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by Shandi Boyes

  My knees curve inward as a rush of gratefulness flows over me. After the brutal day I’ve had, I needed that boost in confidence. Swallowing to relieve my bone-dry throat, I drop my eyes to my watch. I gasp in a stunned breath when I notice it's a quarter past nine. With my run-in with Delilah and the unnamed man leaving me a jittering mess, I’m over an hour late for our arranged meeting. I’m not going to lie, knowing Marcus waited in the dark for me so long fills me with hope that we will sail through the crazy storm trying to overcome us, and come out even stronger.

  Placing my key into the lock, I swing open my front door and step into the foyer of my home. After gathering my box from the ground, Marcus shadows closely behind me. With my entire house cloaked in darkness, it doesn’t take a genius to realize Lexi isn’t home. Her afternoon movie date with Jackson must have been more jam-packed with activities than she was anticipating.

  I run my hand along the right wall, seeking the light switch. It takes a few seconds for the old tube lighting to flicker on. Once it does, I throw my keys and broken cell into the bowl on my entranceway table before spinning around to face Marcus. My steps are shaky, uneasy about what his reaction will be to my humble home.

  I didn’t need to worry. After placing my box to the side of the foyer, Marcus’s eyes eagerly roam around the space, absorbing my precious family portraits and much-loved knickknacks I’ve amassed over the years. The admiration beaming out of him in invisible waves grows with every silent second that ticks by.

  Smiling, I ask, “Can I take your coat?”

  Marcus’s hands shoot down to the button of his jacket as he strays his eyes to me. My steps toward him fumble when the inviting gleam in his eyes vanishes, making way for a livid expression I don’t recognize. As he frantically assesses my face, the veins in his neck twang and his jaw muscle tenses. The fury blackening his eyes multiples when he spots the mark on my right cheek, then it turns downright murderous when he notices my split lip.

  I try to issue him some reassurance that I am fine, but not a peep escapes my lips. My brain is too busy categorizing the angry streaks lining his gorgeous face to form a response. I'm also a little stunned by his reaction. I've never seen a man look so fierce and vulnerable at the same time.

  When his gaze drops to my blood-splattered shirt and gravel-scuffed knees, my concern for the man who assaulted me intensifies. Marcus looks set to kill. His nostrils are flaring, and his fists are balled at his side. The efforts of my heaving lungs grow when he locks his eyes back with mine. They are brimming with so much pain, it feels like my chest is being torn in two.

  “I’m okay,” I stammer out, my words so croaky they are nearly incoherent.

  Cautiously ambling towards me, Marcus asks, “Who did this to you, Cleo?”

  When his delicious scent engulfs me, I close my eyes and inhale a giant whiff. His freshly laundered scent overtakes the revolting smell of desecration leaching out of me. I didn’t realize how dirty I felt until now. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. My entire day has been one shit storm after another, a horrifying ten hours I’d give anything to erase from my mind.

  Tears prick my eyes when Marcus cups his hands around the curve of my jaw. His touch is gentle—almost featherlike. While his crammed-with-remorse eyes dance between mine, his thumb carefully runs over the split in my top lip. A tornado of pain brews in his eyes when his dedication moves to my throbbing cheek. From the devastation I see there, I feel confident in saying the red welt on my cheek has morphed into a bruise.

  The dam of moisture in my eyes I’ve been struggling to ignore the past hour nearly breaks when Marcus asks again, “Who did this to you, Cleo? Who hurt you, baby?”

  I try to formulate a response, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a painful sob. I'm not speechless because I'm injured—my attacker's strike was as pathetic as he is. It's the rawness in Marcus’s eyes that's too much for me to bear. It's clawing at my chest, disfiguring my heart even more than his deceit did.

  Spotting the inundation of moisture in my eyes, Marcus mutters, “Cleo. . .” His distraught tone adds to the wetness pooling in them.

  When the first tear unwillingly rolls down my unmarked cheek, Marcus draws me into his chest. He wraps me up with his warmth, sheltering me from the world with his big, protective body. Unable to contain the overwhelming barrage of emotions hammering into me, I burrow my head into his chest and let my tears flow. Usually, I'd fight the desire to cry, but for now, I am beyond saving. It actually feels good to be relieved of my tears. Like all the tension from a long and exhausting week is being drained from my body with every tear I shed.

  Marcus scoops me into his arms before moving through my house like he intimately knows the floor plan. Not bothering to switch on the light, he pads into the living room at the side of the entranceway and sits on my springless couch. His freshly showered scent loiters in my nose when he draws me into his chest and runs his hand down my back. His kindness soothes the shakes impeding my body, while his whispered words of reassurance heal the cracks in my heart. He repeatedly tells me that I am safe and that he won't let anyone hurt me, while occasionally adding in a request to be informed of my attacker's identity, and pleading for me to seek medical attention.

  I always thought it would be awkward being comforted by a man I am attracted to. It isn't. It's oddly electrifying. The zing of intimacy between Marcus and me is so strong, I feel like it's tethering us closer together, making us an unstoppable duo. For the past two months, I kept denying the extra thud my heart got any time I thought about Master Chains. Now, I’m too tired to continue with the winless fight. I’m not saying I am in love with Marcus, but I’ve never felt more alive than I do when I’m wrapped in his arms.

  When my tears subside from a steady stream to a slight trickle, Marcus carefully pulls back on my shoulders. The hurt in his eyes is still notable, but it isn’t as rampant as it was earlier. The back of his fingers make quick work of the tearstains marring my face, but it does nothing to ease my blemished cheeks. His touch is so electrifying it sends a jolt to my aching core, which only adds to the color reddening my skin.

  We sit in silence for several moments, but my body's awareness of his closeness is still paramount. Even if brain-eating zombies were taking over the world, my body's alerted response to Marcus wouldn't change. Just feeling the heat of his gaze watching me cautiously is enough to activate a wild recklessness within me.

  When my tongue darts out to replenish my parched lips, the air between us shifts, changing our gathering from being stifled by remorse to being fired with lust. Being extra attentive not to touch my bruised cheek, Marcus cradles my jaw in his hands. His thumb brushes the curve of my lip, his touch so gentle I don’t feel the slightest twinge of pain.

  The thin material of my shirt is unable to hide my response to the tenderness of his touch. My nipples bud and strain against the thin ivory material. I can tell the exact moment Marcus registers my body’s excited response to his meager touch. I feel him grow beneath me, his cock becoming so thick, his trousers struggle to contain its growth.

  “Please kiss me,” I whisper, my desire too rampant to be thwarted by modesty.

  When his eyes relay his hesitation, I incline my mouth toward his. “Wash it all away. Make me forget today ever happened.” I quote part of the pledge he made to me earlier today.

  Marcus’s lips were the reason fantasies were created, so I’m more than willing to use them to drag me out of the nightmare I’m currently trapped in.

  “Cleo. . .” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

  “Please,” I whimper while swiveling my hips, ensuring he is aware I know of his wavering constraint. “I need you, Marcus.”

  My confession clears some of the indecisiveness from his eyes, but it doesn't entirely erase it. Incapable of warding off my desires, I take matters into my own hands. As my breathing shallows, I lean in intimately close to his side. My breath bounces off his deliciously fragrant skin when I place a successio
n of featherlike kisses along the edge of his jaw. Marcus surprises me by remaining still, neither denying or encouraging my defiance.

  Lust heats the air as my mouth slowly inches towards a set of lips I am dying to feel on mine. Our kiss in the washroom was mere hours ago, but with the tenseness of my day, it feels like months have passed.

  Just as my lips brush against Marcus’s, a commotion sounds through my ears. Marcus balks before he withdraws from our embrace. Ignoring the desire to stomp my feet like a child, I swing my eyes to the noise. Lexi and Jackson are clumsily stumbling in the front door. Their bodies are interlocked as their tongues duel in a fire-sparking showdown.

  The scenario switches from cute to creepy when Jackson positions Lexi’s skirt-covered backside on the entranceway table in our foyer, rushing memories of Marcus doing a similar thing to me last week to the forefront of my mind.

  Bile forms in my throat when a throaty moan expels from Lexi’s mouth. Repulsed at the idea of watching my sister in a compromising situation, I cough, announcing they have an audience. Quicker than a match igniting, Lexi yanks away from Jackson. Her eyes are wide and raging with lust, and her cheeks are a vibrant hue of pink. Annoyed at the interruption, a hiss of annoyance escapes her kiss-swollen lips.

  The peeved gleam brightening her eyes is snuffed when she takes in my tear-stained cheeks. I’ve always been a hideously ugly crier. Clearly, today is no different.

  Time comes to a standstill as Lexi’s eyes bounce between Marcus and me. For every second that ticks by on the clock, the tightness of Lexi’s jaw firms. Jackson appears just as muted. I don’t know if his quiet response is because he got caught with his pants down—literally—or because my sobbing face repulses him.

  Deciding there is only one way to find out, I stand from the couch, lock my fingers with Marcus's, and pace toward them. I get halfway into the foyer when my steps stop midstride, my brisk pace cut off by Lexi's rueful snarl. Although she'd never admit it, she is as nearsighted as me, meaning she didn't comprehend the reason for my tears until the entranceway light highlighted my bruised face.

  “Oh, hell no,” she snarls, glaring at Marcus.

  Stealing my ability to offer an introduction, she pushes off the table and storms down the hall. Her speed is so quick, she is nothing but a blur. Confused by her odd response, my eyes glide to Jackson. He is as baffled as me. His eyes are wide, his jaw muscle weak.

  Once again, I don’t know where his confusion stems from. Is he reeling from being caught in a heated moment? My disheveled appearance? Or Lexi’s sudden decision to flee? When his dark brow bows upon seeing Marcus, I realize all my assumptions were wrong. His dazed response isn’t about Lexi or me; Marcus's presence prompts it. I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction; not only does Marcus have a highly recognizable face, but Lexi also has a poster of Rise Up in her room. It may be faded and warn, but it's been thumbtacked to the wall since their first album dropped on the Billboard charts over five years ago.

  Smiling at Jackson’s slack-jawed expression, I finalize the last steps into the foyer. “Marcus, this is Lexi’s. . . boyfriend, Jackson.” I introduce. I stammered on Jackson’s title as Lexi believes giving relationships a formal title is “crass.”

  “Jackson, this is Marcus, my. . .” I purposely trail my words off to silence.

  The veins in my neck twang when Marcus slants his head to the side and arches a brow. The corner of my mouth tugs high as his eyes silently demand a reason for his lack of title. Although he’s trying to be playful, the hurt clouding his mesmerizing eyes dampens his efforts.

  Holding his gaze, I wordlessly issue a reply to his question: Payback’s a bitch, Mister.

  Like he heard my inner dialogue, Marcus’s lips twitch as he struggles to hold in his panty-wetting smirk. His concealed smile is a wicked invitation to my libido, making it surge to a never-before-reached level. Not wanting to be busted shamefully squirming on the spot, I glide my eyes back to Jackson. The last thing I need supplementing the already tense air is more awkwardness.

  Remaining quiet, Jackson continues gawking at Marcus. His mouth gapes open and closed as if he is attempting to speak, but not a syllable escapes his lips. He looks like a stunned mullet. I can understand his response. I've had sex with Marcus, and I still feel like a flabbergasted idiot every time I'm in his presence. I wonder if somewhere down the line I’ll be just as giddy about his attention as I am now? From the way my body is still responding to our near kiss, I don’t doubt it.

  The awkwardness of our gathering gets a moment of reprieve when Marcus pulls me into his side and presses a kiss to my temple. With the stress of my week, his small gesture has more impact on my rattled composure than I could ever express. It doesn’t feel like a gesture a Master would make to his sub. It feels more personal—endearing even.

  “You look exhausted, Cleo; let’s get you showered and in bed,” Marcus suggests, his warm breath ruffling the hairs clinging to my sweat-drenched neck.

  Guided by the desires of my body, I bid farewell to Jackson with a dip of my chin before pivoting on my heels. I hear Marcus and Jackson exchange pleasantries before the tapping of Marcus's shoes catches up to my ears. When his heavy steps are complemented by the sound of tiny feet padding down the hall, I raise my eyes from the tiled ground.

  Fear overwhelms me, stealing my ability to breathe when my eyes lock in on Lexi standing at the entrance of the hallway. “Jesus Christ, Lexi, what the hell are you doing?” I mutter, my high words filled with dread.

  An abrupt parcel of air leaves Marcus’s mouth when I say, “Put down the gun, Lexi.”

  14

  Not taking my eyes off the revolver rattling in Lexi’s clenched fist, I position myself between Lexi and Marcus. Although I’m certain she is only using the gun to scare Marcus, she is shaking so much I can’t risk the chance of her accidentally pulling the trigger and harming him. More quickly than a blink, Marcus grips my elbow and drags me to stand behind him. I protest his protective stance, knowing Lexi will never hurt me, but Marcus is too strong for me to compete against. For the quickest moment, the furious mask on Lexi’s face slips, revealing panic. She appears baffled by Marcus’s protectiveness of me.

  Placing his hands out in front of his body, Jackson cautiously approaches Lexi. “Put the gun down, Lex,” he pleads, his tone a stark contradiction to the fear permeating out of him in invisible waves.

  Removing one of her hands from the gun, Lexi swipes away a tear tracking down her ashen cheek before shaking her head. “He messed with the wrong family when he hurt my sister,” she justifies herself to Jackson, her words as shaky as the gun pointed at Marcus’s chest.

  Anxiety engulfs me when Lexi drifts her eyes to Marcus and snivels, “I warned you what would happen if you hurt her.”

  “Yes, you did,” His tone is so calm, no one would suspect the dangerous situation he is in. “You made your intentions very clear.”

  “Then why did you do it?!” Lexi yells, startling me so much I jump. “Why did you hit my sister?”

  Before I have the chance to negate her false assessment of the situation, Jackson uses Lexi’s distraction to his advantage. He charges for her, crossing the room quicker than a heartbeat. Gripping the barrel of the gun, he raises it into the air, then pulls Lexi into his body. They stumble a few feet down the hallway before they hit the floor with a sickening thud. A frightened squeal emits from my lips when the gun is suddenly discharged. In the cramped surroundings, the noise is nearly deafening.

  Panic roars to the surface of my skin, coloring it a vibrant red as my eyes frantically search their bodies for any visible injuries. My fear vanishes when Lexi springs to her feet and charges for Marcus. I stagger backward, frightened by the menacing scowl etched on her face. I've never seen her so furious.

  A harsh puff leaves her mouth when Jackson curls his arm around Lexi’s tiny waist and yanks her backward. He grabs her in just enough time that her wildly flung fist fails to connect with Marcus’s sharp jawline.r />
  “Goddammit it, Lex, do you have any idea who you are attacking?” Jackson asks, his words breathless as he struggles to keep ahold of Lexi, who is madly thrusting in his arms.

  “I don’t give a shit who he is!” Lexi retaliates, wailing even more. “He is a dead man; that's who he is!”

  “Lexi, stop. Please stop,” I beg, grateful my mouth is finally cooperating with the prompts of my brain. “Marcus didn’t hit me. He would never hurt me. My injuries aren’t from him.”

  Noticing my confession has lowered the volume on Lexi’s wailing, I continue with my attempt to subdue her. “You remember that guy I told you about last week? The one I met under the Brooklyn Bridge?”

  Lexi freezes as her big worldly eyes meet mine. “The brute of a man who couldn’t fit in the backseat?” she asks, her words coerced through a sob sitting in the back of her throat.

  Nodding, I reply, “Yes.”

  I step out from behind Marcus’s protective stance and pace closer to Lexi. Since Lexi’s blinding rage has simmered, and she is no longer brandishing a weapon, Marcus doesn’t put up a protest. “He did this to me. Not Marcus.”

  I thought my confession would snuff the anger pumping out of Lexi. It didn’t. If anything, the tornado of rage in her eyes grows more rampant. Sweat beads her temples as her face flashes with fury.

  Shifting her narrowed gaze back to Marcus, she snarls, “So you didn’t beat Cleo; you had one of your goons do it for you.”

  Marcus balks, utterly flabbergasted. His jaw muscle quivers as he turns his confused eyes to me. “Who is she talking about, Cleo?” he asks me, his tone low and brimming with uncertainty.

  Hating the panic in his eyes that my attack is his fault, I’m tempted to pretend the identity of my attacker is unknown. The only reason I don’t is because Marcus is peering straight into my eyes. I can’t lie to him as it is, let alone when he is accessing my soul from the inside out.

  My lips are cracked with dryness, so I lick them before replying, “The guy who collected the NDA last Friday is the same man who attacked me tonight.” The hammering of my heart resonates in my low tone. “He wasn’t pleased when he discovered I failed to sign the NDA. I got the opinion my stupidity compromised his position.”