Slipping my hand lower, I brush my fingers over the base of his cock, and I feel his balls tighten in response. When I wrap my hand around his broad girth, something inside him seems to snap.
With a grunt, he surges forward, lifting me in his arms at the same time. “Put me inside you. Now.”
I barely have a second to line his cock up with my entrance before he drives his hips into mine, slamming me back against the door as he fills me completely.
If I thought being fucked by Marcus once would make me used to it, I was wrong as hell. My body lights up with shock as my pussy clamps around him, the stretch of his invasion somehow both pleasurable and painful at the same time.
He uses gravity and his own strength to drive into me hard and fast, resting my upper body against the door as his hands grip my waist, lifting me up as his hips draw back before slamming me back onto his cock again.
I grab a fistful of his hair and hold on for dear life, and our gazes lock as he fucks me into the door.
Something seems to pass between us—something I couldn’t put into words even if I could speak right now—and I can’t look away from his face as tortured pleasure finally breaks across his features.
He slams his entire body forward with the last deep thrust, crushing me against the door as his cock throbs, flooding me with cum.
With a groan, he peels me away from the door and staggers across the room, laying me on the bed with his shaft still buried inside me. Murmuring soft, indecipherable words, he buries his face in my neck. He keeps thrusting, pulsing his hips against mine in small movements, continuing to fuck me even as his cock slowly begins to soften.
As if he can’t bear to stop.
As if he’ll never stop.
But finally, with one last shudder, he stills on top of me, his large body relaxing against mine.
We lie like that for a while, and he presses wet, lazy kisses to my skin every once in a while, like he’s still trying to devour me, even through the haze of sated exhaustion.
I don’t want to admit to myself how good this feels. How nice it feels to be wrapped up in this little bubble with him.
But it does.
So, of course, I have to try to break it.
“What the fuck happened back at my apartment?” I ask.
Just as I thought it would, Marcus’s body stiffens instantly. He presses up onto one arm and pulls out of me. I expect him to go cold, to glare at me and tell me it’s none of my fucking business.
But instead, he wraps one arm around me and rolls, bringing me with him to straddle him as he ends up on his back. He pulls me down against his chest and props one arm under his head so he can look at me.
“I know that guy. Carson Purcell.”
“Yeah. No shit.” I rest my palm on his chest, and my chin on the back of my hand. “How?”
He grimaces. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s got money. A lot of it. New money. His family runs in the same circles as mine, so our paths have been crossing for years. He’s an asshole, and he’s never liked me—or Theo or Ryland.”
“That’s weird. You’re all so personable.”
Marcus’s head jerks slightly in shock at my response, and then he belts out a laugh. When he looks back down at me, the earth and air of his eyes dance with amusement. “I like you like this, angel. I like this side of you.”
The easy affection in his words makes a flash of panic rise up in my chest, so I ignore what he said entirely, keeping my focus on the topic at hand. “Why did he help Natalie get her apartment back?”
All the humor drains from Marcus’s face. “I don’t know.”
“Is he trying to start a fight with you guys?”
“Probably.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me a little closer. “But don’t worry. He can’t do anything more than be a dick right now. And we’ll deal with him.”
“Should I be worried about him? Or Natalie?”
“No.” His tone is definitive. He drags his hands up my body to cup my face, gazing into my eyes. Then he releases his hold and curls his hands into loose fists, letting me read the date stamped onto his fingers—the marker of the connection that binds us. “You shouldn’t worry about any-fucking-thing.”