nips and teasing strokes of my tongue. The longer our kiss, the more urgent it becomes, his bites more painful, the strokes of his tongue more controlled. I draw him in closer, needing more. No, wanting more.
Sensing my desires, Marcus bands his arms around my back and pulls me into his tight, firm body. I purr when his wide cock braces against the aching throb in the middle of my legs. My enthusiastic response spurs him on even more. Cupping my thighs, he guides my legs around his waist. The flare of my skirt bunches around my hips, erotically exposing inches of my creamy white thighs.
Stepping forward, Marcus plasters my back on the cold tiled wall before rocking his hips forward. I arch my back, desperate to feel the thickness of his rod running the seam of my panties. As he kisses me with so much tenderness my heart nearly combusts, he swings his hips in a rhythm matching the strokes of his tongue, a teasing pace crammed with lust, heat, and forgiveness.
A whimper escapes my lips when he unexpectedly pulls his talented mouth away from mine long before I've had my fill. Although our lust-fueled kiss went above and beyond anything I could have hoped for, I still want more—much, much more.
With my fingers pressed on my tingling lips, I slowly flutter my eyes open. The insane beat of my heart kicks into overdrive when my heavy-lidded gaze meets with Marcus’s. He appears as moved by our kiss as I am. His eyes are wide and brimmed with sentiment, and his kiss-swollen lips are formed into a sexy, panty-melting smirk. Just seeing him so unkempt and carefree strengthens my desires to forget last weekend ever happened.
The reasoning behind his unwanted withdrawal comes to light when he drops his eyes to my right hip and mutters, “You’re vibrating.” His tone is rough and gritty, instigating a wild recklessness within me.
It takes several moments for me to register that not all the shudders wreaking havoc with my body were caused by Marcus's stimulating kiss. Some are from the vibration of my cell phone in my skirt pocket.
Unable to t
ear my heavy-hooded gaze away from Marcus’s memorable eyes, I return his lust-riddled stare while delving my hand into my pocket. It feels like a bucket of ice-cold water is thrown over me when my eyes drop down to the screen of my phone and I discover who is calling me: Delilah.
Sick gloom spreads across my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I was so caught up in Marcus, I failed to notice her additional two calls the past ten minutes.
I swallow several times in a row, ensuring the swishy contents of my stomach remain in their rightful place before swiveling my hips, requesting to be placed down. With reluctance, Marcus places me on my feet before taking a step backward. My body is furious about the loss of his contact. It isn't the only one disappointed; my heart is also beyond reproach.
After taking a few moments to clear my jittering nerves, I lift and lock my eyes with Marcus. “I need to take this,” I murmur, my words strained through the bile sitting in the back of my throat. “It could be important.”
Pretending I can’t feel his concerned stare focused on me, I bob down and collect my purse from the ground. Just as I am about to sidestep Marcus, his hand shoots out to seize my wrist. His touch sends a surge of electricity bolting up my arm, switching my sluggish heart rate to a calamitous gallop. Remaining quiet, he flattens my palm over his erratically beating chest. My eyes burn from a sudden influx of moisture. Our hearts are beating a similar rhythm. A tormented thump of confliction and love.
“I can’t misread signs like that, Cleo.”
God—I’m so torn. I want to tell him everything. I want to warn him about the tornado set to wreak havoc in his life so he can prepare for the backlash, but I can’t. It isn’t just Lexi’s health I am protecting; it's our entire livelihood. I am legally bound not to disclose a story to any source. If I break my employment contract with Global Ten Media, they will sue me. I can barely afford to live as it is, let alone pay legal expenses—it would send me bankrupt. Furthermore, my family home has so much sentimental value to me, it's priceless. I can’t risk losing it. I just can’t.
