Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

  I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’d like to find out so I don’t fuck it up.

  “God, you’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she quips, and I pull my gaze from her luscious figure so I can meet her eyes. A smile tips the corners of her mouth. “You just going to stand there and stare at me? Or are you going to get undressed too?”

  “You don’t want to do the honors?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kendra

  My heart pounds and my throat goes dry. I have to work hard to swallow, because Marcus just invited me to undress him.

  Sitting up, I slide to the end of the bed and stand, my fingers going to the second button just below the hollow of his throat. He wore the shirt with the top one undone all night, and I’ve wanted to place a kiss there for the longest time.

  So I press up on my tiptoes and do it.

  He lets out a sweet little grunt of surprise, his hands closing around my hips. But that’s his only reaction.

  My fingers get more coordinated after I get one button undone, my nerves settling at the heat in his eyes, the pleasure in his gaze as I unbutton his shirt and part the crisp fabric, revealing a set of rounded pecs and washboard abs with a dusting of curly dark hair over them. Pushing the fabric off his shoulders reveals his tattoo. I place a soft kiss there too. Another thing I’ve thought about doing since I saw it the first time.

  His fingers tighten on my hips reflexively, but then he lets go, undoing his cufflinks and letting the shirt fall to the floor.

  With a deep breath, I reach for the hook and eye closure of his pants, undoing it and pulling down the zipper.

  He groans, and it almost sounds like he’s in pain as my fingers graze his erection. Once his pants are open, I reach in and palm him over the fabric of his underwear. That elicits another hard-to-interpret sound. His fingers close around my wrist, and he steps back, yanking his clothes the rest of the way off, standing before me in all his naked glory.

  My breath catches, because he is glorious.

  I want to set him on a plinth and walk around him to admire him like a statue. Only he’s packing a lot more below the belt than the David, that’s for damn sure.

  There’s no plinth handy, but I decide to stroll around him anyway. He starts to turn with me, but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Stay. I want to look at you.”

  I run my fingers over the swirling black ink of his tattoo and let my hand trail diagonally down his back as I step behind him. Muscles quiver under my touch and goosebumps break out on his skin. A satisfied smile comes to my lips at the reactions I can pull from him. And I haven’t even touched him anywhere scandalous. Yet.

  As I step around his right side, my hand trails over his hip, and he lifts his arm so I don’t have to break contact.

  When I let my fingers dip into the furrow that runs from his hip bone to his groin, he shivers, his hand closing around my forearm. “That tickles.”

  “Does it? How’s this?” I increase the pressure and use more of my hand so it’s not just a light brush of my fingertips.

  He sucks in a breath as I get closer to his cock. When my fingers close around it, hot and heavy in my hand, another shudder runs through his body and his hips press forward, but just barely, like he’s holding himself back.

  I give him a few pumps, stepping in close and holding him between us.

  His eyelids are heavy, his pupils blown as he tracks me running my tongue along my lower lip. His eyes travel up to mine, and whatever he sees there seems to break him free from the spell of immobility. One hand finds the back of my head, and he yanks me up to him, trapping my hand around him between us, his mouth hard and fierce on mine.

  The kiss is all lips and teeth and tongue. Hot. Bold. Demanding.

  It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about in a kiss. Never has anyone kissed me like this before, like he’s starving for air and my mouth is the only source of oxygen.

  With his other hand on my hip, he guides me back till we’re on the bed again. Wriggling my hand out from between us, I push up against him, enjoying the feel of him hot and hard between my legs. Wishing I’d pulled my panties off when I had the chance.

  It’s just a skimpy thong, though. With enough friction, I could probably get it out of the way.

  But he stops me, his hands stilling my hips as he pulls his knees under him and lifts off my body for the second time. I make a wordless sound of protest as his lips leave mine.

  He gives me a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, Kendra. I’ve got you.” His voice is dark and laced with promise. It’s the sexy, raspy voice on the number one hit from Cataclysm’s album. And it’s all for me.

  I’ve never doubted Marcus’s sex appeal. I’ve understood it all too well for all too long. But I’ve never had it focused entirely on me.

  It’s heady and euphoric. But surprisingly not overwhelming. It makes me feel buoyant and like life is full of limitless possibilities. Possibilities I get to explore with Marcus. My best friend. The guy who’s always been there for me no matter what.

  His head dips, his hair tickling the skin at my throat, his nose nudging aside the satin of my bra, his tongue circling my nipple, making it a hard, pointed nub. His lips close around it, and he sucks deep, making me arch my back off the bed and grip his head with my hands.

  “Oh God.”

  He releases that nipple, giving it one last, slow lick. “That’s right. Let me make you feel good.”

  My head thrashes back and forth as he does the same thing to my other nipple. “Good,” I pant, “is not the word.”

  His low chuckle around my nipple sends tingles and goosebumps across my skin. Both breasts are uncovered, pushed up and together by the bra cups that have been moved out of the way. Marcus sits up, his hands coming up to frame my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my pointed nipples, making me squirm, trying to press against him where he kneels between my parted thighs.

  But he’s too far away.

  He notices, though, and one hand drifts down my belly, his fingers slipping under the thin fabric covering me until he’s parting me again and sliding around in my wetness.

  “That what you wanted?”

  I press my hips into his hand. “Yes.” My voice is more moan than words. “No. God, I just want you.”

  He chuckles again, pressing a finger inside me while his palm grinds into my clit. “You’re going to give me a complex if you keep calling me God.”

  I snort, which is super sexy, but Marcus doesn’t seem to mind. Especially when my snort becomes a gasp as his finger hits right. There. And I don’t even remember what we were talking about.

  “Marcus. Jesus. I need you inside me.”

  “There you go again,” he whispers as he withdraws his hand and slides my panties off my hips.

  But words don’t matter now. All I can do is watch him as he moves off the bed, bends, then straightens with a condom packet in his hand. I know he’s watching me, but I can’t take my eyes off his hands as he rolls it on, stretching the latex over the only part of him I haven’t been acquainted with before now.

  All these years, and I had no idea he had the most perfect penis in the world.

  His lazy smirk turns into a genuine smile of amusement. “The most perfect penis in the world?”

  My eyes finally meet his. “What?”

  He crawls over me. “That’s what you said. That I have the most perfect penis in the world.”

  “Oh.” I lick my lips and swallow, finding that I’m not embarrassed at all about saying that out loud, even if I didn’t intend to. “It’s true. You do.”

  “You’re very unfiltered when you’re naked,” he says as he nudges my thighs apart with his knees, settling himself over me.

  “Only with you,” I whisper as I circle my arms around his neck again. Because that’s where they belong. Around him. Just like his arms belong around me.

  I think I might’ve said that out loud too, because he lets out
a rumbly chuckle.

  Reaching down between us, he lines himself up. A slight roll of his hips, and he presses an inch or so inside me.

  “Oh.”

  His teeth are gritted. “I can’t—”

  His next thrust is full and powerful, not the gentle roll of his hips like before, and he sinks inside me to the root. “God,” I whisper.

  “I’ve been called a rock god before,” he says, sounding philosophical.

  I smack him lightly on the shoulder. “How can you think about anything else right now?”

  The amusement turns to heat. “I’m trying to distract myself so I can last longer. Because fucking hell, Ken. This is …”

  “Heaven,” I supply when he seems to struggle to find the right words.

  He moves inside me. “Yeah.” His eyes close, like he’s savoring the feel of me before opening to find mine. “Paradise.”

  Words are lost again as his lips claim mine, swallowing my cries of pleasure. No one has ever made me feel as good as this.

  He pulls back from the kiss, creating room for his hand to slide between our bodies. His thumb works my clit. “Come on, Ken. I need you to get there with me.” His breath hitches, and God, it’s such a sexy sound. “I need to feel you coming with me. I’m so close.” The last three words are gritted out.

  I arch my back, and he pounds into me, hitting me just right, his thumb slick with my juices, sliding over and around my clit again and again, the pleasure tightening, becoming this incandescent knot of ecstasy. One thrust. And another. And the knot unravels, sending that energy cascading along my spine, over my limbs to my extremities, heat and euphoria rolled together.

  Marcus grunts, his hips losing their rhythm, and he shudders, his muscles going limp with his release, pressing me into the bed. After a long moment of stillness, he wraps his arms around me, clutching me against him, his face buried in my shoulder. Then he lifts his head and gives me the softest, sweetest, most beautiful kiss. Like something out of a fairy tale. And it’s everything I never knew I wanted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcus

  I don’t want to move. I don’t want to disentangle myself from Kendra.

  After burying myself inside her like I’ve wanted to since the day I met her, I never want to let her go.

  But I have to. At least for a minute or two to clean up.

  With one last lingering kiss, I pull out, regretting the necessity and already planning for another round. Soon. Like in half an hour or so, maybe. That first time was over so fast, I want the chance to savor it. Savor her.

  After dealing with the condom and cleaning up in the bathroom, I pull back the sheets, holding them for Kendra to climb under and slipping into bed with her. Pulling her back to my front, I bring my legs up behind hers, noticing that she took off her bra and stockings while I was in the bathroom. Relishing the feel of her bare skin, the ability to touch her at will. Anywhere. Everywhere.

  She sighs and presses back against me as my fingers slide around her waist and up her torso.

  She’s quiet, and a thought niggles at the back of my mind. What if she regrets this?

  I know I said that nothing she could do would ever damage our friendship, that I’d be there for her no matter what, even if the romantic part doesn’t work out. But I honestly don’t know how I’ll react if she rolls over and says that we should pretend like this never happened. If she gives herself to me and then takes it away again. My throat burns with acid just from thinking about it.

  But she sighs again and turns her head, leaving a soft kiss on my bicep. The touch of her lips is like a balm, soothing my worries. Because, much as I hate to admit it, she was right. Crossing that final line puts us into new territory. There’s even more at stake now. And I don’t want to entertain the possibility of us ending. Ever.

  Her soft voice caresses me. “This is …”

  I hold my breath at her hesitation and let it out all at once when she finishes the thought.

  “… the best feeling ever.”

  “Oh yeah?” I wrap my arms around her even more, tucking one leg between her thighs. “What feeling is that?”

  She hums, thinking about how to put it into words. I don’t mind. She always thinks before she speaks. Except for when she’s really turned on. I smile against her shoulder. That’s a whole new side of Kendra I’ve never seen before. I like that even after all these years, there are parts of her that are new and undiscovered territory.

  “Satisfied. That’s the best word for this feeling, I think.”

  I lift my head so I can see her face, and she shifts in my arms to do the same. “Is this a new feeling?”

  She chuckles and rolls her eyes, but nods. “This level of satisfaction? Yeah. Definitely surpasses anything I’ve experienced before.”

  I dip my head to kiss her perfect pink lips. “Told you you’ve been dating all the wrong guys.”

  Her hand reaches up to caress my cheek. “Oh, and I should’ve just dragged you to my bed years ago? Is that what you’re saying?”

  I shrug one shoulder by way of answer. Then I roll her under me and kiss her again. I don’t want to have that conversation right now. But yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.

  Buoyed by a fantastic night with Kendra, followed by a lazy and pleasurable morning, I head into Jeff’s office for the meeting he insisted on when we saw him at the party last night.

  He wants to listen to what Danny and I have been working on. No amount of protesting that it’s not ready for anyone to hear it yet would put him off.

  The pretty receptionist greets me with a smile, her long blond hair pulled back into a severe ponytail that perfectly matches the sleek lines of her ultra-tailored black top and tight pencil skirt. When paired with her towering stilettos, it’s a wonder she can move at all.

  “Mr. Shaw will be with you in just a moment.”

  I give her a tight smile and sink into one of the modern leather chairs that surround the minimalist coffee table. A potted plant sits in the middle, a single purple flower on a long, delicate stalk. No magazines. Nothing to look at except the gold and platinum records hanging on the walls.

  I tap my fingers on my knees, pull out my phone to make sure the recordings are still saved in the app. They are. They haven’t magically deleted themselves on the ride over.

  I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing at this point.

  With our first album, all the songs were finished by the time we let anyone listen to them. Jeff heard them and paired us with a producer who took them from pretty good to amazing, layering in some extra beats that meshed perfectly with Mason on his set. Mason’s virtuosic, but he’s only one man.

  This time? We have some lyrics. A few sets of chord progressions that sound cool. Snippets of different melodies. Nothing resembling a single coherent song.

  My stomach is churning, sour with nerves and adrenaline. Jeff’s been on me for weeks about finishing the album. And if he doesn’t like the little we have, we’re screwed.

  Speak of the devil, he strides out of the hallway behind the reception desk, smiling as he buttons his jacket and offers me a hand.

  I stand, trying to discreetly wipe my sweaty palm on my jeans before shaking his hand. If he notices anything, he doesn’t react. “Marcus.” He claps me on the shoulder with his free hand. “Good to see you. I’m so glad you could make it.”

  Like I had a choice. “No problem.”

  He leads the way back to his office, and I follow behind like an obedient little dog, heeling its master.

  I hate that feeling.

  Unbuttoning his jacket—the one he just buttoned like two seconds ago—Jeff sits in the cushy desk chair and gestures for me to take one of the shorter and less comfortable seats opposite him. He settles in and steeples his fingers, looking every inch the paternal figure having a meeting with an errant child. “Marcus. I’m excited to hear what you’ve been working on for your next album.”

  I swallow. “Great.
Yeah. I’m excited for you to hear it too.” If by excited you mean filled with dread, then spot on.

  He gives me a smile and makes an open handed gesture at me. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Right. Of course not.” I wipe the screen of my phone on my jeans to get rid of the evidence of my clammy hand that’s been clutching it for the last few minutes and set it on the desk. Opening the recording app, I force myself to hit the play button.

  Jeff stares at the phone, his fingers still steepled in front of his mouth as he listens to the handful of crappy recordings of Danny and me playing, my voice sounding tinny on the little phone speakers.

  When we get through all of them, Jeff waits a beat, then looks at me, eyebrows raised. “That’s it?”

  I nod once, again rubbing my hands on my jeans. “Yeah.” I clear my throat to get rid of the hitch in my voice. “Yeah. That’s all we’ve got recordings of. I have notes on another handful of songs, but I didn’t bring my notebook.”

  I can’t decipher the look Jeff levels at me. It’s long and steady and gives away nothing of his thoughts. Did he like anything he heard?

  “No.”

  I blink at what seems like an answer to my unspoken question. “I’m sorry?”

  He shakes his head and waves a hand like he’s swatting away the offending songs. “No. None of those will work. Well, maybe one of them. They all sound the same, the lyrics are all heartbreak and lost love, and while that’s fine, your last album was a lot of that. We need something different. Something new.”

  “Something new,” I repeat slowly.

  “Yes. Still your sound, but different.”

  “The same but different.”

  “Exactly.” He gives me a smile, the same kind you’d give to an elementary age kid who just figured out his multiplication tables.

  “Right.”

  He claps his hands together and stands, buttoning his jacket again. I guess we’re done now. He comes around to my side of the desk and offers me his hand. “Send me something else in two weeks. At least three songs.”