19. Chloe
I t’s been four whole days, and I’m still thinking about the kiss. I relive the moment constantly, whether I want to or not. Whenever my mind wanders, that’s what I think about.
I’ve imagined so many alternate scenarios, and not one of them ends with me alone in bed, fucking frustrated and sizzling hot, to the point I can’t sleep.
They all involve Marcus taking me, making me come. And let me tell you, they’re a hell of a lot hotter than what actually fucking happened.
I’m still not done yelling at Past Chloe for her silence. I have no idea what the hell she was thinking, but she definitely didn’t consider how bloody awful it’s been for the last four days, living in a constantly horny state.
I wasn’t even this bad when I was a teenager!
Realistically, Marcus wouldn’t have any idea if I cheated—just a little. There’s been more than one occasion when my fingers have drifted precariously close to my knickers before I’ve caught myself. Yet I still can’t bring myself to break his rules.
The truth is, in every version of my fantasy, it’s always his fingers that make me fall apart, never my own. Sometimes it’s his mouth, or his cock, or all of the above, but it’s never my own hand that I imagine.
So why the fuck am I still relying on fantasies instead of memories? I have no bloody clue, but for some reason, I just can’t seem to ask him.
I don’t know what the hell is going on with me, as there’s nothing I want more, yet something is holding me back. It’s those pesky little things called feelings, my brain helpfully reminds me.
I let out a sigh of frustration as the thought overwhelms me. I can pretend all I want, but deep down, I’ve not taken things further with Marcus because I’m scared.
I have feelings for him, and have since I was a kid, but he’s been honest with me when he said he doesn’t do relationships.
I’m always going to want more from him than he’s willing to give. Yet, when he tells me I’m his, my heart races at the possibility there could be more.
Every girl wants to be the one to tame the bad boy, to make him want to settle down, and I can’t stop that stupid notion when I think of Marcus. No matter how ridiculous it is, a girl can dream.
Tonight, I’m extra antsy, and not just because I’m incredibly sexually frustrated. Marcus has yet to come home, and this is the latest he’s ever stayed out without letting me know.
There’s times he needs to be at the club, or meeting with people late at night, but he always texts to let me know. Even when he’s just working in his home office, taking late calls with people in different time zones, he lets me know.
I knew he was going to be out late with Miles, but they never specified where they were going, which, at the time, wasn’t odd, since they don’t always tell me about their work, but when Marcus didn’t come home, or text me, I started to worry.
Watching the clock doesn’t seem to be helping, time seems to be passing even slower now.
I’ve tried to sleep. It was three minutes past three when I fell asleep, and it was twenty-eight minutes past three when I woke up feeling worse than before.
I must have picked up my phone a million times, trying to decide whether I should text or call him, and each time I’ve thrown it down in a huff. I mean, I’m not sure I have any right to text him, demanding he lets me know he’s safe. We’re not together… We’ve barely just become friends, so I’m not sure I can make that sort of a demand on him.
Unfortunately, the longer my brain is allowed to run unchecked, the more outlandish the theories become. The most obvious one was that he’s dead, and my heart hurt too much to even think that, so I quickly moved on to him being injured and in the hospital.
Granted, that didn’t feel a whole lot better, but at least I could breathe normally, where thoughts of him being gone sent me into a hyperventilating panic.
Once I’d covered every option of him being injured, things quickly escalated. Maybe he’d fled the country in a private jet to avoid prosecution after the police started closing in.
I mean, it’s unlikely to be that given he doesn’t have a private jet, and the police of Blackthorn are very deeply in Marcus and my family’s pocket.
I then went to the ridiculous, thinking maybe he’d accidentally got himself locked in a room, where he didn’t have a signal, and he wasn’t able to let anyone know he needed help.
Not a bad idea, but also a tad problematic as if nobody knows where he is, they won’t be able to rescue him. Which, of course, led to very dark thoughts about him starving to death.
Then my brain takes a very dark turn when I wonder if he’s gone home with another girl, since I haven’t agreed to fuck him yet. Even though he doesn’t do relationships, I assumed that while he’s with me, he wouldn’t be with anyone else.
Then again, he’s not with me, since I’ve not asked him yet. So can I really blame him if he’s found another girl to meet his needs?
I might not be able to blame him, but I can be very fucking mad at him.
I could ring or text Miles instead, I think to myself as the clock turns to forty three minutes past three, trying to distract from nightmares of Marcus with another woman.
It’s not a bad plan, except, there’s a good chance it would make me look even more insane than if I were to just reach out to Marcus. Then his friend would know I’m neurotic, and far too into him.
I reach over and grab my phone again, scrolling through social media in an attempt to distract me. I’m not at all looking to see if either of them have posted anything—which they haven’t.
Six minutes later, the front door slams open loudly, grabbing my attention. Before I can even think it though, I spring out of my bed and rush into the hallway. It’s empty, but I hear the sound of drawers banging in the kitchen, so I rush in there.
Marcus never makes this much noise when he knows I’m sleeping, so this, combined with his unexplained absence, has me really on edge. As soon as I get into the kitchen, I freeze, coldness washing over me as my stomach sinks.
The initial relief I felt, for just a fraction of a second, knowing he was alive and safe went flying out of the window when I see all the blood covering his suit.
At the sound of me entering the kitchen, Marcus spins around, his eyes wide as he brandishes a large knife. I take a small step back with a yelp, holding my hands up.
“It’s just me, Marcus. Put the knife down,” I tell him, my voice shaking about as much as my body.
He lets his wrist go limp, the knife dropping to the floor as his wide blue eyes remain fixed on me. I take a step forward, and he seems to tense more.
“Are you okay? Is that blood yours? Do I need to get you to a doctor?” I blurt out, each question coming out quicker than the one before.
He’s silent for a moment, not even blinking.
“Marcus, tell me what to do. I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice cracking at the end.
As soon as the last word leaves my lips, it’s like Marcus is woken up with a jolt. He blinks rapidly, the darkness in his eyes receding as his bright blue colour starts to return.
This time when he looks at me, I know he’s really seeing me, and my heart breaks for him as his face falls.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t be scared of me,” he whispers, sounding very unlike the Marcus I know.
I shake my head quickly, trying to stop the tears that are welling up from falling.
“I’m not scared of you, Marcus. I’m scared for you. Is that blood yours?” I say, pointing to his suit that is almost completely red.
He looks down, running his hand over his jacket, wincing as he moves his arm. “No, it’s not all mine.”
“Miles?” I squeak, bringing my hand up to my mouth to cover the sob.
Marcus takes a few steps forward, his arms out towards me, as if he’s going to comfort me. Then he stops, looking down at his blood-covered body.
“No, Miles is safe. This is the blood of an enemy,” he confirms, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Are you injured at all?”
Even though he’s said the blood isn’t all his, I still need to make sure he’s not injured.
Marcus winces, like he was hoping not to answer that question. I fix him with a hard stare, making it clear I won’t drop it until I get an answer.
“I have some injuries, but with all the blood, I’m not sure how bad they are.”
My stomach sinks, and my heart races even faster, which I didn’t think was possible. Without even thinking, I close the gap between us and take hold of his hand. Marcus looks down in shock at where I grab him, and we both choose to ignore the way someone else's blood stains my hand.
“What are you?—”
I cut him off, dragging him behind me as I walk into the corridor. “Just come with me.”
I pull him into the main bathroom, which neither of us use as we both have en-suites in our bedrooms. As it’s the main bathroom in the apartment, it’s large and luxurious, and when I spot the giant tub, I mentally chastise myself for not indulging in a soak in here.
The bathroom is decorated similarly to the other rooms in the house. Bright whites alongside a grey feature wall, with grey and white marble tiles covering the areas around the shower, bath, and sink. The grey wall is almost covered with a large mirror and the sink cabinet, which is big enough for a person to sit on.
There’s a large walk-in shower, big enough for at least two people, with a bench seat along one side, and a large rainfall shower overhead. The bathtub is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, and the little holes dotted around the side indicate it’s a jacuzzi too.
I make a mental note to definitely come in here and enjoy a luxurious soak in the tub at a later date.
With one hand still holding onto Marcus, I open the door to the shower and lean in, turning on the water. I play around with the settings until I get it to the right temperature, not caring that I’ve just leaned under the water fully-clothed, and one half of my body is now soaked.
Since seeing Marcus covered in blood, knowing that he’s hurt, I’ll admit, I’ve not exactly been thinking clearly. I turn to face him, my breath hitching at the way his eyes are roaming over my body, fixating on the wet patches.
“We need to get the blood off you, so I can see what your injuries are,” I tell him, but still he doesn’t move.
Without thinking, I walk into the shower, pulling him with me. He stops just before he climbs in to kick off his shoes, but then he steps into the water, not taking his eyes off me.
Warm water cascades over me, drenching me completely, and I take a step back, pulling Marcus under the waterfall. As the water hits him, his dark hair flops down onto his face, some strands covering his eyes as it trickles over him.
Reaching over, as gently as I can, I swipe the wet strands away from his face, tucking the longer pieces behind his ears, while the others I just slick back, using the water to help me keep them in place.
His gaze remains locked on mine, but I see the way his breath hitches when I run my finger along his face.
I swipe my fingers over his cheek, washing away the small specks of blood that are dotted all over his face. When I get to those soft pink lips of his, I can’t help but drag my thumb along his bottom one, loving the feel of how silky it is.
Marcus’ bright blue eyes darken, and he looks down at me through hooded lashes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, confirming that he’s just as affected by this as I am.
I’m so lost, just staring into his almost hypnotic eyes, I don’t even see his mouth open, but I feel it under my touch. He pulls the tip of my thumb into his mouth, and my gaze drops to his lips instantly. He swirls his tongue around it before sucking gently.
A small gasp escapes, but it’s drowned out by the loud pounding of the water. Given the way Marcus shudders, he heard the noise.
He somewhat reluctantly releases my thumb, and I’m a little upset about it. How the hell is he capable of turning me on with just his mouth on my thumb? Imagine what he could do with access to my whole body.
Focus, Chloe, I remind myself. He might be injured, so focus on that, nothing else!
Except, given the way he’s staring at me, like he wants to devour me, it’s hard to think of anything else. I take a deep breath as I try to steady my nerves, to help me focus on the task at hand.
I reach out with both hands and, as carefully as I can, I shuck the jacket off his shoulders before sliding each arm out. Despite being super gentle, he winces a lot, even going as far as a hiss and grimace when I move his left arm out of the jacket.
He allows me to manipulate his limbs, making it easier for me to pull his jacket off. I then throw it onto the floor in the far corner of the shower, silently praising whoever designed this place for adding a walk-in shower big enough to house several people comfortably.
Once I’ve removed his tie, discarding that alongside his jacket, I lower my gaze to assess as much as I can see. Given he’s in a white shirt, which should be almost completely transparent by now because of the water, I was hoping I’d be able to get a clearer view of what injuries I’m dealing with without having to undress him further.
I should have known I’m not that lucky.
His once-white shirt is now completely covered in blood, and although the water has drenched it to the point it’s sticking to his skin, it’s done nothing to remove the blood stains.
I slowly lift my gaze to his, maintaining eye contact with him as I raise my hands towards his top button, making my intentions very clear. I move at a pace that would allow him to stop me if he didn’t feel comfortable with me doing this, but he doesn’t .
With slightly shaky hands, I begin unbuttoning his shirt. It’s harder than it should be, but my trembling fingers, the water continuing to hit us, and the slickness of the buttons, thanks to the water, makes it a much more complicated task than it needs to be.
With each button I finally manage to open, the air in the shower cubical seems to crackle. Although it’s the largest shower I’ve ever been in, the space begins to feel small with how close together we’re standing, yet neither of us steps away. We allow the steam to fill the air around us as we just stare at each other.
Both of our chests begin to rise and fall quicker, and once I get to the buttons over his pecs, I can feel his heart beating beneath my touch.
I hold my hand there for longer than is necessary, but I find comfort in knowing his heart is racing for me. He’s just as affected by this as I am, and that both thrills and scares me all at the same time.
As I reach the final button, I allow myself to ogle the perfect specimen of a man standing before me. He’s lean with just the right amount of muscles, without being too big.
I watch as water droplets cascade over his smooth pecs, along the hard ridges of his abs—a perfect six pack, of course—until it reaches the trail of hair that disappears below his belt.
I don’t even see the blood covering his pale skin, or the cut across his side straight away, as I’m too fixated on how annoyingly perfect he looks.
Once I slide his shirt off and he lets out a loud hiss, breaking the bubble I seem to have found myself in, I remember why we’re doing this in the first place. I’m not undressing him so I can drool over him, I’m supposed to be making sure he’s okay, and the wince of pain tells me he’s not.
The shirt joins his jacket in the corner as the water around us runs crimson with blood. This time when I really look at Marcus, I see the way he’s curling his right arm around his stomach, while trying not to move his left.
I take a small step back, just so I can get a better view. On the outside of his left arm, across his bicep, there’s a slash wound with blood trickling from it.
I reach over and wrap my small hand around his right wrist, his eyes widening as I begin to gently pull his hand away. I wouldn’t be able to move him if he didn’t allow me to, so I give him a small reassuring smile when he does.
He hisses loudly. “Fuck,” he mutters, breaking the tense silence that had been building between us.
Once his hand is out of the way, blood begins to ooze down his lower stomach, over his belt and trousers. I squat down slightly until I’m level with the wound, so I can get a better look, placing my hands on Marcus’ hips for support.
It’s definitely a knife wound, same as the one on his arm, though this looks worse. The slash across his bicep looks more superficial than anything, whereas this doesn’t.
The wound seems to be around three inches long, but it’s not a straightforward injury. It’s almost like there are two wounds in one.
The outermost part nearest his side is long and shallow, similar to the slice on his arm, whereas the inner part, nearest his bellybutton, is deeper. About an inch of the wound looks to be very deep, like you’d expect to see in a stab wound.
I reach around Marcus and grab the flannel that’s hanging on a hook on the wall, making sure to wet it under the shower-head first.
“What happened here?” I ask him as I scrunch the flannel into a ball.
“My meeting went to shit,” he replies cryptically.
“I need to put pressure on this, to see if I can slow down the bleeding. It’s coming out too quickly right now, but when I press, it might hurt,” I tell him.
Feeling my shins start to burn from crouching for too long, I drop down onto my knees, so I can give his injuries my full attention, while not being distracted by my own body yelling at me.
He nods. “That’s not a pr—holy fuck, that hurts,” he yells, forgetting whatever he was about to say before I pressed the flannel against his deep wound.
It’s not long until the light grey flannel is coated with blood, and I start to panic.
“Maybe you need a doctor. Should I take you to the hospital?”
Marcus shakes his head. “No doctors,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
I roll my eyes at his stupid comment. “Really? Because it looks like you’ve got a fucking hole in you stomach.”
He tries to give me that cocky smile of his, but it turns into a wince as I press the flannel harder, and I almost feel bad for just a second.
“The guy only managed to get the tip in before he was pulled away, which is why the wound looks weird. There’s a stab wound where the tip went in, and then a slice from when he was dragged away from me.”
“And your arm?” I ask, nodding towards the wound on his bicep, where the bleeding, thankfully, appears to be slowing down.
“The arsehole was waving his knife around like a lunatic and I got too close,” he says casually, like getting stabbed is no big deal .
“Do you have any other injuries?” I ask, fixing him with a stare that tells him to be honest with me.
He nods, grimacing as he does. “There’s a small slice across my thigh.”
He looks down at his right leg, pointing towards where his trousers have been cut open.
“Hold this,” I instruct, moving his hand until he takes over holding the flannel, making sure he uses the correct amount of pressure, so we can try stopping the blood flow.
Once I’m sure he’s got the pressure correct, I act on instinct. Reaching up, I begin unfastening his belt, sliding the zipper of his trousers down before popping the button.
I look up at Marcus to find him staring down at me through hooded eyes. His eyes are almost completely black, his pupils blown wide.
It’s only then that I realise what this must look like to him. I’m soaked through, no doubt making my thin pyjama shorts and vest turn almost transparent, and I’m on my knees before him, unfastening his trousers.
He’s clearly ignoring the stab wounds, the blood, and the look of sheer terror that I’m sure I’m not able to hide, but I don’t blame him. Maybe this is a fantasy for him.
Great, now I’m frozen and my mind has gone to dirty places once more.
I must have been stuck there for longer than I should be, my fingers on his trouser button, without going further, as Marcus clears his throat before chuntering loud curse words when the movement hurts him.
Hearing him in pain is enough to snap me out of my lust-filled thoughts, and I waste no time removing his belt fully, so I can pull his trousers off, adding them to the growing pile of discarded clothes in the corner.
For just a moment, I’m grateful when I notice the water swirling around our feet is more pink now than red, which I’m hoping means we’re managing to stop the bleeding a little.
As I look up at Marcus again, no matter how much I try not to look at his boxers, it’s impossible not to notice the large tent sticking out in front of me.
I pull my lip between my teeth to stop myself from letting out a moan, trying to concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing. I use my grip on his hips to turn him slightly so I can see his thigh.
The cut’s about six inches long, but very thin, and the fact there’s only a few droplets of blood leaking from the edges confirms it’s most likely superficial.
I cup one of my hands until it’s full of water, before tentatively placing my palm over the cut. I then gently swipe my fingers along all the edges of the wound, rubbing a little harder where needed to clean away all the dried blood.
Although it’s only superficial, I make sure the injury is completely clean, to prevent any chance of infection.
“This one isn’t too bad. It’s the biggest, but it’s mostly superficial. I’ve cleaned it well to prevent infection. If it’s okay with you, I’ll do the same with the other wounds too?
“They may need to be cleaned with antiseptic in the morning, but we can look at them again then,” I tell him, concentrating on the wound so I don’t have to look up at him again.
“Okay,” he grinds out.
Don’t do it, Chloe. Don’t look up!
No matter how many times I repeat it in my head, I do it anyway. There’s something in his voice that catches my attention, and I can’t help myself. His jaw is tight, like he’s grinding his teeth together, and he looks to be in more pain than he was before.
“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” I rush out, my hands now back on his hips, though I try not to grasp too tightly in case I am hurting him.
“I’m fine.” I hear the words, but his tone says he’s very much not alright.
“You sound like you’re in pain. You have to tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t?—”
My words are cut off and quickly turn into a high-pitched squeal as Marcus, completely forgetting about his injuries, or the cloth he’s supposed to be pressing against his side, reaches down, scoops his hands under my arms, and lifts me to my feet.
“The wounds aren’t causing me fucking pain… You are,” he snaps.
My eyes widen as my brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
Marcus reaches over and turns the shower off, then takes a menacing step towards me. Out of instinct, I step backwards until my back hits the glass of the shower door behind me.
Still, he keeps coming until he’s right in front of me, with barely any space between us. His breath fans over my face as he reaches out and grabs hold of my hip, his grip hard enough to bruise.
“Every time I see you in these fucking sleep shorts, I’m in pain, but now they’re fucking see-through and it’s agony. Then, seeing you on your knees for me, your fingers trailing over my thighs in the most innocent bloody way, all while you look up at me with those big silver eyes, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had—that’s torture.
“No matter how many times that arsehole slashed or stabbed me, the pain of those wounds is nothing compared to being this close to you and not being able to fucking have you, Mio,” he growls, his chest heaving from the intensity of his words .
My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it echoing in my ears, and I’m breathing so quickly, I’m close to hyperventilating. I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say.
The intensity in his gaze shatters me. I’ve never been looked at by anyone the way Marcus looks at me. Not just that he wants me, but like he might die if he doesn’t have me, and that makes me feel like the sexiest woman in the world.
I pull in a sharp breath, before raising my chin just enough that I can look up at him. Once his gaze connects with mine, I say the only words I can think of at this moment. “You can have me.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when Marcus slams his lips against mine, claiming my mouth in the most delicious way. I wrap my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers into the hairs at the back of his neck, holding him close as I meet his kiss with my own.
This kiss is different from our others. It’s deep, bruising, almost claiming, and I’m more than happy to get lost in him.
His tongue sweeps across my lip, and I let him in, melding mine against his. I whimper into his mouth as I taste him, my body heating up, burning from the inside out.
As soon as he hears the noise I make, Marcus rocks his hips, rubbing his boxer-covered hard cock against my stomach. When he does, he pulls his lips away, groaning in a very different way to before.
“Fuck,” he mutters, taking a small step back, though my arms around his neck prevent him from going too far.
He looks down, his eyes widening as he does and I follow his gaze. Not only is there a small trail of blood running from the wound on his side, I’m completely covered in blood too. It most likely got there when I was helping him staunch the flow, or get undressed, but now it’s hard to unsee.
“You need stitches in that wound. It’s too deep to heal on its own,” I tell him, and he nods in agreement.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and then I’ll call my doctor to come and take a look,” he says, glaring at the blood-soaked vest.
“Okay,” I agree, before reaching down to grab hold of my shirt so I can pull it off.
I only make it as far as my belly button piercing before Marcus reaches out and grabs hold of my wrists. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark and fixed on my face.
“If you take your clothes off in front of me, my last bit of self-restraint will fly out of the window, and I will have to fuck you, no matter how much it hurts.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and if I wasn’t wet before, I sure as hell am now .
“Don’t hurt yourself for me,” I tell him, letting go of my shirt. “I’ll help you clean your wounds, and you can get out while I wash. Sound good?”
He shakes his head. “No. Good would be me fucking you until you can’t do anything except scream my name, but since we can’t do that, we’ll go with your plan.”
I chuckle, reaching behind him to grab another cloth off the hook on the wall. I then direct the shower head away from us while I find the right temperature, before turning on the rainfall shower above us.
I try to keep my movements gentle but swift, knowing the longer I drag this out, the more torturous it’ll be for us both.
Once I’ve washed all the blood off his body, I focus on his wounds, making sure they’re as clean as can be. He winces, hisses, and occasionally swears, but that just tells me I’m doing a good job.
I’m not worried about the wounds on his arm or thigh, as they’ve both almost stopped bleeding already, but the one on his stomach is deeper and won’t stop trickling.
It’s not as bad as it was initially, but there’s still enough blood for me to be concerned. Marcus also pulls away when I touch around it, which tells me it hurts much more than he’s letting on.
“All done,” I say when I finish cleaning the last bit of his body. “Well, except for your boxers and your hair. Do you want me to…”
I leave the sentence unfinished, just kind of hanging in the air. Marcus’ eyes flutter closed as he takes a few deep breaths.
“Fuck, this is really testing me tonight, love. Can you pull off my boxers and I’ll wash while you shampoo my hair? It will hurt my arm a lot less if you do it.”
I give him a smile and a nod, my heart aching that he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable enough to ask for my help. Now I just need to take his boxers off without groping him… Easy!
Ha, who am I kidding, it was so fucking hard—literally.
I tried to keep my eyes on Marcus’ face, but it’s incredibly difficult to remove someone’s boxers when you can’t see what you’re doing, and it actually resulted in my hands brushing over areas I was trying to avoid. Marcus’ loud groan made my core tighten, and I looked down, telling myself to focus.
I’ve seen his cock before, so this shouldn’t have come as much of a shock, but last time I saw it, Marcus had his hand wrapped around the base as he came. Whereas now, it’s bobbing free, it’s full length on display, looking bigger than before.
I quickly crouch down, trying to ignore that I’m now at eye level with his rather large, hard cock as I pull his wet boxers down. As they’re completely soaked, they are almost sticking to his skin, and it takes me longer than it should to get them down. If I believed in a higher power, I’d think they were definitely testing me right now.
As I manage to pull the waistband down over his arse, I feel my nails drag along his flesh, and the noise that comes from Marcus’ throat is like music to my ears. When his cock bobs in front of me, I speed up until he steps out of them.
Once they’re discarded along with the rest of his clothes, he turns so that his back is to me. This way I can reach his hair, and the spray is more directly over his front, so he can clean himself.
I reach over to the shelf by the shower controls and grab a small dollop of shampoo, before I stand on my tip-toes, lifting up my arms towards his hair. He must be able to tell I’m struggling, as he crouches down a little.
I take my time massaging the shampoo into his scalp, running my fingers through the longer strands afterwards. I tell myself I’m just doing a thorough job, when really I just love the feel of his silky hair between my fingers, and my imagination is running wild.
Before I can get lost in more dirty thoughts, I quickly rinse the shampoo out, making sure to massage his scalp as I make sure it’s clean.
Each time I press into just the right spot, or gently rake my nails over his scalp, Marcus practically whimpers as he moans.
“Done,” I tell him when I’ve finished, my voice deep and raspy from all the dirty thoughts.
Marcus turns off the shower and spins around so quickly, I find myself pressed against the shower wall again. “Did you mean it when you said I could have you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’m going to call the doctor and get stitched up. Meet me in my bed, Mio,” he tells me as he climbs out of the shower, pulling a towel around his dripping body.
My heart pounds as I watch him leave, anticipation humming through my body as my mind spins. I quickly strip off my own clothes, taking care to wash all of the blood from my body as I do.
As I shampoo my own hair, my mind wanders to thoughts of what will happen next.
I told him he can have me, but can I have him?
All I know is that I’ve waited my whole life for him, I can’t walk away now, just because there’s a chance I might get my heart broken. This is one of those times when you have to risk your heart, and hope you win in the end.