by Shandi Boyes
Tightening my grip around her petite waist, I reply, “It’s okay. I understand. I probably would have reacted the same way.”
Lexi stiffens in my arms. “Probably?” she fires back, her voice quickly reverting to its usual perkiness. “Do you need a reminder of what you did to Tommy Rudolph when he picked me up an hour late on prom night?”
“That's different," I retort, ignoring the way Jackson's brow cocked from Lexi's admission. "You shouldn’t be late for prom. If he didn't want to cop the wrath of my fury, he should have heeded my warning.”
Lexi’s body shakes as a little giggle bellows out of her. “He was still limping when he collected his Prom King crown.”
I don’t care if it's something as simple as arriving late for a date or telling her she should dye her hair, when it comes to protecting my sister, nothing stands in my way. Not even the threat of spending time behind bars.
Lexi and I stay huddled in the middle of her room for several minutes. We don't talk; we just offer each other comfort in the best way we know how. I run my hand down her hair, soothing the frazzled pieces into place while savoring her closeness, and she hugs me so tightly, I’ll never forget it, even years after she is gone.
Way before I’ve had my fill, Lexi draws back from our embrace. “Still can’t believe you failed to mention Chains is Marcus Everett—the most prolific bass player/music producer the world has ever seen!” She drifts her bugged-out eyes to the Rise Up poster hanging center stage on the far wall of her room. “Would you look at that face?! Who wouldn’t want to lick every inch of that delicious chocolate skin?”
Before I can show my annoyance at her inappropriate question, Jackson pipes up, “There is nothing wrong with white chocolate, Lex. It's extra sweet and gooey, just the way you like it.”
Bitter-tasting bile forms in the back of my throat when Lexi chews on her bottom lip while suggestively waggling her brows. I love my sister—truly I do—but there is only so much of Lexi I can handle in one day. Considering this has been one of the longest days of my life, I’ve reached my quota.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to the edge of Lexi’s cheek before ambling to the hall separating our rooms. Any concerns I had entering the room vanish when Lexi’s beautiful laughter shrills into my ears on my way out.
“I friggin’ love it when you get jealous, Jax,” I hear her mutter as I step into the hallway.
After ensuring her door is closed, I make my way to the bathroom, letting my clothes drop where they fall. I take my time in the shower, hoping a good dose of hot water will scrub away a tiresome week.
Once I’ve shampooed my hair, shaved my legs, and removed the Band-Aids from my knees, I trudge into my bedroom. Feeling overheated with nerves, I dress down in a pair of black stretchy yoga pants and an oversized long-sleeve shirt. Although I’d like to look presentable for Marcus, no amount of designer clothes or makeup will glamorize the gritty conversation we are about to undertake.
It was only during the quietness of my shower did it dawn on me how hypocritical I've been. I got irrevocably angry at Marcus for invading my privacy when I've been doing the same thing to him the past two months. Although I could argue that legally I couldn’t inform him about the investigation into Chains, shouldn’t my moral obligation to the man I am falling in love with be my utmost priority?
From now on, it will be. If he will still have me.
While tying my unruly hair into a low ponytail, my body’s primitive awareness of Marcus activates. The hairs on my arms bristle, and my breathing pans out. Spinning on my heels, I find him standing in the doorway of my room. The groove between his eyes is as strong as ever, but the unnerving snip of anger in them has dampened somewhat the past thirty minutes. I’m not going to lie; his commanding stature adds to the sweat caking my skin. I’ve always found confidence a turn on, but I didn’t realize how profound my desires were until I met Marcus.
“Everything okay?”
“It is now.” His eyes stare into mine. “You?”
Smiling, I nod. “I’m fine.” Even more so because you are here.
I bite on the inside of my cheek, praying it will stop my immature fidgeting when he pushes off his feet and steps into my room, closing the door behind him. Although our sentences are short, they are eerily assuaging. It's like we don’t need words to express ourselves. Our eyes speak on our behalf.
The closer Marcus approaches me, the more the crackling of energy in the air amplifies. The sparks firing between us are so prominent, it makes what I am about to say ten times harder.
“I’m a journalist at Global Ten Media.”
16
Marcus stares straight at me, his eyes unpretentious and void of any anger. His response isn’t what I was anticipating. I expected him to curse and yell, or at the very least demand an apology. I didn't envision such a serene reaction to my confession.
I hold his gaze as he moves to stand in front of me. “We have many things to discuss, Cleo. But we are not doing that tonight,” he advises. His commanding tone ensures I can’t mistake his statement as a suggestion; it is a demand.
Although I’d appreciate nothing more than crawling into bed and forgetting today ever happened, my inquisitiveness won’t let this matter lie. It wants answers, and it wants them now. “Why aren’t you angry? You should be mad—really, really mad.”
Marcus responds to my question with a shrug of his shoulders. I remain quiet, in shock and unable to comprehend what's happening. I thought he’d be cursing the day we met, but he just stares at me with graciousness in his eyes. I know he guards his emotions with an iron fist, but even Mother Teresa could be excused for losing her cool in a situation like this. His laidback response doesn't make any sense. I am utterly baffled as to why he is so calm.
I freeze as realization dawns. “You know. That’s why you stayed away. You were testing me, waiting to see if I was going to expose your secret. You didn’t need to worry. Even angry, I had no intentions of—”
Marcus cuts off my belligerent blubbering by pressing his index finger to the curve of my top lip. His touch is gentle enough it doesn’t cause any worry to the cut in my lip, but firm enough he can express his desire for me to remain quiet without speaking a word.
“I didn’t stay away to test you. I stayed away to protect you.”
If his confession is supposed to ease my confusion, it doesn’t. I am more confused now than ever. Marcus peers into my eyes, letting his direct gaze speak on his behalf. It's a pointless endeavor. With my brain on the fritz from a grueling week, it's incapable of deciphering the hidden messages his eyes are relaying.
“You’re going to need to fill me in; I’m a little lost.”
Marcus’s lips curl from my daft response. “I plan on doing exactly that. . .” He bows his brow and stares straight into my eyes while adding on, “tomorrow.”
“No! Tomorrow may be too late,” I squeal through his finger pushed against my lip, my impatience incapable of waiting until the morning. “You don’t understand what I’m saying, Marcus. This isn’t some standard celebrity gossip piece. They have surveillance footage of you. They will destroy you. They won’t stop until—”
“Cleo!” Marcus growls, startling me so much my body snaps to his command. I smack my lips together and swallow the remainder of my rant. I’m not frightened by the roar of his voice; I’m turned on. I’ve never heard anything as provocative as the way he growls my name.
“I understand your concern, but we are not discussing this tonight.”
The confidence in his eyes appeases my anxiety. He looks confident, poised, and if I’m not mistaken, cocky. He isn’t the slightest bit worried about Global Ten Media’s investigation into Chains. I don’t know if I should applaud his confidence or reprimand him for being an idiot.
Reading the stunned expression on my face for what it is, Marcus smirks before removing his finger from my lips. Even losing his meekest contact doesn’t stop tingles dancing across my cheeks. My excitement remains st
rong, spurred on by the dominance brewing in his heavy-hooded gaze.
When he lifts his hand to brush away a strand of damp hair clinging to my bruised cheek, the tension in the air disperses as quickly as my inhibitions. I nuzzle into his embrace, my unsubtle display of affection telling him how I want the remainder of my day to pan out. Air whooshes out of Marcus’s lips, fanning more heat onto my cheeks. Although he seems startled by my silent propositioning, the fire blazing in his eyes reveals it isn’t a bad shock. He is more intrigued than annoyed.
“Would you like something to eat? Or are you ready for bed?”
“Bed,” I whisper, my low tone exposing my heightened state.
It isn’t that I’m not hungry, I just don’t think I should trust my twisting stomach with food.
“Do you need pain medication first?” Marcus asks, his eyes arrested on my lips.
When I shake my head, his thumb carefully assesses the cut on my lip. His attentiveness unclutters any confusion left in my mind about whether I am falling in love with this man. There is no doubt. I am lost to him.
“Are you sure you don’t need pain medication, Cleo? Your lip looks painful.”
Hating his crestfallen tone, I graze my teeth over the pad of his thumb before sucking it into my more-than-willing mouth, soundlessly informing him I am more than fine. Marcus’s nostrils flare as lust clears the gloom from his eyes. Heat rushes to my cheeks when his trousers fail to contain his excitement at my frisky tease. My body tightens, beyond pleased I provoked a response out of him. Achieving any type of response from a man as tightly reined at Marcus is a feat worthy of celebration.
Arching a brow at my giddy response, Marcus mutters, "I'm glad to see our week apart didn't subdue your desire to goad me."
“There is no chance of that ever happening,” I tease as a mammoth smile stretches across my face. “I like teasing you nearly as much as you like dominating me.”
Smirking, Marcus bobs down and scoops me into his arms. A girly squeal emits from my lips, thrilled my sassiness is about to pay dividends. I cling to his chest as he walks to the other side of my room, his strides long and efficient. Since my room is so small, it only takes him three long paces to reach my bed tucked into the corner of the dingy space.
A tinge of vulnerability scuttles through me when he draws back the thin comforter so he can place me on the lumpy mattress. Any embarrassment heating my cheeks becomes a forgotten memory when his hands move to the buttons on his suit jacket. While staring into my eyes, he slowly undoes the three buttons before shrugging his coat off his well-built body. I don't know if he realizes what he is doing, but his little strip tease is hitting every one of my hot buttons. I’m needy, flushed, and shamefully writhing on the spot. Thankfully, since his body is cloaking my bed with darkness, he can’t see my immature squirming.
I can’t take my eyes off him when he hangs his jacket over my computer chair before his fingers make quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt. Even something as simple as undressing is an awe-inspiring event when it's done by a man as deliriously handsome as Marcus.
A shameful whimper parts my lips when his crisp blue shirt falls away from his shoulders, exposing inches of his ravishing chocolate skin. Pretending it's the first time they’ve sampled his mouthwatering assets, my eyes study every delicious inch of his body in great depth.
After Marcus’s shirt joins his jacket on the chair, he kicks off his shoes and drops his hands to the belt wrapped around his slim waist. I pant as an endless stream of possibilities slams into me. I remember that belt—very well. Hearing the quickening of my breaths, Marcus connects his eyes with mine. My thighs squeeze together when I see the dominance beaming from his heavy-lidded gaze. His eyes are so commanding, they demand my respect, but in a non-arrogant kind of way. In a way that promises the reward for my admiration will be mammoth.
My hope of him washing away a horrifying week with a night twisted in the sheets is left for dead when the command in his eyes switches to liability. The shift in his demeanor is swift and resolute, completed in under a second. It isn’t my juvenile squirming that has him backpedaling; it's his eyes drifting over the bruise on my cheek. I wriggled so much, I moved out of the shadow his body was casting, which broadcasted my bruised cheek to his keen eyes.
“Nothing that happened tonight was your fault,” I stammer out, my words forced through the lust curled around my throat.
Acting like he didn’t hear a word I said, Marcus drops his trousers to the floor with a clatter before slipping between the sheets. I scoot across the bedding, making way for his impressive frame. A smile graces my lips when my backside splays against the outer wall of my room. I never noticed how small my double bed was until now. My breathing picks up when Marcus leans over to switch off the lamp on my bedside table. If he is hoping the dark will mollify the energy bouncing between us, he needs to try another tactic. Even with the room plunged into darkness, my body’s awareness of his closeness is still paramount. It can seek out its mate in a crowd of millions.
A zap of lust fires in my core when Marcus orders, “Come here, Cleo.”
I try to shut down my eagerness at the command in his tone. I fail. I am beyond saving when it comes to this man. With my teeth grazing my bottom lip, I slide across the sheets. For every millimeter I gain, the pungent aroma of lust intensifies. It's tense and thick, and it sets my pulse racing.
I keep scooting forward until my erratically beating chest competes with Marcus's for every inhalation of air I take. The sweetness of his breath hits my cheeks when he demands me to roll over. After arching a brow in silent suspicion, I do as requested. Heat blooms across my chest when the warmth of his body curls around mine. The softness of my curves caress the hard ridges of his stomach, and my cushy backside is more than pleased to nestle his stiffened shaft.
It's the fight of my life not to rub my backside along his thick cock—one I’m apparently not strong enough to deny since I grind against him not even two seconds later. Air straining through Marcus's teeth is the only acknowledgment he gives to my frisky tease. He remains completely motionless, not even the sounds of his breaths are audible.
Incapable of leashing my desire to tease him, I grind against him once more. My insides do a little jig when his fingers flex against my hip. His grip is not painful, but it's strong enough to awaken my desires that were late to the party due to excessive tiredness.
A trail of goosebumps follows the path Marcus's fingers make when he gathers my ponytail to the side of my neck, leaving my skin vulnerable and exposed to his ravishing mouth. I gasp in a quick breath, incredibly aroused as the softness of his lips brushes the shell of my ear.
Disappointment sluices my veins when he doesn’t respond in the manner I am hoping. “Sleep, Cleo. You need your rest.”
Ignoring my childish whine, Marcus runs his hand down the side of my arm, continuing his insistence that I sleep. I don't know why he'd ever believe a rub of my arm would ward off my sexual hunger. Even if I couldn't feel his impressive manhood at the base of my spine, the sheer closeness of his body is enough to instigate a wild carelessness within me.
The more he comforts me, the higher the grin on my face tugs. For a man who exerts confidence in bucket loads and has the sexual prowess to back it up, his movements are stiff—almost robotic. It reminds me of when I first walked into Chains, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I had a reason for my slack-jawed expression, though. I was being thrust into a world I knew nothing about. But what possible reason could Marcus have for his uneasy response?. . . my inner monologue trails off as reality dawns.
“Haven’t you done this before?”
Marcus stiffens before muttering, “Done what?”
Struggling to contain my giggle at the unsureness of his reply, I ask, “Spooning? Cuddling? Getting frisky with your clothes on? Haven’t you done that before?”
For how long he takes contemplating a response, I expect something more substantial to come out of his mouth than a simple, �
��No.”
“Seriously?!” My screech booms around the room. “How is it possible you’ve never spooned before?”
I’m not calling him out as a liar; I’m just surprised he’s never done something as simple as sleep next to a woman before.
My heart melts when Marcus replies, “Like many things, I never had the desire until I met you.” If I hadn’t heard the truth in his deep timbre, I would have been tempted to negate his claim.
I nuzzle into him deeper, wanting every inch of his skin touching mine. “You better watch out, Master Chains; I’m beginning to wonder if your Dom persona is a way of hiding the gigantic heart sitting in your chest.” I aim for my reply to come out cheeky, but it has a touch more sentiment than I intended.
When Marcus remains quiet, I attempt to roll onto my opposite hip. He firms his grip on my waist, foiling my endeavor. Expressing my annoyance at not being allowed to peer into his candid eyes, I grind against him. This time, I ensure every inch of his thickened shaft presses against me.
My attempts at riling him up backfire when his menacing growl ripples through my body. It's thick and thigh-shakingly delicious, and it adds to the excitement clustered in my heated core. Unbridled hankering overtakes my desire for sleep. I am aching with need, the thirst for climax so intense it feels unquenchable.
Once again, I attempt to roll on my hip. Once again, Marcus foils my attempt.
“Please let me see you,” I shamefully beg, my desire to see him blinding any astuteness I have left.
I can feel his heart pounding his ribs, a tormented thud of confliction and desire. “I can’t, Cleo. If I hurt you, I’ll never forgive myself.” The pain in his low words cuts me raw, leaving me exposed and vulnerable for the world to see.
“You would never hurt me.” The honesty in my tone bolsters my statement. “Besides, you can’t hurt someone just by looking at them.”
His fingers painfully flex on my hip, sending a rush of pleasure to my tingling core. “If I see your face, I’ll want you,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.
