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He scowled. “Damn. So fuck me, right?”
She shook her head. “No. Not fuck you. I adore fucking you. That is part of the problem, my love. It is why I simply need a moment of me time. Away from you.”
He gave her a perplexed look. “I don’t see the problem. You dig me. I dig you.” He stalked over to her, and pulled her into a possessive hug. He kissed her on the forehead. “You love this dick. And I love giving it to you, baby. So what’s the problem? Explain it to me.”
Nairobia sighed, looking up at him. She couldn’t stop looking at him, his very sexy, toe-curling self. She’d been with a countless number of sexy, beautiful men; but no one as free-spirited or as unnerving as Marcel. Every part of him is succulent. Tempting. Highly addictive.
He was a dangerous drug. One Nairobia had no intentions of becoming hooked on.
“You are the problem, MarSell,” she said softly, her voice in almost a painful whisper. “You.” She reached for his hand. “Come, sit.” She pulled him over toward the sofa, then sat. She on one end of the sofa, he on the other end, Marcel already felt the divide between them. She was pulling away from him.
Maybe he’d pushed too hard.
Fuck.
Marika had warned him to take it slow with her. He thought that that was what he’d been doing. Taking it sllloooowww. Excruciatingly slow. Any slower, the clock would stop ticking and he’d be dead.
He took a steadying breath. “So what exactly are you saying here, baby. Tell me something. Because right now I’m at a loss.” He scooted over closer to her, closing the space between them. Still not satisfied, he inched closer.
There.
Now she was only an arm’s length away.
Nairobia’s pulse quickened. She shifted.
“I’m not ready for what you want.”
Marcel reached over and tugged her into the crook of his arm. “Come here, baby.” She didn’t resist him as his strong, dominant arm encircled her. He held her for a moment, allowing the heat between them to radiate.
Then he said, “How do you know that? You haven’t even given it, us, a try. At least sample the ride, before you throw in the key.”
She swallowed. Then inhaled. She smelled him in the air. He smelled of soap and a hint of something with a woodsy, very masculine scent.
“Maybe you can’t see it yet. Maybe you don’t want to see it. But we’re meant for each other, baby. I can’t stop you from running, but eventually, you’re going to have to find a way to stop hiding from the truth.”
She looked up at him. “And what truth is that, MarSell?”
He circled her waist with his arm. “That you know what I know. That we belong together, baby.”
She swallowed, broke free of him, and stood to her feet. “Why are you trying to convince me to be something I can never be? Why, MarSell?” She paced, then turned to face him. “Tell me. Why are you trying to change me, when you know I am not the type of woman to be chained to a man?”
Marcel blinked. He felt himself precariously close to dropping to his knees, begging—for what he didn’t actually know. But goddamn it! That’s what he felt like doing. He was willing to strip himself—emotionally, mentally—bare before her.
What the fuck was going on here?
If she didn’t want him, fuck it. No foul, no harm. He’d get over it; over her.
Right?
Wrong. He didn’t want to get over it. He didn’t want to walk away from something that could be beautiful. And real. Why the fuck couldn’t she see that he wanted her exactly the way she was? That she was lovable exactly how she was.
That she was…
Perfect.
For him.
He felt his heart pounding in his ears. “Hold up, baby. I’m not trying to change you, or convince you of anything. I’m not that kinda man, to try to change a woman. All I’m saying is, you’ve come into my life, and given me purpose to love again.”
