by Stasia Black
She’d been on the edge since he first thrust into her but his words sent her over. He was hitting that perfect spot deep inside. Yes, oh gods, yes.
In order to stop herself from howling Marcus’s name as she came, she thrust her face into the pillow.
But he knew her too well. He pulled back and stopped thrusting right as the first astounding bloom of her orgasm hit.
She cried out with the loss of it and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her still. “Say my name,” he commanded in a low, guttural voice. “Say who you belong to.”
She shook her head in an attempted denial but he just gripped her tighter and gave her a slight shake. “Say who you belong to.”
His cock teased at the edge of her entrance, tormenting her, her pleasure was so close and yet so far away.
“Marcus,” she finally wailed and he slammed back into her, immediately lighting her back up. She screamed his name again as her pleasure ramped higher and higher and then exploded like a night full of firecrackers.
Marcus thrust himself to the root right as she clenched and spasmed around him, his grip on her body never lessening an iota.
Together, they came, as the light of sunset streamed through the window.
As the pop and sparkle of her orgasm finally dissipated, she panted, short of breath, her entire body alive but languid with satisfied pleasure. And Marcus still held her from behind, though he rolled them so that they lay on their side. Him spooning her, his cock still hard inside her and every few moments he’d thrust again, like he wasn’t ready to let go no matter the fact that he’d already spent.
His fingers trailed the back of her neck. “I missed this.”
Her heart was heavy, full to bursting with the things she wished she could say. “You can have it anytime you want.” You can have me.
“Oh, I know.” She could hear his arrogant smile in his words.
She was glad she was faced away from him. It made her braver somehow, so she continued. “You’ve been so busy lately.”
“Miss me?” She thought he sounded pleased.
“As much as you missed me.” She rocked against his hardness. His cock shifted and swelled. His fingers found the back of her neck, no longer stroking but clamping down on the sensitive points.
“I have a weakness when it comes to you.” He pulled out of her and left her side to clean up. When he returned, she was still huddled on the bed, back to him.
He came around the bed and his fingers lifted her chin. “What’s wrong?”
She was done bottling her frustration. “Only you would describe it as weakness.”
“What would you call it?” No sarcasm, just curiosity.
“I don’t know…” His honest expression made her bold. “Affection?”
Her heart pounded through the silent seconds. His hungry gaze dropped to her lips and she felt it like a kiss.
His hands cupped her cheeks, and then he kissed her for real.
“Affection,” he agreed. He stroked her hair, petting her like she was an adorable kitten he allowed to sleep on his bed. And her stupid, stupid heart leaped up like he’d declared his love from the rooftops.
“What if we…” Cora’s breath hitched but she continued, “what if we just stayed in tonight?” She felt her vulnerability stretched raw, right out there for anyone to see as she asked it. But she didn’t take it back. “I— I could make it worth your while.” She reached out and placed a hand on the front of his pants, where his cock stirred.
His hand shot down and firmly clasped around her wrist, though, stopping her. She felt her heart sink as he stepped back. He was about to reject her. Again.
“The Orphan is the hottest music act on the East Coast. The press will be there to catch the celebrities attending the concert, and I want them to see you with me. I need you there by my side.”
Aha. Of course. He needed Mrs. Ubeli on his arm for a photo op, a distraction to the cameras. Tonight she’d be her husband’s arm candy, dressed to dazzle, drawing the camera’s eye to the scandalous slit of her dress or her long bare leg exiting the car.
She squeezed her eyes shut to stop a stupid tear from escaping. She legitimized his business, she knew, with her innocent looks and role as the dutiful wife. Like the magician’s assistant, she took the focus off him and left him free to whatever quiet business he had in the background.
It was their unspoken arrangement, as contractual as the rest of his business dealings were. She played the role of Mrs. Ubeli and in return he did her the great honor of not killing her and to the best of his ability, pretending she was not a Titan.
But she would never truly be family and she would certainly never be anyone he could ever love. Men like Marcus didn’t understand that emotion. They understood power, and in this relationship, he had it and she didn’t.
She’d been an idiot yet again, showing even an ounce of weakness by asking him to stay in tonight.
She turned away from him and forced her voice to be steady and cool. “I’ll be ready in an hour.”
Two
The sidewalks around the Elysium club and concert hall were packed with excited concert goers. Marcus’s black sedan slid to a stop in front of the back doors, where the crush of people was thicker than at the front entrance.
Cora peered out at the throng. “Marcus,” she said nervously.
“It’s all right.” Marcus leaned forward and gave an order to the driver.
Outside, a few muscle men dressed all in black threaded through the crowd. His Shades. In a matter of seconds, they lined the entryway and were holding back the throng, though it looked like a near thing. Cora had never seen a crowd so big.
Still, amidst the chaos, the paparazzi sensed something was happening as they pulled close and swiveled the cameras’ eyes onto the black sedan.
Cora shrank back into the dark cocoon of the car. This was her least favorite part: being stripped and exposed for the cameras. She smoothed her ice blue sheath dress and touched her coifed hair to check it.
“Hey.” Marcus cupped her chin and gently turned her head. “You’re perfect.”
For a moment, his dark eyes held her transfixed. All the thoughts about the noise and mess outside melted away. He frowned slightly and for a second, Cora thought she saw the flicker of something more than obligation and duty in his eyes.
Something thumped the side of the car and she jumped. A roar erupted in the otherwise quiet car as the door on her side opened. Turning with her heart in her throat, she saw Sharo, Marcus’s right-hand man, leaning over the car. His large black head filled the window for a moment while he signaled to his boss.
“Stay by my side for a few pictures,” Marcus said, his jaw working as he eyed the people swarming around them. “Then go with Sharo. He can handle the crowd and get you safely inside.” He pulled out his phone.
The car door opened with another blast of sound. Cora slid out, fighting to keep her dress modest and trying not to flinch at the sudden bright lights. She stepped close to Sharo, whose large body buffered her as much as possible from the light and noise.
Marcus slid out after her and posed for a moment next to the car, six feet of male perfection. Something about his height, his dark eyes and perfect cheekbones under the thick fall of black hair gave him a beautiful intensity. Add in some rumors of a criminal empire, and papers fell over themselves to report on the Lord of the Underworld’s fascinating mystique.
Cora took her husband’s arm, falling into her role of eye candy. Smiling down at her, Marcus barely seemed to notice the flashing lights or people calling to him. His mask of affable billionaire was firmly in place. She wondered when she’d next see the real Marcus.
“Mr. Ubeli!” a reporter called. “How does it feel to have landed the hottest musical act in an exclusive contract?”
Marcus turned and offered a charming grin, squeezing Cora gently to him. She knew what a great picture the two of them cut, with Marcus’s dark good looks and her light hair and pale skin.<
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“We’re very grateful,” Marcus was answering. “We want Elysium to showcase only the best.”
He’d completely remodeled the venue, inside and out, since they’d come here for the charity ball and auction all those months ago when he’d purchased the fateful theater tickets that would lead to the night ending with a bullet in her guts. Now instead of a venue for conferences and parties, it was one of the hippest clubs and concerts spaces in New Olympus.
A few more questions from the media and Cora felt her fluttering heart calm. Marcus made it look so easy, whether in public or private, he always looked poised and perfect. She was the only one who ever got to see him lose a bit of that perfect control, like she had earlier in the bedroom tonight. A pleasurable tingle skittered down her back even at the memory and she let her lips curve into a satisfied smile. Cameras flashed.
She wasn’t as practiced as Marcus at deception and the few times she’d offered fake smiles, the press had commented on it. So she’d taught herself to think of happy things when in front of cameras, even if it meant thinking of Marcus and the memories came with a vicious afterbite.
Marcus looked down as if reading her mind and gave her his own heated version. His hand slid a little lower than her waist.
Cora forced herself to keep her smile but reminded herself it was just for the cameras. Marcus was so drop dead gorgeous when he smiled, but he rarely did it anywhere else other than when there were cameras around.
They were turning as one to go when another person called, “What about reports that The Orphan has connections to the mob in Metropolis?”
Marcus barely let his grin flicker but Cora felt his body tense. He waved for a second and pushed Cora forward. Sharo was immediately at their side, along with several of Marcus’s other hand selected bodyguards. The Shades protected the Ubelis and would die on Marcus’s command. Or so the rumors went. Dressed all in black, muscles bunched under their suits, they cut menacing figures on the red carpet.
Usually Cora felt uncomfortable with them hanging around, but, as they stepped forward and formed a phalanx around her and Marcus, she was grateful for their protection.
Sharo hovered close, a mountain in a tux. “We need to talk.”
“Later. Get her inside,” Marcus ordered, and the group moved in perfect formation, Sharo at the back.
“See you at the concert,” Marcus told Cora, and handed her off to his trusted second in command.
She glanced back once, right before she went inside, to see her husband standing solid against the mad rush of reporters trying to interview Elysium’s owner. Then she—and her black clad corps—were inside.
Sharo’s large hand ghosted over her spine as they went down the back hallways, up to the second story to the private lounge.
Cora wondered if she’d see Marcus for the rest of the night. That’s how it went sometimes. She was good for pretty pictures but once he had no more need of her… Cora bit her lip and stiffened her back. No. He didn’t have the power to hurt her anymore because she knew the score now.
Still, once they entered the bar area, Cora breathed a sigh of relief. No more false smiles required for a while. There were no cameras up here; Elysium’s elite patrons didn’t like attention. The ones who paid for access to this private lounge were all business associates of Marcus’s.
A few of them were at the bar or in booths, enjoying a quiet drink. Cora recognized a few right away. Santonio, who ran a high-end prostitution ring—he preferred to call them escorts—stood talking to Rocco, who controlled all of the distribution business in the Styx, a territory south of the city, near the docks. Another two, Joey and Andy DePetri, were at the bar, arms around women at least ten years younger than them.
It was looking more and more like the concert was a perfect cover for Marcus to gather his capos and discuss business.
Cora ducked into the first booth she came to, hoping they wouldn’t notice her. If they saw her, they’d want to pay their respects, and she didn’t want to talk to them.
Sharo paused for a moment at the end of her table, surveying the room. The rest of her bodyguards seemed to melt away, although she could see them discreetly stationed near the gold fringed theater curtains that decorated the lounge.
“Sharo,” Cora leaned forward. The big man didn’t turn but she knew he was listening. He noticed everything. “Was all of that madness for the band tonight?”
The crowd outside had really been something, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Elysium might be one of the top clubs in the city but still.
Sharo shrugged. But she didn’t expect him to answer. He rarely spoke to her, even though he was Marcus’s right hand man.
She relaxed back into her booth, studying him. A wire wrapped around his large bald head, and he wore an expensive platinum watch around one wrist. Like Marcus, he looked flawless and in control even after the mad rush at the door. His tux was perfect; she wondered where he bought it to fit his large frame.
“Nice suit,” she said to his back. “You look good.”
In answer, he twisted slowly and gazed down at her. Touching his crackling headpiece, he turned and walked away.
Cora sighed. “I need to make friends,” she muttered to herself.
Real friends, not the kind who socialized with her out of ambition or fear of her husband’s position. Her only real friend was Maeve, two decades her senior, who owned the dog shelter where she volunteered. But it would be great to have more people she felt comfortable around at things like this.
“Mrs. Ubeli,” a perky cocktail waitress came by. “The usual?”
“Thank you, Janice.” Cora watched the young woman dart away, thinking that the waitress was probably around her age. And how hard would it be to strike up a conversation? And meet her for drinks later? Or go out for a mani/pedi?
Cora tried to imagine asking Marcus if she could have a girl’s movie night up at the penthouse. Nope, couldn’t picture it.
Meanwhile, the waitress had returned with her glass of wine.
“Are you excited about the concert?”
“Yes.” Cora met the young woman’s enthusiasm with her own. “Do you know the band?”
“The Orphan?” the waitress practically squealed. “Everyone knows him. He’s amazing. Look—” The girl plucked a newspaper off of a nearby stand, and showed Cora the Arts Section.
“Rock God packs Elysium,” it read.
Cora smiled. Marcus would be pleased with the free publicity.
“His songs are amazing,” Janice kept gushing.
Glancing up, Cora saw a few of the men around the club looking their way, attracted by the girl’s excitement. Cora put her hand on the paper and looked pointedly at Janice.
“Thanks,” Cora said quietly. “Can I keep this?”
As the waitress left, Cora scanned the article. It was short, just talking about The Orphan’s top hits and incipient fame around the country.
Cora buried her head in the paper, hiding her face from the rest of the club to read until the concert started.
“Mayor Pledges Reform as Elections Draw Near” splashed across the front page, with a picture of a handsome blond waving to the crowd. Zeke Sturm. The Op/Ed scoffed at the pre-election speeches, citing broken promises of previous terms. Meanwhile the Style pages were dedicated to articles on the mayor’s reign as “most eligible bachelor” with an emphasis on his suave wardrobe. The Gossip pages spun the tale of his latest lover, with a byline listing all his famous liaisons on the side.
“Mayor or Player?” Cora read the title and rolled her eyes. She tossed the paper onto the table, ready to donate it to the shelter so it could line the bottom of the dog cages. At least the election would be over soon.
“Hey, sweetheart. You’re looking beautiful tonight.”
Cora frowned up at a tall, stout, balding man in a floor-length fur coat staring straight at her chest. His fat fingers bore a gold ring on each hand.
“Uh, thank you.” She glanced around f
or a bodyguard, but couldn’t see one. They probably were out handling the crowd; it looked like they needed all hands on deck. Besides, wasn’t she always telling Marcus she would be fine by herself? Well it was true he let her go wherever she wanted in the city, but his Shades were always in the shadows following.
Realizing she had her hand up by her neck in a vulnerable pose, she touched her diamonds lightly and then forced her hand down.
She made herself smile at the man. Was he one of Marcus’s business partners? Maybe partner to Santonio or Rocco? If he was, there were too many politics involved for her too tell him to get lost. She would play nice until she was sure.
The man smiled back down at Cora, but it wasn’t a nice smile. A lot of Marcus’s associates looked at women like that, although they always acted like perfect gentlemen to her when she was on Marcus’s arm. They wouldn’t dare disrespect her husband like that.
Maybe this gentleman needed a reminder of who she was. “Are you enjoying yourself in our club?” She kept her tone cool and confident.
“Oh, yes, absolutely, toots. In fact,” he slapped down a business card in front of her, “I was going to invite you to visit mine.”
Cora glanced down at the card and read the purple lettering out loud, “The Orchid House.”
“Finest establishment in town.” The man grinned and a gold tooth flashed. “In fact, I recommend you visit sometime this week. Preferably around eleven. We’re holding auditions.”
“Auditions?”
“That’s right. Body like yours, you’d make a killing. Guys love the skinny no-tits look nowadays.”
Cora stiffened.
“I’m not saying I don’t,” the man continued, chuckling a little. “Especially with that baby doll face you got.”
As he spoke, a skinny redhead wearing a scary amount of eye makeup sauntered up.
“Am I right, Ashley?” The man slid his hand over Ashley’s rump and squeezed. In response, the redhead put her arms around him. Her long nails looked vicious as they stroked and smoothed the man’s fur coat. She scowled at Cora.
