When he bites down hard on the place where my neck and shoulder meet, I let out a muffled scream as sensation explodes inside me, my clit throbbing hard and fast. He doesn’t let go, just clamps his lips around my skin and sucks in long, deep pulls, making my eyes roll back in my head.
He’s marking me, I realize.
He’s staking his claim.
But more than that, he’s doing exactly what I wished he would. He’s trying to consume me.
I groan, hooking a leg around his waist as the fabric of my dress slides up. It hurts. He’s bruising my neck, and I can feel every bit of it. But I don’t fucking want him to stop.
His hips thrust into me, and he grunts against my skin like an animal, his hands roaming possessively over my body. He squeezes my breasts through the dress, then slides his large hands around to the back again, delving them under the fabric of the low-cut back to palm my ass.
Finally, he releases my skin with a wet pop, and the rush of blood through my veins makes me almost dizzy.
“I will always come back to you, angel. Do you understand that?” he murmurs, breathing hard as he gazes down at me. His eyes are almost entirely black, and he looks more like a devil than a man in this moment.
My devil.
My man.
I nod in response, unable to form words. I swear I can feel every minute I spent mourning him, missing him, needing him. Each one of those minutes fuels me as I pull him toward me to kiss him again.
He hauls me away from the wall, and the two of us stumble across the room, groping and panting and moaning. When my ass hits the washing machine, we jolt to a stop, mouths still locked together.
“I need to be inside you, angel.” Marcus’s words are a tortured rasp. “I need to be fucking sure you’re real.”
I know how he feels.
My skin is marked and bruised by him, my hair ruined and my pulse racing, but it still feels a little like I’m kissing a mirage.
Like he’ll vanish if I let go of him for even a second.
Like he’ll disappear into thin air.
Reaching between us, I fumble for the button and fly of his pants. As soon as I get them open, I shove my hand inside, relishing the feel of velvet steel against my palm.
Marcus growls, like he’s pissed I got my hand between his legs before he got his between mine. But he must not be that mad, because he thrusts into my palm, fucking my hand with harsh, uneven strokes.
Then he pulls away from me, stepping back so fast it leaves my body reeling. He grabs my hips and spins me around, folding me in half over the washing machine. The cool metal shocks the bare skin of my arms and chest, and a breathless gasp falls from my mouth as he fists the material of my dress and shoves it up around my waist, leaving my bottom half covered by nothing but my flimsy thong.
His sharp, desperate movements slow, although I can still feel him breathing heavily behind me as he takes in the sight of me like this. He was in a hurry a second ago, but now that he’s got me where he wants me, he seems determined not to rush.
“Mine.”
The sound is a low rumble, almost a purr. His calloused hands slide up my thighs, gripping and massaging my ass cheeks, spreading them apart, digging his fingers into the firm flesh. His thumbs slide under the waistband of my panties, and then he grabs the lacy material and shreds it off my body, hurling it away.
I don’t know where my ruined panties end up. I can’t focus on that, because his hands are on me again, hotter and more demanding than before. He groans again, kneading my flesh like he’s trying to bend it to his will, like he’s trying to alter the very form and shape of me.
The side of my face presses against the top of the washer as my eyelids droop, sensation ricocheting through my body. My fingertips latch on to the edge of the sleek machine, gripping tightly as I arch my back slightly, shoving my ass back toward Marcus.
“Fuck, angel.”
There’s a rustling of clothes as he pushes his pants down, and then I feel the smooth head of his cock against my ass. He shifts his stance slightly, grabbing my hip with one hand as he presses his hips forward, sliding his cock through my wet folds. His thick length brushes against my clit, and I clamp my lip between my teeth, whimpering softly.
He does it again, pulling back and sliding slowly forward, fucking my slit without ever breaching my entrance.
It’s torture.
It’s too much and not enough all at once, and I press back against him harder, moving my hips to try to draw him inside my body.
But his grip on me tightens, stilling my movement. One broad hand traces the line of my bare spine all the way to where the fabric bunches at my lower back as his cock slides through my pussy lips again.
“Do you want this? Do you want me?”
His tone is full of a filthy, beautiful promise.
“Yes,” I gasp out, so far beyond lying that I’d tell him any fucking truth he wanted to know right now.
Our loud, harsh breaths are still filling the small room, and I can feel the tension in his body, the effort it’s taking him to hold back. He wants to be inside me. He needs to be inside me.
But he won’t give either of us what we need until he’s ready.
“Are you mine, angel?” he
