by J. S. Scott
I closed my eyes and drew my hands from his hair and then lifted them to grapple for a hold, finding it as I clutched the rough bark over my head.
Marcus teased, and then attacked. Savored, and then devoured with a hunger that seemed insatiable.
“Please make me come,” I pleaded, my body quivering with the need to orgasm.
But he knew how to keep me from tumbling over the edge, to balance on a razor’s edge, and it made me crazy. I’d start feeling the peak coming, and then he’d back off just enough to stop it from happening. Marcus was a master at forcing me into a state of desperate need.
“Marcus!” I screamed, not caring who might hear it. I had to come.
I tilted my head back as I felt the next wave building, Marcus burying his face in my pussy harder than he had before. Droplets of water from the sky continued to roll over my face and breasts, but I welcomed the sensual sensation. I was so lost in the pleasure of Marcus’s mouth on my core that I couldn’t think about anything else.
My fingers were gripped so tightly to the rough tree bark that I knew they were probably bleeding, but it didn’t matter. I was completely focused on my need for release.
“Now,” I demanded, but there was a needy tone in the command.
My climax washed over me so abruptly and forcefully that it was almost scary. I let out a moan of release and satisfaction, my body shaking as it was pounded by wave after wave of sensation. My orgasm was intense, and Marcus continued to lick and nip at the tender flesh, milking every ounce of pleasure he could from me, seemingly ravenous for every drop of my juices he could lap from between my thighs.
I panted as I tried to recover, my legs weak as Marcus gently placed my foot back on the ground.
“I hate it when you do that,” I said breathlessly as he straightened and I wrapped my arms around him.
“No, you don’t,” he answered hoarsely. “You love it.”
Lord help me, but he was probably right. I loved the anticipation, and the enormous release that only he had ever given me. Or maybe I had some kind of love/hate relationship with it. I loved the climax, but I hated the torment.
I love you.
In my emotional state, I wanted like crazy to say those words out loud, but I bit my lip to keep from crying them out.
“Maybe I like it a little,” I admitted.
He pushed my hair back from my face. “You’re wet,” he said gravely. “Are you cold?”
“Are you kidding?” I snorted.
“Just checking.”
I ran my hands down his muscular back, and they glided smoothly over the slickness of his skin. “Fuck me, Marcus. I need to feel you inside me.”
He moved back enough to cup my breasts, teasing the saturated nipples with his thumbs. “I just want to watch you for a minute,” he replied.
My eyes rose to meet his tumultuous gaze. “Why?”
“Because you look so damn beautiful right after you come. I like knowing that I was the guy who put that expression on your face,” he answered covetously.
“Do I look ridiculous?” I asked hesitantly, not knowing that I had that look.
He lightly pinched my pebbled nipples and then ran a soothing circle over them slowly. I closed my eyes to absorb the pleasure/pain sensation as he repeated it over and over again.
He leaned forward and kissed my slippery lips before he said gruffly, “Hell, no. You don’t look ridiculous. You look like you’re fucking mine.”
I moved my hands up his back and speared my hands into his damp hair. I had the same possessive emotions that he did, but it still clawed at my heart when he said something that sounded like he was claiming me. It felt primitive and feral, and it made me need him with a ferocity that I almost couldn’t bear.
I reached down and fumbled with the zipper and button on his jeans. I needed him to fuck me so hard that I felt like we were somehow connected.
When my fingers finally brought out his enormous cock, I swiped the bead of moisture from the tip before the rain could wash it away and then brought it to my lips, watching his silver eyes glint with an emotion I couldn’t name as I put my finger in my mouth and sucked it right in front of his face.
“I love the way you taste,” I said in a sultry tone.
“Ditto,” he answered in an aroused, raw, masculine voice as he lowered his head and met my lips.
I savored the taste of us together as he ravaged my mouth. It was dirty, but so damn intoxicating that I was clamoring for more.
I’d never really tapped into the sexual side of me until I met Marcus.
My hands slid down to grasp his cock, feeling it pulsate in my palm.
We were both soaking wet, and the rain was getting heavier, but Marcus and I were too lost in each other to give a damn.
When his mouth released mine, we were both panting. I savored the carnal look on his face as my palm slid over and over his cock in such a furious pace that he grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t,” he demanded. “I don’t have a lot of patience left anymore.”
“Then give us both what we need. Fuck me.”
“I don’t just need it, Danica. I have to have you,” he said fiercely, his eyes molten with desire.
“Oh, God, Marcus. Sometimes I don’t know how to handle this,” I said, gasping for air as I yanked my wrist from his grip and wrapped it back around his neck.
I felt consumed.
I felt overwhelmed.
And the razor-sharp desire that was eating me whole was so confusing.
“Then don’t think,” he rumbled, pulling back for a moment to turn my body until my back was against his front, and he took advantage of the position by continuing his assault on my breasts. “Just let me fuck you,” he added.
Every time his fingers tightened and released my tormented nipples, I let out a tiny gasp. His every touch was setting my whole world on fire.
He bent me over, helping me find my grip on the tree. His hands slid down between my thighs, urging me to part my legs more. I took a wider stance as I felt his eager cock press against the cheeks of my ass as he gripped my hips.
The ground around the tree sloped, putting him in the perfect position behind me. I waited, my head down and my drenched hair falling into my face again as I silently begged for him to fill me. The empty space inside me was demanding to be filled by Marcus.
When he surged forward, he wasn’t gentle, and it was the first time he’d fucked me in this position. I wasn’t used to the depth, and I squeaked as my tight muscles gave to allow him deep inside my slick sheath.
Right now, I needed Marcus’s ferocity. He’d been careful and slow every time before today, probably because of my history of rape. But my body craved him, and there wasn’t a single ounce of fear inside me. All I wanted was for him to take me hot and hard.
“Yes,” I encouraged as my muscles relaxed and let him invade me until he was buried to his balls.
He leaned over my back, talking roughly into my ear, “Do you want it hard, baby?”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“Can you handle it?”
“Yes!” I was about to lose it. I needed him pounding into me before I went out of my mind.
He licked the raindrops off my neck, and then his teeth clamped down on my sensitive skin. It didn’t hurt, but it made me even more desperate.
The heat of his chest on my back.
The way our skin slid together sensually.
The hot, dirty talk in my ear.
The sharp feel of his erotic nip to my neck.
All those things combined were a sultry feast. I shuddered with fierce desire. My entire being was clamoring for Marcus so badly I was ready to scream.
“Marcus. Please. Fuck me!”
He straightened up without another word, pulling back and then thrusting again with the same force.
I let out a sob of relief, my hips slamming back against him, my body greedy for every powerful surge.
He started a punishing rhythm that c
onsumed both of us. There was nothing else except the meeting of our bodies.
I relished the pummeling of his cock inside me. It satisfied me like nothing else could.
There was only Marcus, and the pounding rain.
My hands were braced hard against the tree, and the rocking motion of my hips became more and more volatile as I felt the warm coil in my belly become an inferno.
“Harder,” I moaned helplessly.
He gave me harder as he growled, “You’re mine, Danica.”
“Yes,” I agreed in a fierce tone.
Right now, he owned my soul, and I didn’t care. In fact, I was ferociously glad he did.
The coil in my stomach started to unfurl, and I braced myself for the onslaught as the sensation moved between my thighs.
Marcus took a hand from my hips and adjusted his position as he kept up his brutal pace.
I flinched in surprise as I felt his finger probing between my butt cheeks, the digit finding my anus, and our completely wet state allowing it to slide in a fraction without pain. The tight hole stretched, but he didn’t invade. He just pumped in and out at a shallow depth, matching his finger to the pounding cadence of his cock.
I imploded, the new sensation causing a pleasure so intense that I couldn’t possibly stop myself from climaxing, even if I wanted to—which I didn’t.
This time, I let go, allowing my orgasm to wash over me as I completely embraced it.
“So good,” I cried. “So damn good.”
The muscles of my channel clamped down on Marcus’s pounding cock, milking him to his own fiery release.
I absorbed the sound of his tormented groan, wallowing in it. As much as he seemed to like to watch me after I came, I loved to hear those sounds of intense relief and pleasure come from his lips.
He exited my body after a moment or two, swung me around, and wrapped his muscular arms around me. He cradled me, crooning comforting, nearly incoherent words as he stroked my saturated hair.
I let myself drown in his sweet words, feeling like the most cherished woman in the world.
When he’d recovered his breath, he did up his jeans, and he scooped me up.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking you home. I don’t want you to cut your foot on rocks or other stuff on the ground.”
I was barefoot. He was still wearing his boots. “You can’t carry me all the way back to the house,” I protested.
He did haul me all the way back to his house in his arms.
Granted, it was closer than I’d originally thought, but it was still far enough that no normal guy could make that trek with my weight as a burden. But when he reached the door of his home, he wasn’t even winded.
I was beginning to learn that I should never tell Marcus he couldn’t do anything, because he was stubborn enough to prove that he absolutely could.
Dani
“Are you going to eat all of that?” Marcus asked later that evening as we watched the news, cuddled up on the couch in his living room.
I smiled as I took another bite of the massive hot fudge sundae I’d concocted just a few minutes earlier. I could hear the note of longing in his voice as I leaned back against him. My back was resting against the front of his body, a position that had become our favorite when we were relaxing together.
“I planned on it,” I teased.
He didn’t answer, but I already knew he was hoping I’d share. I’d already figured out that he didn’t shun sugar and junk food because he didn’t like it. He did it strictly because of his rigid discipline to stay healthy and fit for his travels. It wasn’t that I objected. I understood that my obsession for junk food wasn’t healthy. I simply didn’t care. I ate healthy enough most of the time. A person needed some indulgences.
And lately, Marcus had been more than willing to allow himself some foods that were meant simply for pleasure.
My suspicion was that he could normally avoid it because he didn’t see it, but since I devoured it on a regular basis, he was tempted. His mother, Aileen, was a phenomenal cook and baker, so I was certain he’d indulged plenty as a kid.
He wasn’t nearly as snobby as he attempted to be about eating for pleasure.
Marcus could afford to consume what he wanted. He did one of the most brutal workouts I’d ever seen every morning in his home gym. I’d attempted to keep up with him, but had failed miserably.
According to Aileen, Marcus had loved chocolate when he was young, and I could tell that preference hadn’t gone away. He just hid it well.
I pointed my spoon at the bowl. “This is really good. Are you sure you don’t want me to make you one?”
“Nope. I’m fine,” he answered.
Honestly, I think he liked junk food the best when he was eating mine. Maybe he could rationalize that because he didn’t actually eat his own.
I sighed as I took another bite, the explosion of hot fudge and creamy French vanilla ice cream in my mouth absolutely perfect.
“I’d probably be willing to try a little of yours,” Marcus rumbled, his low voice vibrating against my back as he looked over my shoulder.
I smiled broader, finally hearing him request to eat some of mine, just as I’d predicted. In fact, I’d been waiting for it.
“I’d hate for you to force yourself,” I said in a false concerned tone.
“I wouldn’t be,” he contradicted quickly. “I really don’t mind.”
It was as close as Marcus was going to get to admitting he desperately wanted some of the ice cream masterpiece I’d made for myself. Since I knew he was going to want some, I’d heaped a lot in a very big bowl.
I turned, gathered the perfect bite in a spoon, and then held it up to his mouth.
“What do you think?” I asked after he’d quickly taken it from the utensil I’d offered.
He nodded. “You were right. It’s really good.”
I shared the entire bowl with him, amused that it was the only way I could really get him to eat something he enjoyed.
My body was exhausted from our earlier hike and subsequent passionate encounter outdoors. We’d showered when we’d come in out of the rain, and then had some dinner. Now that we’d slowed things down, I could feel the so-worth-it aches in my body from the volatile way we’d come together.
My fingers were scratched, something that Marcus had fussed over when he’d seen them in the shower. I was pretty sure he’d asked me at least ten times if they hurt.
They didn’t.
And I didn’t regret a single moment of experiencing my first kiss—and so much more—in the rain.
Marcus would never call himself a romantic, and maybe in all the conventional ways he wasn’t. But just the fact that he wanted me to live every experience I never thought I’d have a chance to experience was so touching that it didn’t matter if he was generally pragmatic. It made his thoughtfulness special and sweet to me.
I bent forward and put our empty bowl on the coffee table. I’d take it to the kitchen before I went to bed.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he said unexpectedly, his voice decidedly unhappy as he wrapped his arms around me again, and I rested back against him.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t known his departure was inevitable, but it still stung…hard. “Where do you have to go?” I asked lightly, trying not to sound like the world was ending because it was time for us to part ways.
“I have to go to the Middle East. I wish I could put it off, but—”
“I understand,” I interrupted, not wanting to make a big deal out of the fact that he was going. Inside, I was brokenhearted, but I’d known who Marcus was when I’d chosen to spend time with him.
I can’t lose it. I’ve always known this would eventually happen.
I guess I’d just hoped for more time, but honestly, it was going to hurt just as much whenever it happened.
“No, you don’t understand, Danica. I wouldn’t leave you right now if I didn’t have to,” he grumbled.
I
suddenly connected something that had happened after we showered. “Does this have anything to do with your conversation with Jett?”
He’d spoken with my brother at length in his office before finally handing the phone over to me when I came downstairs.
He let out a masculine sigh. “That’s what’s spurring my urgency, yes.”
“What happened?” I turned around to look at him in concern.
“It seems we’re missing a few virgins,” he explained. “Ruby was locked in a room before the auction with two European females, apparently two women who weren’t exactly willing participants. Ruby was auctioned off as planned, and as you know, she’s safe with your brother in Florida.”
“And the other two women?” I questioned.
“They disappeared. They were never part of the auction. Your brother used his skills to track what happened to them. Ruby heard something about them being shipped to Syria, a gift for a rebel leader.”
I closed my eyes in horror. “Oh, God. If that’s true, they’re in trouble, Marcus.”
“I know. But I’m hoping they’re still over the border in Turkey. Jett found some possible leads.”
“Where did he track them to?”
“The same town you left when you decided to follow the teenagers.”
It was actually more of a village, and over the years I’d come to know a lot of the locals, and they trusted me. There was often press there, and the town housed a lot of refugees. My job as a journalist had been to report information on the refugee crisis and the status of the fighting in Syria. I knew that area in a personal way. The region also had medical staff from around the world volunteering to help treat the people who had fled to the border town to escape the fighting.
“I’ll go with you,” I decided. “I know you have more experience with spying than I do, but I know those locals. I speak Turkish and enough Arabic. I can help you get more information if somebody is hiding them.”
“Not happening,” Marcus answered flatly. “You need more time. You don’t want to go back there right now.”
“I do,” I told him fervently. “I need to go.”
Being back in the place that I associated with so much pain was integral to my recovery. I’d always known I had to go eventually. I’d wanted to conquer my fear, but I hadn’t gotten to the point where I was ready to return. Now that there were women in trouble, I was ready.