by Lee Savino
She was almost too far gone when Marcus slid his hand up to lightly collar her throat.
“Cora,” he growled. “My own.” His hand flexed, lightly squeezing the way she used to love, used to beg for, when she was old Cora and willing to succumb, to let him subsume her until she was completely under—
“Mine,” he said, and it was enough to jar her back to reality.
She jerked her knee up—he twisted to block it, but she rammed his inner thigh until he rolled off of her.
She rose, tugging her clothes back into place, willing herself not to face her husband. She could see him in the wall mirror, though. He sat, face carefully blank, watching her from the floor. Part of her longed to comfort him, but to what end? There was a chasm between them, filled with secrets and lies. She couldn’t breach it, not even for a moment. Not even for him.
It was better this way. She would leave and shower and change, and stick to the plan.
“I told you earlier. Yesterday was a mistake. I’m not yours.” She headed for the door. “Not anymore.”
Fourteen
When Cora left the locker room, Marcus was already waiting for her, his tall form devastating in one of his tailored suits. His wet hair slicked back from his face was the only sign he’d spent the last hour exerting himself. Proud of the cool nod she gave him, Cora strode past him, only to have her heart and limbs quiver when he fell into step beside her.
“What are you doing?” she snapped when he opened the door for her and followed her out as if he had a right to be there. As if she’d invited him along when he knew that wasn’t the case. When he knew—despite the longing in her chest—that he wasn’t wanted.
“Seeing you home.” The corners of his mouth turned up as if she amused him.
“You said your driver would take me.” She hated the petulant sound of her voice. Especially since he was the unreasonable one. “You said it was safe, that you swept my apartment and it was clear.”
“We did,” he shrugged. “But I’m going the same way. Why waste gas?” He opened the car door for her, looking so sensible and innocent she wanted to kick him.
She spent the entire trip with her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to look at his handsome profile. Her cold shower hadn’t helped. She was so aroused, so aware of him, it physically hurt not to turn and throw herself into his arms.
“One more block,” she whispered to herself, and when the car pulled up to the curb, she threw open the door and leapt onto the sidewalk. Only to find Marcus opening his door and following her again.
“No,” she almost shouted, enraged. “Marcus, you can’t be here. This is my apartment—”
“It’s not, actually,” he murmured, walking right up to the keypad and entering a code. Her mouth almost fell open when the gate unlocked and he opened it for her. “You don’t own the place, you’re only renting.” With a sweep of his palm, he indicated she should precede him. “After you.”
She was inside before she realized she’d obeyed his subtle command. Once he shut the door, she whirled to confront him in the inner courtyard. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
“Seeing you home.” In the dark garden, his body seemed to grow larger, his shadow swallowing her whole.
“Where did you get the keycode?” If he’d had one of his Shades watching over her shoulder while she or one of the other residents entered the building, she swore she’d—
“I got it when I bought the building.” A dimple flashed in his cheek as he gave her a panty-drenching smile.
Cora forgot about how hot he looked as her brain processed this. “You…what?”
“I own the whole building.”
“You own the building.” She put a hand to her temples; she could feel a headache coming on.
“I bought it.” He moved closer and she watched him warily, wishing he didn’t fill out his suits so well. His hair was a little long, brushing the edges of his collar. It made his professional garb look somehow…a little bad boy, a little dangerous, as if he knew the line of decorum and chose to step over it.
“You bought the building.” Even in the dim light of early evening, she could see his eyes crinkling in his almost smile. She mentally shook herself for parroting everything he said. “So…the new upgrades the landlord’s been doing lately…”
A new security system had been installed, including the call box up to the apartments. Along with a second entryway door and a doorman. The guy didn’t wear all black, but yeah, thinking back now, it was so obvious that he was a Shade. How had she not seen it before?
“My requirements.” Marcus inclined his head, shadows falling over the planes of his face, making his features look sharper. “When I heard you were touring the place, I made inquiries. The owner has some debt he needed clearing. Gambling is such an unfortunate vice.” Marcus shrugged. “He was really very grateful.”
Cora made a noise and inadvertently took a step back towards the front door. She wondered why, whenever her husband said something that scared her, she had the burning desire to go to him and rip his clothes off.
“No wonder Olivia thought I was getting a steal on rent. You fixed this whole thing, didn’t you?” She held up a hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
She pulled out her keys, but just her luck, fumbled and dropped them.
“Here let me help you,” Marcus said in his sexy, gravelly voice. His hands were graceful as he reached down and swept up her keys. Her heart stilled, remembering his long fingers moving with a different task.
She wouldn’t jump him, she wouldn’t. No, no, no, no. She crossed her arms over her chest.
He held open the door for her and, deciding it would be petulant to keep standing out here in the courtyard, she went through and smiled at Dennis, the doorman, before remembering that he was working for Marcus. Thinking about it now, he rarely even opened the door for people. Well, other than Cora. He sat at the desk, ignoring the computer on it and staring stoically at the outer door.
Seeing Marcus, though, Dennis hopped to his feet and opened the second door that led up to the apartments. Cora rolled her eyes and continued up the stairs.
Loud feet sounded on the stairs behind her. She spun around to face Marcus when she got to her door. “I don’t care if you own the building, you aren’t coming in here, buddy.”
He arched an eyebrow as if to say, buddy?
“I thought nothing of the sort,” he said. “I’m merely heading home to my own apartment after a long, exhausting day.”
He pulled out his keys, turned to the apartment across the hallway from hers and turned the lock. “Sleep tight, neighbor.” He didn’t turn around but she heard the grin in his voice.
Her hands squeezed into fists and she wanted to hit something really, really badly. Instead she let out a very unladylike frustrated grunt, unlocked her own door, and slammed it shut behind her.
She went straight for the wine.
“The nerve of him,” she muttered, pacing back and forth two hours later. She’d tried everything to distract herself. Watching reruns of her favorite TV shows. Trying to get into a new TV show on her favorite streaming service. Picking up the book that had her captivated only the night before.
Nothing worked.
After a few minutes, inevitably her mind would wander to the apartment across the hallway. What was Marcus doing? Was he thinking about her? Was he working? Was he watching porn and jerking off?
She took another swig of wine. It was only her second glass. She never allowed herself more when she was home alone, and usually not even that.
She glared at the clock on the wall. 9:30. That was a perfectly acceptable time to go to bed right? Responsible grown-ups went to bed at 9:30. She went to the bathroom and spent longer than usual on her nighttime routine, but when she climbed in bed, still only fifteen minutes had passed.
She sighed and flopped her head down onto her pillow. Fates be kind, please, for once, let me sleep.
Two hours later, she was l
aying on her stomach and banging her forehead repeatedly into her pillow.
Sleep deprivation was a form of torture. They had rules against this under the Genoa Convention.
So finally she gave up and went to the bathroom to seek out the little baggie with Armand’s pills. Tomorrow was important. A text had come through an hour ago from Marcus letting her know they’d arranged a meeting with the mayor. He and Sharo would be by early in the morning to prep her.
She couldn’t be a zombie with only an hour of sleep, if that, and dark circles under her eyes. She frowned at the little baggie. The pills were almost gone. She bit her lip. Every time she took one, it was a little easier for her to justify.
Oh, screw it. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed it down with a cup of water. There. Now to lie in bed and drift off. And who knew? Maybe she’d have a nice dream like the one before, imagining Marcus coming to her…
No, no, no. She did not want to dream about her husband. Ex. Wus-band.
Cora rolled over and punched her pillow. She’d picked the softest sheets and mattress when she moved in, so why did her bed feel so hard? And why was it so damn hot? She clawed her clothes off and flopped one way and the other.
She wasn’t falling asleep. Shit. She’d swear she almost felt…like, more energetic, a little frenetic almost. What if the pill didn’t work tonight? Hadn’t she heard you started getting immune to sleep medication if you took it too often?
She had to sleep tonight. Had to. After another few minutes tossing and turning, she went back into the bathroom and took out the second to last pill in the baggie. And before she could think better of it, she threw it in her mouth, swallowed it, and drank another half glass of water.
She went back to bed and waited.
Her room wasn’t large, but the darkness made it seem endless, cavern-like. The shadows on the wall made weird shapes. The one in the door looked like Marcus’s profile—
“Can’t sleep?”
Cora let out a little scream, slamming back into the headboard. “Marcus?”
His shadow stretched over her as he moved into the depths of her bedroom.
“Gods, you scared me.”
“I can’t sleep either.” Marcus looked down at his hands and Cora sensed his frustration. He would hate anything he considered weakness or a lack of control. Oh, Marcus.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” she forced herself to say. Even though what she really wanted was to invite him in for the night and wrap her arms and body around him. Sleep would come, cool and delicious. She’d rest peacefully knowing the monster was in her bed.
He paused at the end of her bed. “You lied to me.”
Her heart plummeted to the floor. He knew. Her breath came in short gasps. How did he guess? What would he do now that he’d figured out her betrayal?
“What?” she managed to squeak.
“Earlier.” His hands were at his tie, unknotting it. “Back at the gym.”
“The gym?” she repeated, mind blank with relief. He hadn’t guessed her part in the bust at the docks.
“You remember.” His hand closed over her ankle, and before she knew it, she was on her back under him. He straddled her hips, loosely binding her wrists with his tie before securing them to the headboard. Her pulse pounded in her pussy, the throbbing beat so loud she was sure he could hear it.
This was it. He’d broken into her bedroom and now he was going to claim her.
He smiled down at her, gray eyes flashing. “You said you didn’t belong to me.” His voice deepened, roughened. “You lied.”
He shifted off her and her moan caught in her throat. She wanted him back, his weight, his heat. He stood looking down at her as if he owned her. She felt his gaze like a touch but it wasn’t enough.
He ran a finger down the middle of her collarbone, between her breasts. Of course she would be naked when he decided to invade her bedroom.
“I wasn’t lying.” Her breath caught as his finger traced down, down.
“No?” An arrogant brow arched. “What’s this then?”
His finger trespassed between her soft folds. Cora’s body curled in on itself, dying for more. “You’re wet for what, no reason?”
“No…”
“Then why, angel?” His finger twisted, probed, not quite filling her. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t ask for more. “Is it for me?” A second finger. Her toes curled into the bed.
“Marcus, please—”
“Please, what?” His cheek curved in the darkness. A devil’s smile. “‘Please stop’?” His fingers stilled and her hips pressed upwards, seeking. “Or ‘please more’?”
This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons she should stop this. Kick him out. Never let him touch her again.
His fingers stroked the wet grooves on either side of her clit. So many reasons to tell him ‘no’, but she couldn’t think of a single one.
“More,” she begged, breathless. “Don’t stop.”
“Sweetheart,” that devastating curl of his lip. “I’m never gonna stop.”
His fingers hit her sweet spot, setting off white hot electric flashes in her brain. He stretched over her, lips close, his scent washing over her. She sucked in lungfuls, growing dizzy drunk on him.
His fingers rubbed along her sensitive furrows, finding her orgasm, drawing it out as he whispered against her mouth.
“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. ‘Til the day we die and beyond. ‘Til stars fall and this world is forgotten. Forever.”
“Marcus,” she cried as her orgasm blew up, a storm, a supernova. Sparks shot through her, her torso tensing, her limbs trembling, mouth opening to his as the climax consumed her. Transformed her atoms, turned her cells into shining suns. If she hadn’t been tied to her bed she’d have floated.
In the corner of her eye, Marcus reared up, wearing a shark’s smile as he undid his shirt cuffs.
The biggest orgasm of her life and he wasn’t done with her. He’d never be done.
She wrenched free of the tie and ran to the door. The knob wouldn’t turn. Locked.
She pounded on the door, begging, “Let me out, let me out.”
The darkness danced behind her, gathering into a potent form, a monster made of all her deepest desires. Her fist uncurled and she slapped the door, sobbing as it opened—
“Cora?” The shadows dissolved and Cora blinked in the light. Staggered backwards.
She was in the hall of her apartment building, standing in front of Marcus, who’d opened his door. The door she’d been pounding on—in her dream.
Sleepwalking? Oh shit. Well, this was new.
Marcus’s eyes dropped to her body and flared with heat. “Cora, you’re naked.” Her head jerked down to look at herself. Double shit. He was right, she was naked, well, underneath the sheet she had loosely drawn around herself.
“Get in here.” Marcus backed up to let her in.
She went forward on his command. When her legs wobbled, she balanced herself on the wall. Marcus pushed the door closed and came to help her. She stopped him with a raised hand.
“What happened? Are you okay?” He stopped at her outstretched hand, respecting her request for space.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to sleep. I must have had a dream.” She averted her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Her skin still crackled with sensitivity, dying to have her husband close the last few inches and put his hands on her.
A dream, it was only a dream. Except her pussy throbbed and she felt the wrung-out weakness of an incredible orgasm. Don’t think about that—
“Sweetheart, you don’t look well.” His fingers brushed her forehead lightly. The single touch sent runners of heat through her. She gasped.
Marcus’s forehead furrowed. “What’s going on?”
“I wanted to sleep,” her words came slurred and heavy. “I can never sleep.”
“Your pupils are dilated—”
“Marcus.” She couldn’t think with him touching her. She grabbed hi
s hand and he stilled. Her body convulsed. Not in climax, not quite. But close. She’d almost cum from his touch alone.
Marcus’s eyes widened, wild. He knew. He was always so attuned to her. “What the—”
“Marcus,” she moaned. “Touch me, please.”
And she pressed his hand to her breast.
He stared a moment. His hair was tousled, wild, as if he’d been running a hand through it. She imagined him sitting on his couch, drinking scotch and debating whether to knock on her door. Never knowing he’d already invaded her dreams.
With a groan, a helpless sound, he bowed his head, shoved her sheet to the floor, and took her nipple into his mouth. Lightning sizzled through her. She arched upwards.
“Marcus, Marcus.” Her hands dug into his silky raven dark hair, mussing it further. He was always so buttoned up, so in control. Except when he was with her. With her the beast broke free.
Fifteen
Marcus’s tongue circled his wife’s nipple and she hissed, clawing him closer. With a growl, he raised his head, grabbed her wrists and trapped them above her head, against the door. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t the same woman who’d been so cold to him only earlier today.
I’m not yours. Not anymore.
But here she was, her body stretched before him, legs thrashing, trying to hook his hips and pull him to her. He fixed her with a glare.
He wanted what she was so freely offering. By the gods, he wanted it. It was all he’d been able to think about from the second he’d pulled out of her yesterday in that damned bathroom. He wanted to impale her for about a month until she forgot everything else in the world but his name.
“Marcus, please,” she panted, struggling. Her flesh was so hot, rosy with lust. “I need—”
He thrust his fingers into her cunt. He would always give her what she needed. Her head flew back, slamming the wood. Marcus watched her, jaw rigid, as one orgasm rocked through her, and another.