With Marcus, though? Even though it’s crazy new, and I don’t think an engagement would be a good idea right now, the thought doesn’t fill me with panic and dread. More like … excitement and nerves.
But he’s focused on writing an album. Asking him to make sure to keep the second weekend of May open will be enough of a commitment for the time being.
He isn’t home yet when I walk in after six thirty, which is a little surprising. And he never responded to the text I sent letting him know I was running late leaving my mom and dad’s.
After debating with myself for several minutes, I decide that it’s not overly needy of me to send another text. How’s it going?
This one gets an immediate response. Great! Danny and I are leaving the studio. I just saw your text from earlier. We were wrapped up in writing and I didn’t look at my phone until now. I hope you weren’t worried.
I melt. When I dated Mitchell, he always seemed annoyed if I texted again after him not responding for a while.
Marcus wants to make sure I didn’t worry about him.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my boyfriend for the Best Boyfriend of the Year Award.
That’s awesome. I’m glad you’re finally having a breakthrough on the album.
Me too. Hopefully Jeff feels the same way. Be home soon.
I reread the last three words about fifteen times. He called my condo home.
Maybe my Mom’s quip about wedding planning isn’t so far off the mark after all.
Marcus walks through the door, shedding his coat and scarf, coming straight to me on the couch and kissing me hard.
His lips are still cool from being outside, but his tongue is all heat and hunger as it strokes mine. My fingers scrape against his whiskers as the power of his kiss bends me backward on the couch till I’m lying flat.
Chilly fingers slip under my shirt, sending goosebumps rippling up my torso, but I don’t care. His hands will warm up soon enough. Especially with this kind of greeting.
If this is the way he always comes home to me, I could live and die a happy woman.
He breaks the kiss for long enough to toe off his shoes and yank his sweater over his head, climbing over me on the couch and settling himself between my legs.
I welcome him back with open arms and deep, wet kisses.
When I’m rubbing up against the hard ridge in his pants, my hands kneading the solid muscles of his back, he pulls back and looks down into my eyes, his big hands brushing my hair back and framing my face. “I’m so glad you asked me to be your fake boyfriend,” he whispers, brushing a kiss across my lips.
I flinch away, shocked. “You are? Wait, what?”
He grins down at me, his lips pink from our kisses and my lipstick. “Yes. Because if I hadn’t started out as your fake boyfriend, you never would’ve given me the best, most surprising kiss in front of your douchebag ex, and we wouldn’t have made it here.”
My smile matches his. “I’m glad you agreed to be my fake boyfriend. And even though Mitchell is a douche and him dragging me out for coffee was crappy, I’m glad you came to my rescue and kissed me back.”
His expression turns serious, and his eyes roam my face like he’s memorizing me so he can paint my portrait later. Or recall this moment any time he likes. “I love you, Kendra,” he says softly.
I open my mouth to respond, my hand coming up to cup his cheek, but before I can say anything, he keeps going. “I’ve loved you for years.”
“I know. As a friend.”
He blinks, something flickering in his eyes, and he presses his lips together for a second. “Yes. As a friend. But now it’s more than as a friend. I’m in love with you. It was easy for me to promise that our friendship would never be damaged by trying out this new part of our relationship because I have no intention of ever letting you go.”
His smoky, husky voice sends tingles through me, his sincerity glowing in his eyes as he lays bare all his emotions.
I bring my other hand to his face, holding him in place with both hands, making sure his expressive brown eyes are focused on mine, all my masks stripped away, letting him see deep into my soul. “I love you too, Marcus.” And I bring his face to mine, ready to move beyond words.
The kiss starts off sweet and slow, like we have all the time in the world to explore each other. Because we do.
But I’m impatient. I don’t care that we have time—forever, according to Marcus. I don’t want to wait to feel him inside me again. It’s still so new and delicious and addicting. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of him, his touch, his skin. The scent of the cologne I helped him pick out, warmed by his body and mixed with his own unique essence. The way his fingers skim over my skin, finding their way between my legs, stroking me just right. The way he feels moving inside me. The look on his face when we’re joined.
The way he loves me.
Because that’s what it’s been all along. Marcus loving me.
That explains the look in his eyes when I said his love for me had been as a friend. It was denial, but for whatever reason he didn’t argue with me.
Marcus’s hands find the hem of my shirt, lifting it and ducking his head to place a kiss on my ribcage. “Sit up,” he commands, his voice low, sitting back on his heels. And I obey, lifting my arms so he can remove my top.
His eyes skate over my body, devouring me, committing another moment to memory. He reaches behind me to undo my bra. I pull it away from my body, dropping it on the floor at my side.
“You’re perfection, Kendra.” He covers my mouth with his again, sliding his tongue against mine, his hands cradling my breasts, his thumbs caressing my nipples, back and forth, in slow, hypnotic strokes.
When he moves lower to worship my breasts with his mouth, the realization hits me. Marcus has loved me for years.
Been in love with me for years.
And he’s always been the one I compared my boyfriends to. If they didn’t treat me as good as Marcus, they got kicked to the curb.
Because why would I give up someone treating me like a queen for someone who didn’t?
That’s just not smart.
And so I always found my way back to Marcus.
No wonder no one was surprised to find out we’re together.
This should’ve happened years ago.
While my mind is whirling with this epiphany, Marcus strips off the rest of his clothes, then undoes my pants and pulls them off, leaving my body bare to him. The same way his actions over the years are now laid bare to me.
No wonder no one else inspired any real emotion in me. Marcus is the only one who could.
I cry out my confirmation of my thoughts, the sound ripped from me as Marcus’s tongue swipes between my legs, his hands holding my thighs apart, spreading me open for him to feast on.
Looking down at his eyes, at the love and lust and history reflected there, I say it again. “Yesss.” It’s a hiss. A promise. A declaration of how right this is between us.
He seems to have grown impatient too, wasting no time bringing me to a shattering orgasm before rolling on a condom and sinking deep inside me.
God, that face. That look of complete satisfaction and devotion all rolled into one.
My breath hitches, and I feel stretched and full and complete. “I love you so much, Marcus.”
He dips his head, his hair tickling my forehead as he kisses me. “I love you too,” he whispers when he pulls back.
And he proceeds to demonstrate exactly what loving me means to him, worshiping my body with his, reaching between us to bring me to another orgasm just before he releases inside me, burying himself deep, clutching me to him.
I wrap myself around him, arms and legs, holding him tight, wallowing in the fact that this beautiful man is mine. At last.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marcus
The next weeks fly by in a creative whirlwind. That first writing session with Danny after my meeting with Jeff sparks off not just the three songs
I’d been ordered to produce, but three more fully written as well as rough sketches for the rest of the album.
Danny’s as excited as I am, which is a nice change. And he’s coming with me to meet with Jeff again.
After we climb out of the car that drops us off in front of the office building in New York, Danny holds out his hand to me. I slap mine into his, and he clutches it. “This is what we set out to do. And now we’re doing it, man. Let’s go show Jeff why he signed us.”
“Yeah, man.”
We’re both pumped for the new songs we’ve written the last couple of weeks. Danny’s come up with some awesome riffs, showing off his skill even more than the last album. How lucky am I to get assigned one of the best guitarists around as my roommate freshman year?
He taught me to play the guitar. I was at Berklee to study piano. The piano’s served me well, and it’s great for writing, but I’m glad to let Aaron handle the keys for Cataclysm. Even though the piano is what made me first fall in love with music as a little kid, the guitar speaks to me more than the piano ever did.
We’re ushered into Jeff’s office right away, and he loves the bare bones recordings we play for him.
“Yes!” he says, standing and coming around the desk to shake our hands once he’s listened to the three tracks we brought. “Keep that coming. When do you think you can have the rest of the album ready?”
I glance at Danny, and he nods for me to answer. “If things continue, maybe two or three weeks to finish writing. After that we’ll need to rehearse with the guys, get the kinks worked out before we record.”
Jeff props himself on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, a distant look on his face as he stares into the middle distance. “So about a month or so to start recording. That’s reasonable, I think. But I’m not sure if we can get the same producer as before. I have a couple of other guys you might really like, though.”
Danny sucks in a breath. “Why can’t we work with Sid again?”
Jeff’s head jerks to Danny. “We had a spot for you booked with him. But I expected this album at least a month ago. You’re behind schedule. You lost your spot.”
“Let me call Sid,” I put in. “We had a good working relationship last time. Maybe he’ll make room for us in his schedule if I talk to him.”
Jeff gives me a doubtful look. “You might need to incentivize him to bump someone.”
I shrug. “I recall he has a weakness for Macallan Twenty-Five. I’m sure I can come up with something to help sway his decision making.”
With a laugh, Jeff straightens and buttons his suit jacket. Danny’s still sitting stiffly in the chair beside me, but I think he’s sufficiently mollified to not blow up at Jeff.
He’ll wait till we’re in the car to let me know what he thinks of the A&R guy.
I don’t care, though. Just as long as he doesn’t let Jeff know to his face, it’s all good.
Jeff offers us both his hand, which is our signal to stand and make our way to the door. He claps both of us on the shoulder as we pass him. “Thanks for making the trip out here. If you can’t get Sid to come around, let me know and I’ll set up meetings with those other producers. You can pick who you want to work with. I just want to keep my guys happy!” He shoots finger guns at us, which makes Danny have a coughing fit.
With my hand on his shoulder, I part steer, part shove him down the hall, away from Jeff’s office. “Right. Thanks, Jeff. We’ll be in touch.”
I was wrong. Danny doesn’t wait till we’re in the car. At least he waits till we’re in the elevator.
“That guy, man. He’s such a slimy little weasel.”
I shrug, texting our driver that we’re done so he’ll pull up out front. “Yeah. I know, man. But he’s a slimy little weasel that’s made our dreams come true. Just be glad you don’t deal with him directly as much as I do.”
Danny snorts, leaning against the rail of the elevator. “Believe me. I am.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kendra
Rounding the corner to head back to the front parlor, the staging area for my mom and I while we plan her charity benefit dinner, I nearly jump out of my skin when the door to my dad’s office opens and Mitchell steps out.
He grips my upper arms to steady me, a smile coming to his face. “Kendra. Fancy seeing you here.”
I quickly step out of his hold. “What are you doing here, Mitchell?” I look around him, trying to see into Dad’s office. “Why were you in my dad’s home office?”
He holds his hands up, palms out. “Your dad and I were just going over some contracts. Nothing to worry about.” Crossing his arms, he leans against the wall, like he’s settling in for a longer conversation than I intend to engage in. “How are you?” His voice is soft and inviting, like he’s run into a long lost friend.
“Good. Great. Fantastic. Thanks for asking.”
He chuckles, stepping in front of me as I try to edge past him. “Which is it?”
I cross my arms, staring up at him, wondering what in the world ever possessed me to agree to date this guy. “All of the above. If you’ll excuse me, my mother is waiting.”
He steps back, hands out again. “Pardon me. I just thought it would be nice to catch up for a second.” He pauses, putting his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes roaming my face. “I’ve missed you.” His voice is soft again. Confessional.
“Sure you have.” I don’t buy this whole act.
His mouth gets hard, his eyes narrowing. And there it is. He steps closer, his voice a hiss. “I’m a patient man, Kendra. I can wait while you have your little fling with your rockstar friend. But be assured, you’re mine. And I will come for you.”
The polite smile I pasted on a second ago drops at his words. A shiver running through me at the underlying threat.
I step back, hating that it seems like I’m giving ground. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mitchell. But I was never yours. And you can do whatever you like, but I’ll never be yours. No matter what.”
His eyes turn calculating, and he steps away from me as well. “We’ll see about that.” He turns, heading for the bathroom down the hall where I’d just come from.
I shiver again, watching him walk away.
“Kendra?” My mom’s voice comes from the other end of the hall, and I hurry to get back to helping her, pushing Mitchell’s ominous words out of my mind. I don’t know what in the world he could mean, and it’s probably bluster anyway. He’s the most entitled and self-centered person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot.
What could Mitchell possibly do that would make me leave Marcus and date him again?
Nothing.
Shaking my head, I put it firmly out of my mind. I need to help Mom decide on centerpieces and finalize the menu. That’s far more important than whatever delusions Mitchell might hold as far as I’m concerned.
Marcus is already home when I get there, relaxing on the couch with a beer and watching TV. I pause, enjoying the sight of him stretched out, bare feet propped on my coffee table.
He gives me a funny look. “What?”
“Nothing.” I finish taking off my jacket and scarf, hanging them in the coat closet before coming all the way into the living room and settling next to him on the couch.
He shifts his beer to his other hand, lifting his arm to let me settle against his side and draping it around me. “You were staring at me. Does me having my feet on your coffee table bug you or something? You haven’t mentioned it before.”
Shaking my head, I smooth a hand over the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “No. I was just enjoying how at home you look in my space. I like having you here.”
He lets out a low rumble of contentment. “I like being here.”
We fall silent, the rerun of The Office holding our attention, making us laugh. Between episodes, I screw up my courage to say what I was thinking when I walked in the door.
“You know … it occurs to me that you don’t spend a lot of time at your place these days.�
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Marcus glances down at me, then leans forward to place his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “You know, I’ve noticed that too.” He raises his eyebrows like he’s wondering what I’m going to say next.
“You practically live here already.”
He lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. I mean, I have a toothbrush here and a spare deodorant. But I always stop at my place for a change of clothes after Danny and I are done for the day.”
I nod like I’m considering his point. “True, true. You could, um, just bring clothes here. And leave them here. In the closet. Or the dresser.”
The small smile on his face grows wider. “Are you saying you’re going to give me a drawer?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “It could be more than one. Or we could get you your own dresser. There’s room for another one. And that might make more sense, because I have kind of a lot of clothes.”
He laughs. “And why would I need a whole dresser just to use one drawer?” I’m twisting my fingers in my lap, and he reaches over to take my hand. “How many clothes do you want me to leave here?” His voice is quiet, amused, but with an undercurrent of seriousness.
If I were a braver person, I could look him in the eye. But I’m not, so I stare at our joined hands, the way his blunt fingers with their trimmed nails intertwine with my slimmer, manicured ones. “All of them? And everything else too.”
His hand slips under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Kendra? Did you just ask me to move in?”
My eyes dart to his and away again. I lick my lips. “Well, I mean, it makes sense. If you think about it. You’re here all the time anyway. You’ve stayed here every night since our trip to the Grammys. Wouldn’t it be easier if your stuff was here too?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I think my lungs are going to explode while I wait for him to say something. Finally, when I force my eyes to his again, he responds. But not to agree or tell me I’m crazy. Because that would put me out of my misery. No, he answers my question with a question.
Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1) Page 11