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When he’s looking at me like this, when I feel the thud of his heart beneath my palm echoing the fast cadence of my own, when our breath dances together in the little bubble of space between us, it doesn’t feel like he’s no one to me.
It feels like he’s everything.
The world around me fades away, eclipsed by the intensity of his gaze as he slowly lowers his head, tilting my chin up at the same time.
When his lips meet my skin, they touch just the corner of my mouth. He drags his face away and kisses the other corner, the light press of his lips too much and too little all at once.
I hold absolutely still as he releases his grip on my chin and trails his mouth downward, brushing over my jawline, my neck, my collarbone. His movements are slow and deliberate, but there’s something wild and dangerous about them too, as if every single taste of my skin is a stolen one.
They are, though.
Aren’t they?
He makes a noise in his throat as his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin that covers my collarbone, and when he moves his lips down and kisses my bullet wound, my knees buckle.
In a flash, his hand is back on my jaw, his fingers wrapping around my throat as he holds me up and pins me more tightly to the door all in one movement. His grip on my throat isn’t tight enough to cut off my air supply, but I can feel my pulse fluttering wildly against his fingertips anyway.
I swallow, and I know he feels that too.
His warm, wet tongue laps at the small scar on my chest, and then he drags my hand away from his chest and licks a line all the way up the scar on my forearm. When he reaches my wrist, he bites down hard on the soft skin there, making me cry out in shock.
There’s something vicious in the action. Something primal.
Like he’s trying to punish me, maybe, or teach me a lesson.
Or maybe he’s trying to punish himself.
He works his way down the length of my scar again, licking and sucking and biting the flesh like he’s trying to eat me alive. A barrage of different sensations crash into me, and I moan softly as my clit throbs.
The only thing keeping me upright anymore is his firm grip on my neck and jaw, and I watch through hooded eyes as he presses his lips to the palm of my hand, dragging his nose over my skin as he inhales me.
Then his eyes flash up to mine again, and any vulnerability I thought I saw in them earlier is gone.
All I see now is heat.
Possessiveness.
Dominance.
He moves my hand down between us again, and this time, he doesn’t rest it over his heart. Instead, he presses my palm to the place between his legs where his stiff cock pulses behind his jeans. Even through the fabric, I can tell he’s fucking huge, and he feels hot as a brand as my hand molds around his shape.
Electric heat spikes inside me. A gush of wetness floods my panties.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
A craving I can barely understand rises up inside me, and instead of pulling my hand away, I slip it out from beneath his and shove it down the front of his pants. My palm skates over the hard planes of his stomach, feeling the muscles contract under my touch, and past the waistband of his boxers until my fingertips brush velvety steel.
“Fuuuck.”
Marcus’s groan is deep and raw, and his hips jerk forward into my touch as his whole body leans into mine, his forehead resting against mine.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now. I don’t know why I need this so badly—but I need to hear him make that sound again.
Wrapping my hand around the smooth skin of his cock, I squeeze him again, and he lets out a choked grunt, thrusting his hips once more.
With our faces so close together, I’m inhaling his exhales, and it feels like our fucking souls are merging, like we’re stealing little pieces of each other with each breath.
