3. Nathan #2
I grab his hand and pull him inside before I can think too hard about why the sudden desperation between us feels almost painful.
The compound door shuts behind us with a heavy thud.
Outside, I can still sense guards moving along patrol routes, but inside this hallway there’s only Marcus and me and the frantic need clawing through both of us.
I head straight for the nearest bathroom. We could use our room or we could use Harley’s old rooms. But somehow that feels wrong right now. It’s too tangled up in fear and panic and the lingering scent of Harley’s distress.
I need escape from all of that for a little while.
I shove the bathroom door open and drag Marcus inside with me. “Get your jeans down past that sexy ass,” I order, breathless already. “This is gonna be fast and rough.”
Because I need my mind to stop. Need my body louder than my thoughts. And I need proof that we’re alive and together and not bleeding out somewhere on cold tile while enemies close in around us.
Instead of complying, Marcus locks the bathroom door and leans back against it with a slow wicked smirk that instantly heats my blood another few degrees.
Asshole.
Beautiful asshole.
He drags both hands up his chest and deliberately pinches his nipples through his shirt.
“How fast,” he asks softly, “and how rough?”
“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” I rasp.
My eyes lock onto his hands. His nipples tighten visibly beneath the thin cotton, hard little points pressing against the fabric. Marcus knows exactly what that sight does to me. Knows it drives me absolutely insane.
“Marcus—”
Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
Broad shoulders. Thick chest. Golden skin flushed warm beneath the bathroom lights. Dark eyes burning with hunger and affection and challenge all tangled together. His cock strains visibly against his jeans, thick enough that I can practically trace the shape of it through the denim.
He looks alive. That thought hits me harder than it should. Because weeks ago I thought I’d lost him. Thought I’d found him too late.
My stomach twists violently and Marcus’ expression changes immediately. The bond between us opens wider and concern floods across it.
Love.
Protectiveness.
Then determination.
“Ah, honey. Touch yourself,” Marcus murmurs. “Just for a minute.”
His voice gentles in that dangerous way he uses when he knows exactly what I need emotionally but plans to drag me apart physically anyway. I swallow hard and toss my braid over my shoulder. Marcus’ gaze follows the movement instantly.
There it is. That hungry fixation he always gets around my hair. A slow smile curves my mouth despite everything. “I’ll start here.”
I pull the leather thong free from the end of my braid and unbind the thick red length slowly. Still damp from my shower earlier, it slides over my shoulders and chest in cool silken waves.
The scent of our conditioner fills the small bathroom quickly. Mint and cherry blossom.
Marcus groans.
Actual fucking groans.
His eyelids flutter as he inhales deeply, and heat rushes through the mate bond hard enough to make my knees weak.
“God, don’t tease me anymore,” he mutters hoarsely.
I could stop there. Probably should. But instead I deliberately run both hands through my hair while watching him.
Marcus’ control snaps.
He pushes away from the door and yanks his shirt off in one violent movement. Muscles flex across his chest and stomach. White-blond hair dusts his pecs and trails down his abs toward the waistband of his jeans.
“Fuck yes,” I whisper.
I close the distance between us fast and flatten my hand over his chest.
Marcus catches my wrist immediately—not stopping me, just holding me there while he leans into the touch. The bond between us surges hotter.
Mine mine mine.
I go straight for his nipple, pinching the swollen tip hard between my fingers.
“Fuck!” Marcus yelps.
But instead of pulling away, he presses harder into my hand.
“Again.”
The demand shoots straight through me and I arch a brow. Then bite his other nipple hard at the exact same time I twist the first.
Marcus howls.
The sound punches directly into my dick.
His hand clamps around the back of my neck, holding me there while I suck and bite and lick at his chest. I growl low in my throat, my wolf pushing closer to the surface as arousal spikes hotter and rougher.
Mine.
My mate.
Marcus stumbles backward until his spine hits the bathroom door. I jerk free long enough to tear at his jeans. “Off.” My voice barely sounds human anymore.
Marcus’ breathing turns ragged while I fumble with the fastening. I shove my hand inside before unzipping him because the last thing either of us needs right now is an emergency involving his dick and denim.
“Thanks,” he pants.
He isn’t wearing underwear.
Thank fuck!
His cock slaps hot and heavy against my palm when I free it, already leaking at the tip. My thumb strokes over the wetness, spreading it around and using it as lubrication. As I stroke him Marcus’ head drops back against the door and he lets out a rough groan.
I shove his jeans down hard.
God, I hate being shorter than him sometimes.
If I were taller I’d just spin him around and fuck him standing up exactly the way my wolf wants. Instead I snarl softly in frustration.
Marcus’ eyes flash brighter immediately at the sound.
There’s my beast. He loves when my control slips. I grab his cock hard enough to make him hiss and tug once. “Down.”
Marcus surges forward instead, grabbing my nape and crashing his mouth against mine.
Teeth crack painfully together, splitting my lip and pleasure flashes white-hot anyway.
I claw down his arms hard enough to leave red marks. Marcus groans into my mouth, shuddering as my nails score his skin.
“Get. Down,” I growl against his lips.
“Yes.”
Fuck, the obedience in that single word nearly undoes me.