Links

by Shandi Boyes

  Marcus nods, confirming my suspicion. “Yes, I was watching you that night.”

  I’m taken aback by his honesty. I thought he would have skirted my accusation—or at the very least try to downplay it, but he didn’t. He just hit me with straight-up honesty. I can’t fault him for that.

  “But what do you recall after you stuck out your tongue?” Marcus asks, his entrancing eyes never once leaving mine.

  My tongue delves out to replenish my lips. “You saw the way my body reacts to your voice.”

  Marcus’s eyes twinkle in delight, seemingly pleased I find him so appealing. He shouldn’t be surprised; no woman in their right mind could deflect his advances. With soul-stealing eyes, a more-than-tempting body, and the carnal stamina of twenty men, I’m forever ruined by him.

  “Then?” Marcus continues prompting while gliding his heavy-hooded gaze over my face.

  Hating the loss of confidence in his eyes when his spots the bruise on my cheek, I say, “Then you guided me into one of the most climatic experiences I’ve ever had. I didn’t think anything could top it. . . until I met you in person. You trumped every wish I’ve ever made.”

  My confession stills him for a moment. Not long enough for awkwardness to fill the silence, but long enough to display he heard the sentimentality of my reply.

  I drift my eyes away, worried I’ve shown my hand way too early. My breath snags halfway to my lungs when Marcus runs the back of his fingers down my blemished cheek.

  “Don’t be too hard on your heart, Cleo. It's the sensible one. It’s the only one not denying your desires,” he quotes, reciting a text he sent me the night of Thanksgiving.

  He grips my chin and raises my downcast head. Air rushes out of his nostrils when our eyes lock and hold. It reminds me of his response the first time we met in the elevator all those years ago. It's a heartfelt reminder of a beautifully cruel moment in time.

  Warmth blooms across my chest when he utters, “Normally I can identify a tornado a mile away, but even I was blindsided by you.”

  My heart skips a beat, and my breaths come out in ragged pants, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “That still doesn’t explain my confusion. You watched me touch myself on my birthday, so you can’t pretend last night was the first time you’ve seen it.”

  The little voice inside me breaks into rapturous applause, pleased as punch I managed to discuss sexual proclivities without stuttering like an idiot.

  The veins in my neck strum when Marcus’s fingers track its furious pulse. He is barely touching me, but he has my entire body on high alert. “It killed me knowing what you were doing and not being able to watch you.”

  My eyes go frantic, searching every millimeter of his forthright gaze for deceit. I fail to find a pinch of treachery. How can that be? He said mere minutes ago that he was watching me, but now he is confessing he didn’t stay for the main event. That would be like turning up to ChikaLicious Dessert Bar, ordering the Bun Chika Bun Bun, then leaving before the waiter serves it to you. Why would he do that? Itdoesn't make any sense. . . I stop breathing when reality dawns on my satiated brain.

  My eyes rocket to Marcus. “The chair scraping across the floor? I heard a chair being dragged within seconds of you agreeing to help me. . . come.”

  Marcus doesn’t speak a word. He doesn’t need to. The entire story is relayed by his honest eyes.

  “Why didn’t you watch me?” I blubber out before I can stop my words.

  My brain grumbles in disgust when I sit still, muted and in shock, and if I am being totally honest, a little bit disappointed. This may be wrong of me to say, but I like that I can make Marcus so reckless he loses control. Yes, he spied on me, but imagine being so desired by someone you make them reckless enough to break their usually unbreakable decorum just to capture every morsel of your soul. Knowing I can unravel a man who is as tightly reined as Marcus is a thrilling and highly addictive experience. One I’d line up for time and time again.

  Marcus takes his time configuring a response to my blurted-out question. Just like it does every time we are together, the silence increases the sexual connection bouncing between us. It's so heated, if I weren’t naked, I’d be kicking off the sheets curled around my body.

  After drifting his eyes from staring at a speck of chipped paint on my wall, Marcus locks them with me. “I didn’t want to run the risk of losing you before I made you mine.”

  My heart squeezes, beyond smitten by his response. Here I was worried I was displaying my feelings for him too early, and he goes and outmaneuvers my declaration with one just as compelling.

  Lifting my hand, I rub at the heavy groove between his eyes. “This really is all new to you, isn’t it?”

  “Very much so,” he replies, his tone low.

  Hating the unease in his words, I lean my cheek on his shoulder and wrap my arms around his waist. My libido awakens when he pulls me across his body so I can sit side-straddled on his lap. Her delayed response was from the exhausting activities she undertook last night. She is still half-asleep with the rest of my weary muscles.

  I rest my cheek on Marcus’s chest and listen to the mad thump of his heart. Although I’d love to be swept up in a lusty haze, this type of contact is doing wonders to recuperate the severe beating my ego took the past week. Sometimes doing nothing is more rewarding than doing everything.

  A small stretch of silence passes between us. I wouldn’t necessarily say it's uncomfortable. We both just need a moment to gather our bases before we face the next daunting phase in our heart-stuttering kinship. I'm at a loss as to where we go from here. There are so many things we still need to discuss, but I genuinely don't know where to begin.

  Now that I've had a few hours to calm down, I realize how lucky I am Marcus stopped my belligerent tirade last night. If he hadn't, I could have faced severe legal ramifications. Although I can legally inform him of my job title, that doesn't extend to the particulars of my job. In journalism, the desire to keep a story exclusive means anyone working in the industry has a strict set of policies they must adhere to. Me informing Marcus of the investigation into Chains or sharing any knowledge of the information obtained thus far would place me in breach of my contract. So, not only did Marcus save my hide last night, but he also saved my sister’s.

  I pop my head off Marcus’s chest and peer into his eyes. My heart skips a beat when I notice he is watching me intently. “You knew I couldn’t divulge any information. That’s why you stopped me last night. You were saving me from prosecution.”

  He runs his fingers down the crinkle his shirt made in my cheek before tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. He doesn’t need to speak to confirm my statement; the truth is relayed in his striking eyes.

  “Thank you.” I nuzzle deeper into his embrace. “That’s the third time you saved me in less than 24 hours.”

  I peer into his eyes, my desire for him uncontrollable. “How could I ever repay you for your gallantry, Master Chains?” I inwardly sigh when my voice comes out sounding like the sexpot I was aiming for.

  The lust in Marcus’s eyes grows as his cock thickens beneath me. “Loyalty can only ever be repaid with loyalty, Cleo,” he mutters, his eyes arrested on me.

  I glance into his mesmerizing gaze as I contemplate an appropriate response. Although the air is heated with lust, there is something much greater crackling between us. It's thick, pungent, and it makes butterflies take flight in my stomach.

  Deep down inside, I know there is one thing I could do to display my utter devotion to Marcus: I could sign our BDSM contract. But I can't do that. What I said to Delilah yesterday was true. People in the BDSM lifestyle are no different than her or me. They crave the same thing every red-blooded human wants when seeking a relationship: loyalty, trust, and devotion. I feel like I have already achieved that with Marcus. But there is something I crave more than anything. I want to be loved. And from the conversations I've had with Marcus the past nine weeks, I know that isn't something he is seekin
g.

  Not wanting irrational thoughts to dampen my mood, I pop my head back down on Marcus’s chest and listen to the frantic rhythm of his heart. The unease twisting my stomach alleviates when I notice our hearts are beating a similar tempo. A frantic thump of love and confusion. I know it's early. I know it's crazy. But I can’t deny the prompts my body gives every time Marcus is in my presence. Not only does he make me feel like life didn't exist before we met, but he also makes me look forward to the future. That's truly remarkable. I haven't felt this hopeful in years. Not even before my parents and Tate passed away.

  Marcus runs his hand down my back, drawing me in closer to his tempting body. “Don’t let your fears about what may happen stop you from letting it happen, Cleo. If you don’t face your fears, you will never find the courage to break through them.”

  I huff into his chest. “That’s easy for you to preach. You’re not the one who faces punishment anytime they step out of line,” I respond, my words ruffled.

  I don’t need to look at Marcus to know he is smiling; I can feel it deep in my bones. “You do know there is an easy solution for that, don’t you?” he asks, his tone so smooth it prickles every hair on my body.

  Pulling away from his chest, I glance into his amused gaze, demanding further explanation.

  He runs his index finger down the crinkle in my nose before saying, “Stop being disobedient.”

  I screw up my nose even more. "Once again, that's easy for you to preach. I'm not obedient, and I hate following the rules. That's why I am surprised you ever wanted me as your sub. Obedience and rule-following are two fundamental qualities for anyone in the BDSM lifestyle. Two factors I am severely lacking."

  Marcus stuns me by replying, "A young man only knows the rules, but a wise man knows there is an exception to every rule."

  I burrow my head into his chest to hide the obtusely broad grin stretching across my face. That was a quote similar to one I said to him when we discussed the BDSM contract he had drawn up. Although, I suggested I was his exception; I didn't realize he took my statement as literal.

  “What happened to me being nothing more than a brat?” I mumble into his chest, my tone a mix of sentimental and playful.

  Marcus places his hand under my chin and lifts my head. The instant our eyes lock, a flood of emotions hit me at once, making it hard for me to breathe. His eyes impart more information than his mouth ever could. His desire for me. His confusion about our relationship. It’s all expressed by his stunning eyes.

  Now I know why he wouldn’t look at me when he brought up our BDSM contract. He didn’t do it because he was treating me as if I was his sub; he did it as he was afraid I’d see the truth in his eyes. That I would discover I wasn’t the only one vulnerable and exposed. He is as startled about our relationship as I am.

  I fight hard not to writhe on the spot when blood surges to the lower extremities of my body. I’ve had many reckless thoughts the past nine weeks—heedless thoughts. But nothing compares to the stream of wicked notions bombarding me now. It's lucky we are huddled on my bed in my house far far away from the drawer Marcus’s BDSM contracts are stored in, as I can’t guarantee with the catalyst of emotions pumping into me right now that I wouldn’t sign any contract he presented me with.

  God—how can one man change beliefs drilled into me by society by doing nothing more than gazing into my eyes? The power Marcus has over me is outstanding—and truly terrifying.

  Strengthening my faith that he knows me better than any man before him, Marcus locks his eyes with mine and mutters, “Curious, Cleo?”

  I swear the way he growls out my name nearly tumbles me into ecstasy. It's throaty and rough, and it sets my pulse racing. Leaning in, I press my lips against his mouth, allowing my body to speak on behalf of my heart. Marcus's mouth only just catches the throaty groan torn from my throat when he slides his tongue along the seam of my mouth in a slow, toe-curling lick.

  Moaning, I part my lips, giving him unrestricted access to my mouth. My heart leaps out of my chest when the buzz of a cellphone shrills into my ears, stopping Marcus’s devotion to my mouth before it has even started.

  Realizing the buzzing is coming from him, Marcus delves his hand into the pocket of his trousers. His brows tack together when he spots the name of the person calling him. It's the FBI agent I met last night: Shian.

  “I have to take this,” he informs me, his tone regretful. “She only calls when it's something important.” His last sentence is so quiet, I’m not sure he wanted me to hear it.

  I scoot across the bed, freeing him from my clingy hold. “You can take it in here, if you’d like?” I offer as I watch him stand from the bed. “I’m starving anyway.” And dying to pee.

  Not waiting for him to reply, I scamper across the bed. Air rustles through Marcus’s teeth when the sheet slips away from my body, revealing my naked form to his more than avid gaze. I cockily wink, adoring the boost his keen response is giving my confidence. He eyeballs me as I secure my clothing from the floor and commence getting dressed. I take my time, savoring the bulge in his trousers growing with every second that ticks by.

  Once I am dressed, sans underwear, I place a kiss on the side of his mouth and make a beeline for the door. A sassy grin is curled on my lips, smitten by the way his body responded to my frisky tease.

  A blood-curdling squeal rolls up my chest when Marcus seizes my wrist and drags me back to him. My nipples bud when my breasts are flattened on the firmness of his pecs, and the heat of his rod digs into my throbbing core. Rampant horniness overtakes my need to pee when he seals his lips over mine. He kisses me like I've never been kissed before. A kiss so tantalizing, my knees grow weak, and my heart can't keep up with the amount of blood pumping through it.

  By the time he pulls away, I am thoroughly dizzy and unable to breathe. He stares down at me with wild, reckless eyes as he brushes his fingers down my marked cheek before gently caressing the cut in my top lip. His touch soothes any irritation niggling my small flesh wound from our earth-shaking kiss. It's a nurturing gesture for a man who claims he is unfamiliar with relationships.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks as his eyes float between mine.

  Smiling, I shake my head. “No. I’m perfectly A-Okay.”

  Stretching onto my tippy toes, I press my lips on his kiss-swollen mouth. “Take your call, then come and have some lunch with me,” I mutter against his lips. I nearly said breakfast, but quickly remembered it's late in the afternoon.

  Hearing the underlying bossiness in my tone, Marcus arches his brow. He isn’t angry, more amused. A second yelp bellows out of my mouth when he playfully smacks my backside. His slap isn’t hard enough to cause pain; it's purely to incite excitement.

  “I’ll take my call, then I’ll eat you for lunch.” His tone is as demanding as ever.

  A violent shudder courses through me. Jesus—who knew words alone could make me climax?

  Smirking at my frozen-in-lust stance, Marcus sucks my pouty lip into his mouth, being extra attentive not to agitate my sore lip. After he has me utterly intoxicated by desire, he pulls his lips away from mine, twirls me around, then playfully shoves me towards my bedroom door. I immaturely stomp my feet like a child while crossing the room. My already shaky steps slow when Marcus's hearty laughter jingles into my ears. If given a choice, I'd never leave my room. Not while Marcus is in it.

  Just before I exit into the hallway, Marcus calls my name. I take a minute to clear the hunger from my eyes before cranking my neck back to peer at him.

  “Even brats have a place in the BDSM lifestyle, if it's something she craves?” he informs me. Although his statement appears to be a testimony, his expression doesn’t relay that. It's a question.

  His predatory eyes burn into mine, searing my soul from the inside out as he awaits my reply. His gaze makes me needy and hot, and it causes something deep inside me to shift.

  Allowing my heart to speak for the first time in years, I nod.

  Marcus
draws in a quick, sharp breath, seemingly stunned by my response. He isn’t the only one surprised. I was expecting my astute brain to announce irritation at my agreeing gesture the instant it occurred, but not a single thought has passed my mind. I guess even it's beyond saving when it comes to this man.

  “I’m not agreeing to sign anything,” I stammer out, wanting to ensure he didn’t mistake my nod as a covenant that I’ll be his sub.

  Although I will do anything in my power to keep him in my life, I don’t want it to be on negotiated terms for a stipulated amount of time. I just want him—unrestrained.

  Exhaling a nervous breath, I lock my eyes with Marcus. “I’m opening my mind to the possibility of learning something new. Are you willing to do the same?” I ask, partially quoting a saying he said to me in his playroom at Chains two months ago.

  The lusty smile on Marcus’s lips tugs higher as reckless yearning rages in his eyes. “Intellectual growth should commence at birth and cease only at death.”

  A broad grin stretches across my face, pleased as punch he recited a quote from Albert Einstein. That proves what my heart has always known. Marcus is my other half.

  Showing I am the very epitome of a brat, I brazenly whisper, “Then I very much look forward to being taught by the Master of Masters, Master Chains.” I drawl out his name in a long, throaty purr.

  Winking at the dominance detonating in his eyes, I pivot on my heels and exit the room, stealing his chance to reply. My steps are more buoyant than ever when Marcus’s stern growl rumbles down the hall, making my heart shudder right out of my chest while adding to the throb between my legs.

  19

  “Good morning.” My greeting is unbelievably sappy as I skip into the kitchen.

  Lexi’s big brown eyes stop gawking at the toaster to peer at me. She looks like her night was as adventurous as mine. Her wavy hair is frizzed with voluptuous curls and stuck to her head, and her eyes are circled by dark rings. If it weren't for the pillow crinkle on the side of her cheek, I wouldn't have believed she'd slept.