by Bella Jewel
“No set-ups!”
She pouts prettily. “Okay, maybe not, but we could get you a fine piece of ass to take home and shag.”
Shag. Who uses that word?
“I’m not shagging anyone,” I protest.
Though it’s not a bad idea. Jack and Teddy, my vibrators, have well and truly deserved a break. And God, have I missed male company. It’s been two years since I’ve been on a date, and at least twelve months since I’ve been fucked. I’d kill to be fucked, just against a dirty wall, maybe over a car hood, something to take the edge off all these sexual fantasies building inside me.
I certainly have nothing at work to fantasize about. My boss is obese, smelly and a complete asshole. Why can’t I have a super sexy boss who looks like he’s jumped straight out of heaven? One who takes me on helicopter rides and ties me to beds?
Why? Because this is the real world, people. No boss is ever that awesome. Damn you, Christian Grey, for ruining all my future bosses. They’ll never compare.
“Helllooooo!” Candy says, clicking a finger in front of my face.
I blink at her. Shit. “Sorry, I was daydreaming about Christian Grey.”
She stares at me, mortified. “You do know he’s not a real person, right?”
“Take that back,” I hiss. “He’s real to me, and to Jack, and to Teddy.”
“Your vibrators aren’t real either, honey.”
I gasp. “Insulting them, too. How could you?”
She laughs. “We need to get you laid. Pronto.”
I think she’s right.
“Fine, but there are conditions,” I say, sipping my drink. “He can’t be smelly, farty, bald or . . . missing teeth.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“Or limbs!” I cry. “He needs to have fingers and . . . toes . . . you know?”
She stares at me. “My God, you definitely need to get laid.”
It’s probably true.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go to the bathroom, get you all fancy and then you can sit at the bar like the sexy biatch you are and get yourself a cock for the night.”
We head to the bathroom and shove past the drunk, squealing ladies to get mirror space. I stare at myself in the mirror, impressed that I managed to pull off a gorgeous outfit in such a small amount of time. I dug out my sexiest red dress, backless, low-cut front, short and tight. Then I dug through my mass amount of shoes to find a pair of sexy black pumps. My blonde hair was easily styled; being that I curled the waist length locks this morning and left it down for work.
Make up was fairly easy, though my eyes are looking a little bloodshot. The usually piercing green depths are dull and tired. That’s what happens when you spend all your time in front of a computer. I pull my mascara from my purse and top it up, then finish up my red lipstick. My skin doesn’t require much make up, being that my father was Italian and I inherited his flawless olive skin. I’ve only ever seen a photo of the Italian stallion when he was younger, but he was a great looking man.
My mother is a beautiful woman, and it doesn’t surprise me that at one point in her life, she gathered a lot of male attention. She has blonde hair, too, only her skin is fair and her eyes are as green as mine. She’s a tiny, petite woman and I also inherited her build. I’m not leggy, hence the abundance of shoes. I’ve been called a pixie all my life.
There are times I’d have liked to meet my father, but my mother refused to ever tell me much about it. I don’t know the story. I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know if he knows about me. All I know is his name. Pierre. That’s it.
My mother doesn’t say a lot now, not after her brain tumor. She was diagnosed five years ago and quickly had it operated on. During the operation, essential nerves were damaged and she became mostly paralyzed. She has no control of her legs, and is in a wheelchair, but she’s got control of the rest of her body, and after a lot of re-training, can speak with a slight shake to her voice. I’ve been taking care of her since; I’m the only person she has and I can’t afford to put her in full-time care.
I can only afford a carer who watches her while I’m at work.
It’s draining, but I wouldn’t stop doing it. Not ever.
“God, how does your hair stay so shiny, thick and with that sexy, loose curl?” Candy asks, shoving her fingers through her hair and tugging angrily.
“A whole lot of effort,” I say, removing her hands and going to work fixing her hair. She has gorgeous, straight hair. I don’t know what she’s complaining about.
“Damn your awesome Italian hair, damn it all to hell!”
I laugh softly and pat her back. “There, you look gorgeous.”
She checks herself out, checks me out, and then announces, “Time to get you laid.”
We get some foul looks as we pass the other girls primping and prettying themselves. Candy mutters something along the lines of “take a picture” and we swiftly exit the bathroom. We shove down the halls, me in front, and just as I round the corner to the main floor I slam into a hard, tall body. I oomph loudly, and two hands gasp the tops of my arms to steady me as I trip on my pumps.
I right myself and step back. All I can see is a white shirt, crisp and plain with a dark red tie. The shirt, I note, is stretched across an extremely muscled chest. I slowly lift my eyes and gasp as they fix on one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on, even better than Dusty—hell, even better than Brad Pitt and Christian Grey. Okay, Christian could be pushing it . . . I shake my head and stare into the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.
They’re basically black.
His jaw, which is tipped down to me because he too is taking me in, is covered in stubble that gives him a professional yet dangerous edge. His hair is thick, black, and sits around the base of his neck, curling just slightly near his collar. He’s got a strong, solid jaw and full, pouty lips. Don’t even get me started on his height and the muscles that I catch a glimpse of when he moves his arm. His white shirt is rolled up to the elbow, and wow, ropes of muscle travel up and disappear under the shirt. Yum.
I can see a tattoo poking out behind his hair, curling just slightly around his neck, and there’s also a shadow of darkness beneath his shirt that tells me he’s got more where that one on his neck came from. Oh boy. I watch as his eyes travel over me, taking me in the same way I just took him in. His eyes flash with appreciation but he doesn’t smile; his lips remain in a firm, hard line.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice breathy.
He can’t even hear me; the music is so loud.
“Marcus?”
This comes from Candy, who is behind me.
She knows this sex god?
“Candice,” Marcus says, and oh my God, his voice is like melted honey . . . maybe mixed with a few pieces of gravel, because honey alone is not enough to describe this man’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I, ah . . .” she stammers.
“She’s with me,” I say, staring up at him. “Birthday party.”
“Your birthday?” he murmurs, staring at my lips.
Jesus.
“No.” I swallow. “Our friend’s.”
He turns his gaze back to Candy. “You left your keys at work. I gave them to Jemimah.”
This is her boss? The sexy boss she’s told me about?
Damn. I need her job.
“Sorry, sir.”
Sir?
Yeesh.
“What’s your name?”
It takes me a minute to realize he’s turned his attention back to me.
“Katia,” I say, licking my lips.
His eyes go to the action, and they grow hot and lusty. Oh, man. Him! I pick him! He can break the drought—shit, I already think he has, judging by my panties. I’d lie down in front of a bus to get a taste of Marcus. Oh yes, yes I would.
“Katia,” he practically purrs. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Candy squeaks beside me. I turn to her and her eyes are wide. I
lean in close, curling my arm around hers. “Tell me I can fuck your boss and it’ll totally be okay?”
It takes her a moment to respond, and when she does it’s in a squeak. “I don’t, ah, I don’t . . .”
“God, please tell me I can. I need a piece of Marcus.”
“He’s a whore,” she whispers.
“I’m not asking him to marry me,” I scoff. “Just a bit of wham, bam—”
“Katia,” Marcus says, cutting me off.
I turn to him, giving him my big, innocent eyes. “Yes, you can buy me a drink.”
Candy whispers something holy to no one in particular as Marcus curls an arm around my waist and leads me to the bar. We pass Dusty as we go and his eyes widen, then a wicked grin replaces that and he gives me the thumbs up followed by a few thrusting motions that Marcus catches. This causes his lips to twitch, and holy fuck, it makes him sexier.
Marcus orders drinks without asking what I want. The man is controlling; it’s written all over him. When our drinks arrive, he leads me out to a quiet garden and we sit. Damn, the sexual tension in the air is out of this world. I turn to him, crossing my legs and watching as his eyes run over me again. He makes no secret what he wants; it’s all in his eyes. I’m not offended in the least; I’ll take whatever this man wants to give. He can tie me up and spank me if he pleases.
“Katia,” he says—well, purrs. “Tell me what you do?”
“I work at a large shipping company, as a PA.”
His eyes are studying me as I speak, as if he’s weighing me up for a position himself.
“You’re smart.”
It’s not a question, but I pretend it is.
I snort. “I wouldn’t go ahead and say I’m smart. I do my job well, but smart . . .”
He watches me closely, as if he’s trying to figure me out.
“Tell me something else.”
Okay. Awkward.
I tell him about myself in a basic outline, and once again I feel as if I’m on a job interview. He listens intently as I go, and the moment I mention my mother and how I work to keep her home, something changes in his eyes. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but there’s definitely a change.
“You sound like you’re busy.”
“I don’t get much chance to chill out, that’s for sure. If I stop working, my mother doesn’t have the back-up she needs.”
He nods, studying me. “Another drink?”
I nod.
This is strange. Sexy . . . but strange.
He waves a hand and a waiter stops what he’s doing and comes by. Marcus orders us another drink, not once taking his dark gaze off me.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Katia,” he murmurs. “So I’m going to come out and just say it. You want to come home with me tonight?”
There it is.
Bam.
My body begins to heat and my legs quiver. Do I want to go home with Marcus? Well, I can safely rule out he’s not a serial killer, considering Candy works with him. I’m not after a relationship and he’s über hot. So, the answer is simple.
Um, hell yes.
“Yeah,” I say, licking my bottom lip.
His eyes follow my tongue. “Fuck,” he murmurs.
It just got a whole lot hotter in here.
He stretches his arm out, and the backs of his fingers skim along my jaw. That one movement has my world standing still. My skin prickles and my senses spark to life. His fingers move until he reaches my lips, and once there, he runs the tip of one along them. “You’re a beautiful woman, Katia.”
I swallow. He already said that and I’m thinking that I like it. Very much.
“There are so many things I’ll do to you.”
Oh, boy.
“Starting with tasting those lips.”
Swoon.
Our drinks come and I turn to take mine, grateful. I swallow it down, the alcohol warming my body. I’ve not been with a great deal of men in my life, but I’ve been with enough to know that most of them don’t have the confidence Marcus does. He sweeps in, gets what he wants and has no problem doing it. He’s smooth, he’s sexy and he knows what to say. He’s the true meaning of the word player.
And this right here is how Marcus Tandem entered my world.
CHAPTER 3
NOW
Katia
“Oh God, Marcus,” I breathe, arching up into him.
His mouth is between my legs and he’s licking, long, sweet strokes that electrify my body with their very touch. His hands are on my hips, fingers digging into my skin. My eyes flutter and my nipples are so hard they actually hurt. I’m wound up tight; he’s been away on a business meeting for two days and I’ve missed him.
“I’m going to . . .” I gasp.
He lets go of my hip, then his fingers are there. Right there. He drives them into my wet flesh and I scream as white-hot pleasure erupts, tearing through my body and blinding me as I jerk in his hold. He licks until every last shudder has left my body. Then, he’s standing, cock straining in his jeans, staring down at me. His gorgeous black eyes flicker to the clock and he mutters, “Fuck.”
“You have to go,” I pant, pushing up on my elbows.
“Yeah.”
“No quickie then?”
His eyes move to me, down to my exposed pussy, and his jaw clenches. “Can’t.”
Dammit.
I like before work quickies with my husband.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Got a charity fundraiser this weekend,” he says, pressing a palm to his cock and adjusting it. “Get a dress.”
Yes, boss.
“Okay,” I say again.
He adjusts his tie, runs a hand through his messy hair and turns to the door. When he reaches it, he looks back at me. “And Katia?”
“Yes?”
“Make it short. Short enough I can lift it and fuck you against a wall.”
Oh, man.
Happy to oblige.
~*~*~*~
I’m in the kitchen, staring out the window when the buzzer for the front gate goes. I’m off in dream land, wondering what the weekend will hold, wondering if my mom is happy without me there, wondering if Dusty will go dress shopping with me.
The buzzer goes again and I jerk. Shit. I wipe my hands and rush over, staring out the window to see a car waiting at the gates. I’ve never seen it before, so I press the button and lean in close.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Hi,” a female voice chirps. “We’re here to see Marcus.”
I’m silent for a minute; usually people go round back, straight to his office. She must be a friend. Leaning back in, I ask, “And you are?”
“Friends of his. I’m Mack’s, um, girlfriend.”
“Oh,” I squeal happily. I know about Mack, one of Marcus’s closest friends and a member of the Jokers’ Wrath MC. “Buzzing you in.”
I rush down to the front door and by the time I get there, they’ve already parked. I swing the door open to see three gorgeous girls standing at the entry. Wow. I’ve seen beautiful women before, but these three are going all out in the looks department. One looks like Pocahontas, no kidding, and the other two are as stunning as models. I can’t help it; I jump up and down. I love meeting new people. Especially friends of Marcus’s.
“I’m Katia, Marcus’s wife.”
“Hey Katia,” the girl with wild hair and a beautiful, curvy body says. “I’m Jaylah. This is Santana and Ash.”
She points to her friends and I wave, grinning at them all.
“Come in. Marcus is on the phone, but I’ll get him for you.”
“Thank you,” Jaylah says.
“Can I get you a drink?” I offer.
“I’d love one,” Santana says.
“Me too, please. Being pregnant is a bitch,” Ash adds.
I turn and stare at her gorgeous rounded belly and smile. “Well, you’re a beautiful pregnant woman.”
I lead them into the kitchen and start the coffee machine, before turn
ing and saying, “I’ll get Marcus.”
“Thank you.”
I turn and rush down the halls, excited to have visitors. Candy and I hang out all the time, now we both work with Marcus, but I don’t get to see many other people. I’ve heard a lot about the Jokers’ Wrath MC, and I know that Marcus has a fair bit to do with them. I head into the offices and walk up to Marcus’s door. I knock three times and wait. A moment later he yells, “Yeah?”
I open it, and see four or five men sitting around his desk. I bite my lip; I know he doesn’t really like me interrupting but he has guests so I’m sure it’ll be fine. “Hey,” I begin, and his eyes flash to me. Oh boy. “You have visitors.”
“I’m in a meeting, Katia.”
Right.
“It’s Jaylah, Mack’s girlfriend.”
He studies me a moment, then nods. “I’ll be down soon.”
I smile, then head back into the kitchen where the girls are all chatting happily. “He won’t be long.” I beam, and then continue with the coffee.
I’m curious about these girls. I mean, their men are bikers. That’s freaking hot. I’ve seen Mack once, and he is smokin’. I bet all their men look like that. God, I can’t help but ask—it’s one of those need-to-know things.
“So,” I say casually, “tell me what it’s like being a biker babe.”
Santana giggles. “Biker babe?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning and wiggling my brows at her. “I’ve seen those guys. You girls get to ride around on their bikes and give them the nasty, too. Right?”
Jaylah bursts out laughing and gives me a big smile.
“The nasty?” Ash giggles.
“You know.” I lean in close. “Spank the bacon.”
Now we all laugh so hard we double over.
“Not sure I’d call it spanking the bacon, but it is great.” Jaylah giggles hysterically.
“Katia.”
We hear Marcus’s voice, and all four of us straighten and turn. God he’s hot, even when he’s giving me that intense stare. I bite my lip, trying to force down my laughter. Marcus is a dangerous kind of broody; even after I married him that didn’t change. I try not to think too hard about it; it’s just the way he is.