Chapter 43
E mma
I wake with a shiver as warm lips touch my nape, their softness contrasting with the scorching heat of mint-scented breath and the roughness of the morning stubble rasping across my skin.
I’m lying on my stomach and Marcus is kissing my neck, I realize groggily, and though I’d love to sink back into sleep, the sensations are too delicious to miss.
He’s massaging me now as well, his strong hands kneading the muscles of my shoulders, my arms, my back, my butt…
Oh, yeah, he’s definitely focusing on my glutes, and I had no idea how much those muscles needed tending.
His lips follow his hands down my body, trailing over my spine and leaving my skin tingling.
He moves his attention to my legs, and I moan into the pillow, keeping my eyes closed as he massages the soreness out of my inner thighs and hamstrings—areas that badly need it after being overstretched two nights in a row.
He had me practically bent in half at one point last night, with my feet resting on his broad shoulders as he pounded into me, his face taut with lust. It was beyond intense, and I came hard, but afterward, I felt even more sore—both inside and out.
I’m seriously going to insist on no sex today, at least of the penetrative variety. Oral is good anytime, as is whatever it is he’s doing to me right now. Actually, wait, on second thought—
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, my hands gripping the blanket as his tongue dips between my cheeks, toying with my other opening.
No one’s ever touched me there before, and the sensation is beyond strange, pleasurable yet so dirty that I flush all over.
Granted, I showered after sex last night, but it’s still wrong that he’s licking me there—wrong and perversely hot.
I can feel myself getting wet, my clit swelling with arousal, and as his tongue goes deeper, pushing at the tight ring of muscle, his hands grip my buttocks and pull them apart, opening me wide.
“Your asshole is so fucking pretty,” he growls, lifting his head, and with a burning wave of mortification, I realize he’s looking right into my ass, the inside of it.
The embarrassment is so intense I feel like I might burst into flames, and at the same time, I’m so turned on my arousal is leaking down my thighs.
“I’m going to fuck your tight little hole.
Soon,” he promises hoarsely, and before I can react, he lowers his head and pushes his tongue into me, my spread-apart cheeks preventing me from clenching to resist his entry.
His tongue penetrates me, thick and slippery and oddly muscular, and as it pushes deep, I feel like I might explode from the shame of it…
and the dark, dark pleasure coursing through my body.
There’s no pain, but there is a disconcerting fullness, a feeling of wrongness that only exacerbates the perverse eroticism of it all.
Groaning against the pillow, I press my hips into the blanket, desperately needing to rub my throbbing clit on something…
anything. Just the slightest pressure would send me over the edge, dissolving this maddening, delicious tension.
His tongue is thrusting in and out, fucking me like a cock, and it’s too much yet not nearly enough.
I’m dying, burning up from the mortifying need, and it’s almost a relief when the slippery tongue withdraws and a big, rough finger pushes in instead, using the lubrication left behind.
It’s not as thick as his tongue, but it’s longer, and I feel the shock of it, the immediate resistance of my body to the intrusion of a foreign object.
My insides clench, and even with my cheeks held open, the hard edges of the nail dig into tender tissues, making my nerve endings sing in pain.
Except it’s not all pain—somehow, it’s also pleasure—and I cry out as the tension grows unbearably, all my muscles tightening with coiling need.
“Yes, that’s it…” Marcus’s voice is a low, dark rasp as the finger curves inside me.
“Come for me, kitten.” And as he releases my cheeks to pinch my aching clit, I explode, my entire body spasming with the agonizing pleasure of release.
It’s so intense my vision cuts out for a hazy moment, and when I come to, I hear him groan behind me and feel the hot splash of his seed on my ass.
* * *
I’m still blushing during breakfast—partially because I can’t look at Marcus’s mouth without thinking about where his tongue has been.
We’re standing in my kitchen, eating oatmeal with nuts and berries, and each time Marcus bites into a strawberry and licks the juices off his lips, I feel heat creeping up my cheeks.
It doesn’t help that all three of my cats are staring at me with judgey eyes—as they have been all morning.
“What?” I snap at Mr. Puffs when I can’t take it anymore, and he swishes his tail and stalks off—leaving his siblings to provide the proper dose of slut shaming.
“They’re not used to you having sex in front of them, are they?” Marcus says dryly, and I laugh, realizing I’m not the only one who’s feeling the weight of feline judgement this morning.
“They’re not,” I admit, grinning. “In fact, this may be only their second exposure to human sex—the first being Friday night.”
“Good. I’m glad.” His voice turns husky as he sets his empty bowl on the counter. “I wouldn’t want them traumatized by seeing it done improperly.”
I feel another blush coming on, but I raise my eyebrows, determined to play it cool. “Who says it would’ve been done improperly? I’ve had good sex before.” Or what I thought was good sex before I met Marcus, but I’m not about to inflate his ego any further.
It already matches the size of his “magic” appendage.
“Oh, really?” His blue eyes narrow. “Do tell.”
I set my bowl down and cross my arms over my chest. “You first.” Not that I actually want to know about all the hundreds of beautiful women he’s slept with, but I’m not talking about my woefully short sexual history without making him squirm at least a little.
To my surprise, he doesn’t laugh off my demand or reply with something cocky.
Nor does he look the least bit uncomfortable with the topic.
“Since losing my virginity at fifteen, I’ve had sex with a number of female partners,” he says calmly, picking up his coffee.
“Mostly in the context of casual relationships, but there have been some one-night stands as well. My most serious relationship to date was in college, where I dated the same girl for two and a half years. We parted ways upon graduation, as I was moving back to New York and she wanted to live in LA. After that, I was too focused on my career to devote much time to dating, so my subsequent relationships were superficial and short-lived, ranging from a couple of weeks to a couple of months.” He takes a sip of coffee, then adds, eyes glittering, “And yes, in most cases, the sex was good, though it couldn’t have held a candle to this. ”
My arms drop to my sides, and my heart—which had shrunk into a tiny pincushion from picturing him with other women—lurches into a startled gallop. “It couldn’t have?”
“No.” He sets his coffee down, his eyes burning into me. “Believe it or not, I don’t normally want to fuck five times a day.”
“Oh.” My throat goes dry as he steps toward me. “I… I see.”
“What about you?” He places his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me with his large body. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Tell me about your sexcapades, kitten.”
I swallow, feeling uncomfortably like captured prey. “Um… there haven’t been all that many, really. Just a couple. One boyfriend in college, one in high school. And a bunch more dates that led nowhere. I’ve never been all that popular.”
I cringe internally at how pathetic that sounds, but Marcus’s eyes narrow again, his nostrils flaring as he leans in. “And they were good in bed, those two boyfriends of yours?” There’s something dark and dangerous in his voice, almost menacing.
If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought him jealous.
Regardless, I’m tempted to keep up the lie, so I come across as less of a loser.
But when I open my mouth, the truth comes out instead.
“No, they weren’t,” I admit, holding his gaze.
“Arthur was seventeen and didn’t know what he was doing, and Jim…
well, Jim was okay, I guess. But it wasn’t like this with him. Not like it is with you and me.”
Contrary to my expectations, the confession doesn’t appease Marcus.
If anything, his face darkens further. Dipping his head so that his lips brush my ear, he says in a low, rough voice, “I’m glad you weren’t popular, kitten…
because if you were, I’d have a lot of fucking Jims and Arthurs to destroy. ”
And as I’m processing that bizarre declaration, he hoists me up onto the counter and takes my mouth in a deep, darkly possessive kiss.