by Rose, Callie
My pussy clenches at the sight.
God, he’s so fucking big. No wonder it hurts. No wonder it feels like he’s conquering my body.
My clit is throbbing again, my heart stuttering in my chest as I drag my fingers slowly up and down the length of his shaft. Marcus leans closer to me, closing the small distance between us as his head droops, his forehead nearly resting on mine.
“How do you do this to me, angel? How the fuck do you wreck me so bad?”
I want to laugh, because if there’s anyone who’s been wrecked in this equation, it’s me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. But the raw sound of his voice freezes the laugh in my throat.
Slipping my hand lower, I brush my fingers over the base of his cock, and I feel his balls tighten in response. When I wrap my hand around his broad girth, something inside him seems to snap.
With a grunt, he surges forward, lifting me in his arms at the same time. “Put me inside you. Now.”
I barely have a second to line his cock up with my entrance before he drives his hips into mine, slamming me back against the door as he fills me completely.
If I thought being fucked by Marcus once would make me used to it, I was wrong as hell. My body lights up with shock as my pussy clamps around him, the stretch of his invasion somehow both pleasurable and painful at the same time.
He uses gravity and his own strength to drive into me hard and fast, resting my upper body against the door as his hands grip my waist, lifting me up as his hips draw back before slamming me back onto his cock again.
I grab a fistful of his hair and hold on for dear life, and our gazes lock as he fucks me into the door.
Something seems to pass between us—something I couldn’t put into words even if I could speak right now—and I can’t look away from his face as tortured pleasure finally breaks across his features.
He slams his entire body forward with the last deep thrust, crushing me against the door as his cock throbs, flooding me with cum.
With a groan, he peels me away from the door and staggers across the room, laying me on the bed with his shaft still buried inside me. Murmuring soft, indecipherable words, he buries his face in my neck. He keeps thrusting, pulsing his hips against mine in small movements, continuing to fuck me even as his cock slowly begins to soften.
As if he can’t bear to stop.
As if he’ll never stop.
But finally, with one last shudder, he stills on top of me, his large body relaxing against mine.
We lie like that for a while, and he presses wet, lazy kisses to my skin every once in a while, like he’s still trying to devour me, even through the haze of sated exhaustion.
I don’t want to admit to myself how good this feels. How nice it feels to be wrapped up in this little bubble with him.
But it does.
So, of course, I have to try to break it.
“What the fuck happened back at my apartment?” I ask.
Just as I thought it would, Marcus’s body stiffens instantly. He presses up onto one arm and pulls out of me. I expect him to go cold, to glare at me and tell me it’s none of my fucking business.
But instead, he wraps one arm around me and rolls, bringing me with him to straddle him as he ends up on his back. He pulls me down against his chest and props one arm under his head so he can look at me.
“I know that guy. Carson Purcell.”
“Yeah. No shit.” I rest my palm on his chest, and my chin on the back of my hand. “How?”
He grimaces. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s got money. A lot of it. New money. His family runs in the same circles as mine, so our paths have been crossing for years. He’s an asshole, and he’s never liked me—or Theo or Ryland.”
“That’s weird. You’re all so personable.”
Marcus’s head jerks slightly in shock at my response, and then he belts out a laugh. When he looks back down at me, the earth and air of his eyes dance with amusement. “I like you like this, angel. I like this side of you.”
The easy affection in his words makes a flash of panic rise up in my chest, so I ignore what he said entirely, keeping my focus on the topic at hand. “Why did he help Natalie get her apartment back?”
All the humor drains from Marcus’s face. “I don’t know.”
“Is he trying to start a fight with you guys?”
“Probably.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me a little closer. “But don’t worry. He can’t do anything more than be a dick right now. And we’ll deal with him.”
“Should I be worried about him? Or Natalie?”
“No.” His tone is definitive. He drags his hands up my body to cup my face, gazing into my eyes. Then he releases his hold and curls his hands into loose fists, letting me read the date stamped onto his fingers—the marker of the connection that binds us. “You shouldn’t worry about any-fucking-thing.”
He rolls us over once more, bracing himself above me as his lips find my skin, pressing warm kisses to my neck and chest.
And when he slides inside me again, for a little while, I don’t.
Chapter 16
After Marcus brings me to orgasm twice before coming inside me again, we both doze, exhausted and spent.
I wake up as the light outside is changing from a rosy glow to the hazy blue of post-sunset.
Shit. I have to work tonight.
My body feels both sated and sore, and I’m sprawled out on my back on the large bed with Marcus’s heavy arm draped over my stomach. I gaze down at his hand, at the numbers imprinted onto his skin, and a strange feeling washes over me.
That date will always be irrevocably embedded in my memory.
My entire life changed that night.
But somehow, I think Marcus’s did too.
I brush my fingers over the scars on my chest, then down my ruined arm. There are a few near my elbow that I can’t see because of the tattoos, but I know exactly where they are.
Was any part of that night fate?
Or was it all just random luck?
Turning my head to look at Marcus, I take in his sleeping form. The lines of his face are just as hard and intense in sleep as they are when he’s awake, but something around his mouth and eyes seems to have relaxed a bit. His long lashes brush his cheeks, and he looks almost boyish like this. At peace.
“You’re right. It wasn’t an accident,” I whisper, my voice hardly more than a breath.
I’ve never said that out loud. Not even to myself. I’ve spent two and a half years insisting the opposite was true, telling myself maybe I never really saw the gun before it fired—maybe I didn’t know the danger I was stepping into.
But I did know.
I saw the gun, and I knew what was coming.
Maybe I’ll never fully understand why I did it, but that doesn’t change the fact that in that moment, I made a choice.
I chose to save Marcus Constantine’s life. To exchange mine for his.
Except I lived too, against all odds.
Marcus stirs a little in his sleep, grunting softly. He’s still dead to the world, and I’m sure he didn’t hear me speak.
Good. He wasn’t meant to.
It’s a vulnerable thing, to fall asleep with someone. I can’t believe I did it with him, but I also can’t quite believe he’s done it with me. For as much as this man wants access to every part of my life, he seems just as adamant about keeping parts of his own on lockdown. I know there are secrets he’s keeping from me, and I wonder if I should’ve pushed harder to uncover them.
For a long time, I intentionally avoided asking him personal questions or trying to learn more about his life. I didn’t want to strengthen whatever strange connection seemed to exist between us, to make it any more real than it already felt.
But I think it’s a little too fucking late for that now.
With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I carefully slide out from under his arm, moving slowly to be sure I don’t wake him. I pad across the room to collec
t my clothes, getting dressed quickly.
I was a sticky mess when I fell asleep, but there’s no cum drying on my inner thighs, which makes me think Marcus must’ve cleaned me up again before he passed out. I don’t know quite how to feel about that, so I choose not to fixate on it, slipping the door open quietly and stepping out into the hall.
I leave my jacket, my single shoe, and my prosthesis in the bedroom, and when I pass my other shoe in the hall, I leave that one too. I’ll come back for them later. I still have a few hours before I need to be at Duke’s, and I have a very strong feeling I know what Marcus’s reaction will be if I try to take the bus home before work.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t poke around a little bit before he wakes up. Stalking can go both ways, and now it’s my turn.
My bare feet are quiet on the stairs, and when I reach the large entry room on the first floor, I stop and turn in a circle. This is the only other room of the house I’ve ever seen, and to be fair, I’ve barely seen this one.
It’s big and airy, minimally decorated in a way that feels intentional instead of just lazy. A hallway at the back of the room cuts under the stairs to lead deeper into the house, and I can see a living room through another large, open doorway.
After a moment of consideration, I head toward the hall. The house seems big from the outside, and I want to see how far back it goes.
When I’m halfway down the hall, though, I hear quiet voices coming from up ahead of me. As I draw a little closer, I recognize the distinctive crack of pool balls clacking together, and when I round the doorway of the room, I find Ryland bent over a pool table while Theo watches him line up his shot.
Ryland’s gaze catches mine at the same moment he moves his cue, and his shot goes wide. The ball bounces off the rails, and Theo crows in victory.
“What are you doing down here?” Rylands asks, cranky as ever. He straightens and backs away from the table as Theo steps forward.
“Why? Am I not allowed to go into the west wing?”
The look he shoots me makes it obvious he doesn’t get my Beauty and the Beast reference. And why the fuck would he? The guy doesn’t exactly look like he watches Disney movies for fun.
“You can do whatever you want. It’s not my house.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Marcus still sleeping?” Theo asks, looking over his shoulder from where he’s lining up his shot. His tall body leans over the pool table gracefully, and the sleeves of his t-shirt stretch over the muscles of his biceps.
“Yeah. How’d you know we were asleep?”
His face splits in a lopsided smile, the faintest hint of a dimple appearing in one cheek as he grins at me. “It got quiet. So.”
“Oh.” Memories of what happened upstairs earlier flit through my head, and my cheeks heat. There were some noises I remember making, but I’m sure there were plenty of others I don’t. “Right.”
Theo’s grin widens, but it’s not just humor that makes his blue-green eyes flash. There’s heat in them too, and I can’t keep my gaze from drifting down to his crooked smile again. I remember what his lips felt like on mine, what his tongue tasted like, and warmth slides down my spine.
Fuck. What am I even doing?
I clear my throat, turning away, but that only puts Ryland’s face directly in my vision again. He’s still watching me with a hard gaze, like he expects me to try to steal some of Marcus’s shit and run off with it.
Dragging my gaze away from his accusatory stare, I add, “Anyway, I just came downstairs to—”
“—play pool?” Theo takes his shot, then straightens and grins at me. His gaze drops to my right arm briefly, and his smile flickers. “Or, uh…”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know I can play better than a lot of people with two good arms.”
The smile returns to his face, brighter than ever. He holds out his cue to me. “Yeah? Prove it.”
“It’s my shot,” Ryland bitches, but I ignore him and grab the cue.
I can feel both men watching me as I line up my shot, deliberately going for the balls Ryland missed earlier. There’s a pool table in the back room of Duke’s, and I sometimes go back there after we close if I’m not tired enough to go home. I don’t usually play against other people, but I’ve gotten pretty good.
I keep my arm steady as I gauge the angle, and when I shoot, I sink two striped balls into the corner and side pockets.
Theo chuckles, and Ryland lets out a low grunt.
I hand the cue back to the taller man, and Theo’s fingers brush against mine as he takes it, sending a cascade of sparks up my arm.
“Nice.” He looks honestly impressed.
“Thanks.” I give a little shrug and step back. As he bends over the table again, I glance at Ryland. “So what’s the deal with you guys and Carson Purcell? Why do you all hate each other so much?”
His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Why? What did Marcus tell you?”
“Does it matter? I’m asking you.”
His lips press together. I can tell he doesn’t appreciate the challenge in my voice, or the implication that he won’t say anything until he knows what Marcus said. “Nothing. There’s no deal.”
“Oh, come on, man.” Theo sinks the eight ball and then straightens, sharing a look with Ryland. “She was there. She knows that’s not true.”
“Marcus said your families run in the same circles,” I say, hoping if I get things rolling, they’ll tell me more than their friend did. “That he’s always had it out for you guys.”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes again at Ryland’s clipped answer. “So what does that have to do with Natalie?”
“He’s fucking with us,” Theo says, and Ryland’s gaze snaps to him, a warning look on his face. When I turn to face the blond man, he shrugs. “Trying to get a rise out of us.”
“Why?”
“He wants us to do something stupid.”
A barrage of images filter through my mind, making me shiver.
Marcus’s fist flying toward Greg’s face over and over. The lock hanging broken from Natalie’s apartment door. The glint of a gun barrel emerging from a car window.
These men lead lives that seem to constantly flirt with violence. What exactly would it mean for them to “do something stupid”?
“Are you going to?” I reach out to take the pool cue from Theo, looking up to meet his gaze.
“No.” He doesn’t release it right away, taking a small step closer to me instead. “We’re not.”
His proximity throws me off balance, and I hold on to the cue like it’s an anchor. I still feel Marcus everywhere on my body—inside my body. I don’t understand how I can have such a visceral reaction to another man while those marks are still on me.
The two of them are so different, such complete opposites in so many ways. Maybe that’s why I find myself drawn to them both. They each speak to a different side of me.
And Ryland…
Well. Ryland would obviously rather not speak to me at all.
“So, what do you say? Wanna play another game?” Theo slips back into a casual grin, and I can’t help but feel like he’s trying to downplay this Carson thing, whatever it is. Just like Marcus did. “I’ll rack ’em.”
“Yeah. All right.” I step back, leaning on the cue. “But for every shot I make, I get to ask you guys a question.”
“Why do you want to know about us so much?”
Ryland’s hard voice makes irritation flare inside me, and I turn to him as Theo gathers the balls from the pockets and resets them. “Maybe I’m just playing catch-up. You’ve been watching me since the night I got shot, and two and a half years is a long fucking time.”
Something passes over his face, like he’s fighting an internal battle with himself. I don’t know which side won and which side lost when he finally says, “Fine.”
“What do
you do for a living?”
He scowls at me. “You haven’t even taken a shot yet.”
“He’s got you there, Rose.” Theo laughs. He grabs a third cue from a rack on the wall and breaks with practiced ease, sending the balls scattering across the table.
I sink my first shot and repeat the question.
“My family owns an international chain of hotels,” Ryland says, keeping his answer as short and non-informative as possible as he takes his own shot.
“And what do you do?”
“I help.”
“Huh.” I make a face, walking around the table to scope out a good angle. “Must be a rich person thing.”
“What do you mean?”
I flick a glance in his direction. “I work at Duke’s most nights, and I temp whenever I can on top of that. Every dollar in my bank account? I know exactly where it came from. When I ask you what you do for a living, you say your family owns hotels and that you help.” I shrug. “It’s just different. I’m sure you don’t clock in and out either.”
Ryland’s posture stiffens. He shoves his rolled sleeves higher up his arms, revealing a little more of the swirling ink on his forearms as he lifts his brows at me. “Are you saying you don’t think we’ve earned what we have?”
The expression on his face isn’t even quite anger, although his voice has a sharp edge to it. It’s more like… fuck, I don’t know what. I wish I could read him better.
I backpedal a little, surprised by his response. “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t know your life. Clearly.”
I’m surprised again by the bitterness that coats my final word.
Surprised by the undeniable truth—that I want to.
“Your shot,” Theo says, nudging me gently with his shoulder and drawing me out of my silent standoff with his friend.
We keep playing, and although Ryland never seems happy about the game, his answers do get a little longer with each one he gives.
It’s a good thing I’m pretty decent at pool. That’s how I learn that the three men all live within five minutes of each other—which explains how Theo got here so quickly that night—that they’ve known each other since they were little boys, and that Marcus wanted to be a race car driver as a kid.