Chapter 9: No Strings

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Marcus

Fucking fuck. Fuck a duck. A corkscrew-pussied duck. I opened my eyes this morning with a hard-on, and Amy was gone. Yes, I appreciate that we fucked four times last night and each time was better and more intense than the last, but I’m a guy. I wake up with a woody, and what the hell is the point of having a... woman you care for deeply... in your bed if you can’t pull her to you and take care of that need?

Standing behind my desk at work, coffee in hand, I stare at my computer screen, distracted. Irritation burns in my chest. “Next message,” I snap.

The screen dutifully moves to the Fieldinghouse file. I don’t give a shit about Fieldinghouse. I want to know why Amy left me in the middle of the night without a word. I glance to the clock. Nine-thirty. I shouldn’t have to wait too long for an answer—unless she’s decided to go psycho-female and not show up for work at all.

(Look. You can be pissed at me if you want. You didn’t wake up with a hard on this morning and expect to get laid by the most beautiful woman you’ve fucked in your bed four times back to back to find nothing but cold sheets and no note. Not even a fucking text. Turn the tables and be honest.)

At that exact moment, she strides through the door all business, stealing my breath in her beige tunic top tied with a tan leather belt. A chunky gold watch is on her arm, and she’s the picture of cool sophistication. Fuck, I’m a sucker for classy women.

“Good morning,” she says blinking up at me and lifting her bag onto my desk. “I trust you slept well.”

I don’t know what is going on in Amy Knight’s mind right now, but I’ll be damned if I let her know how pissed I am. “A little rough to start. Noisy, seems like there was snoring, but at some point in the night it smoothed out, and I slept really well.”

Her eyes cut to mine, and she blinks back down to her bag. “I do seem to recall you snoring.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“What I’m not doing... what I told you I don’t do is the walk of shame.”

“So I’ll call a damn car.” Hmm. It’s possible I tipped my hand with my tone just then. If I did, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ve got that mission statement ready for you to review.” With a cool smile she holds a manila envelope over the desk towards me.

“I told you I trust you.” I turn my attention back to my computer screen. “Do what you want with it.”

Her expression is somewhere between a laugh and a frown. “What crawled up your ass this morning? I would’ve thought after last night—”

“I don’t appreciate your leaving without a word.” I’m trying to do that thing women always accuse men of not doing: Communicate. It’s making me more pissed.

“I told you last night,” her voice drops. “I don’t do relationships.”

My eyes catch hers, and I’m pretty sure mine flash. “And I told you I don’t either, but what’s the point of a fuck buddy if they’re gone when you want to fuck?”

Her jaw drops, and she can’t counter that one.

Gotcha. I sit casually in my leather chair and steeple my fingers in front of my mouth. She exhales a little laugh and walks past my desk to the wall of windows behind me. I turn in my chair to face her. Her arms cross, and that dress barely covers her ass.

“Let me get this straight.” She’s grinning, and I can tell already I’m screwed. “You’re pissed because you wanted to fuck me this morning?”

Heat simmers under my skin. “Amy,” I warn.

She steps forward, placing both hands on the arms of my chair and lowering her face a breath from mine. “You’re saying you wanted more of this?” She’s doing some kind of breathy-Marilyn thing.

“Stop.” My growl is a warning. I will fuck her. Right here in this office.

She moves so our knees are touching. Mine are against her bare ones. “You want me to stop?”

Her hand drops to the button of her top, and her head drops to the side as she circles it with a finger. She gives me a wink, and it’s the fucking sexiest thing she’s ever done. I’m out of my chair in one movement, catching her by the shoulders and pushing her back against the glass windows of my office.

“Don’t fuck with me, Amy.”

I confess, I’m not sure why I’m so mad right now. I’ve never really lingered over the women I’ve slept with. They could go home in the middle of the night if they wanted. But something about this woman is different. I fell asleep looking forward to opening my eyes to her beautiful face this morning. Now I’m just pissed.

I’ve got her by the shoulders, and instead of pulling away or shouting, she lifts a hand and slides the hair off my forehead with her finger. “Marcus,” she purrs. “Why are you so angry? We agreed this wouldn’t get serious.”

She’s fucking infuriating. Gripping her wrist, I pull it down, leaning forward so my face hovers over hers. She twists her arm to free it, but I hold it tighter, pulling it behind her back. Our eyes haven’t broken contact. She’s breathing faster now, only the light in her eye isn’t fear, and I’m getting harder just looking at her.

“Spending the night isn’t getting serious.” It’s a lie, but I don’t give a shit. She’s tying me up in knots, and no woman does that to me.

She actually smiles. “Spending the night is the definition of serious.”

I take a deep breath and release her wrist. I’ve got to grab the reins here. Reaching up, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why are you so fucking difficult?”

“I don’t like being ordered around. Remember?” I expect her to walk, but instead she lunges forward and nips my lips with hers.

Fuck it. I grab her face in both my hands, and kiss her back roughly. She lets out a little moan, and I kiss her deeper, holding her face while I pin her slim body between the window and me. Her back arches, and another moan vibrates through her chest. Our mouths break apart and we both gasp.

“Marcus,” she whispers. “Show me what you want.”

For a moment, I hesitate. Possession flames in my chest. I want to make her mine. It’s everything in direct contradiction to our “not serious” arrangement. I don’t want to feel this way for her. I don’t want to feel this way for anyone. I like my relationships casual, playful even. But she pushes into me, teasing my mouth again with hers, pulling my lip between her teeth and biting it.

Her voice is a sultry whisper. “What do you want, Mr. Merritt?”

Gripping her hips in both my hands, I lift her up against the window, off her feet. Her dress rides up to her waist, and I’m flush against her heat.

“Amy.” My voice is tight. “Be careful.”

It’s all I can manage before I’m covering her mouth with mine, moving her lips apart and exploring her with my tongue. She exhales a whimper, and I slide my hand between us. She’s supported with my hips and the glass is at her back. I slip my fingers deep into her wetness.

Her nails cut into my shoulders, and she breaks, lifting her chin with a sigh. “Oh, yes! There....” She’s gasping and clenching around my fingers.

I don’t waste any time. No telling who might decide to bring me a message or interrupt us. Why the fuck didn’t I lock that goddamn door? I fumble with my pants, release my cock, and lower her down on it. Slippery-smooth, tight-clenching heaven.

“Amy, fucking Christ,” I hiss, thrusting hard into her. Her back is against the glass, and I’m pumping her good. My ass tightens with every forceful thrust I send into her, and her head drops back with a moan.

“Oh, please,” she whisper-cries.

I drop my mouth to her neck. “Unbutton your shirt.” Another order, but her hands rush to her top, opening it so I can kiss the soft skin hidden there. Her beige demi-bra makes it easy for me to find a tight nipple with my lips.

“You like this,” I growl, pulling the soft skin between my teeth. I give her a hard suck, marking her, another thing I don’t do. “You love making me angry so I’ll fuck you hard. So you’ll know I’ve been inside you, even when we’re apart.”

“Yes, Marcus, yes,” she gasps, clenching and pumping her thighs against mine. She’s getting off on me as much as I am in her. “Harder,” she begs, and I’m quick to comply.

All the frustration I’d felt this morning is mounting tighter, faster. The pressure rising, climbing up my spine until at last...

“Fuck me!” I close my eyes as release explodes through my hips straight into her.

She lets out a little cry, and I feel her working me. We’re coming together, and everything, my anger, her cheeky greeting, my concerns about wanting her too much, it’s all lost in the whirlwind of pleasure sweeping us both up and into each other.

I hold her against the glass a few beats longer, trying to remember what the hell I was supposed to be doing right now. My heart pounds in my chest, and my brain demands one thing: More.

She has the front of my shirt in both fists, and we’re both panting. The driving need clouding my judgment only moments ago is met, and the reality of what we just did hits me hard.

Releasing her, I ease her down to her feet. For a moment, we’re in this space facing each other, sharing our breath but not making eye contact. Her head is bowed, and she releases my shirt. I put my palm on the glass beside her head and rub my eyes before sliding my hand up and into my hair. She turns to refasten the buttons on her dress, and I straighten my pants.

We’re slipping back into our roles, controlled executives. Calm, collected professionals. Only now I’m shell-shocked. Whatever the hell just happened, it got a little too real. I don’t understand it. I don’t know how she could come in and turn my life upside down so quickly.

“You finished the mission statement,” I say, clearing my throat.

Her hands stop moving over her dress, and she leans against the glass windows, exhaling a laugh. Covering her eyes with a slim hand, just as fast she wipes it away and resumes the façade of casual.

“Yes. I tweaked it this morning over coffee. I think you’ll like how it turned out.”

I don’t even pick up the manila folder. I go back to my chair and sit. “I said I trust you.”

It’s quiet a moment. A long moment. The brass clock on my desk ticks too loudly in the silence stretching between us, until at last she moves, heading for the door. “It’s still a ridiculous office.”

“It’s an extension of my home.”

She stops and glances back, stealing my breath. “Bedroom and all?”

My eyes travel over her body, pausing a moment at her breasts. “It’s something new I’m trying. You like it?”

“Hmm,” Her lips poke out as she pretends to think. “A little bitey, but overall not objectionable.”

It was a hell of a lot better than that, still, I enjoy her playful side. I do a small shrug. “Angels kiss. Lawyers bite. It goes with the whole shark metaphor.”

That gorgeous smile crosses her lips, and I can’t help it. God, I do want more. A glance at my calendar, and I see it.

“Shit, I almost forgot.” Lifting my pen, I circle the date. “The BGCB’s annual gala is two weeks from Saturday. Navy Pier ballroom.”

She only pauses a beat before continuing to my door. “Seems like I’ve heard of that.”

“We’re a sponsor. I need a date.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Go with me.” I say it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid—not giving her a chance to anticipate the shock.

Stopping at the door, I watch as she holds the handle, her back to me. A few agonizing moments pass before she answers. “A lot of the old crowd attends those things.”

Not what I expected. “I’m sure you’ll know most everyone there.”

“I’ll know a lot.” Her voice is quiet, and it strikes me she’s not happy about that.

“They’re a bunch of assholes, but at least they mean well.”

Glancing back, a small smile lifts her lips. “Do they? I’ve never been able to tell.”

Sitting forward, I lift the pen off my desk. “So we keep each other company a few hours, have a few drinks, know we’re helping a good cause...”

“The Boys and Girls Club.”

“Right.”

She turns away again. “I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t wait too long.” She doesn’t answer or look back. She’s out the door, leaving my office feeling too big and too empty.

Fieldinghouse is open on my desktop, but my mind is all over the place. Last night, today... What the hell are we doing?

I’m not a kid. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but everything in me craves her. She haunted me after Wilmington, yet I was able to dismiss it. So many elements came together to make that memory incredible it didn’t count.

Then she showed up here.

I grip the arms of my chair insisting we can keep up our no-strings agreement if that’s what she needs. What just happened here was hot, but it’s a safe place to stay. She likes rough, angry sex. Fuck, who doesn’t?

Last night was more dangerous. I held her in my arms, we laughed, we talked about our families, birthmarks, and... everything. It was gentle and loving, and I know exactly why she panicked and ran out, even if it pissed the hell out of me this morning. I get it. I value my freedom as much or more than she does.

Twenty-five is young, and it’s the rule now for women her age to focus on building their careers first. For me, I feel like I’ve managed to survive the days of dodging matrimony, settling down.

I’ve never wanted that. I want what I have—comfortable bachelorhood. Freedom to do whatever I want, whether it’s bed the newest heiress or spend the weekend buried in my office working on the latest case to excite me.

Derek Alexander would still be in fucking jail if I hadn’t had the freedom to drop everything, meet his fiancée Melissa, and catch the first flight to Baltimore. It’s what makes me the top in my field, and I’m not going to lie and say my ambition is second fiddle to any woman.

The clock ticks louder. My eyes land on it, and all the arguments I’ve just presented are overruled. I’m also smart enough to know when something special walks through my door. What Amy and I share is different. It’s fucking amazing.

I don’t feel trapped or like I’m answering to anyone. The notion of captivity disappears with her. It’s more like... freedom to have her as much as I want.

I sound like a fucking philosopher. Or worse—a pussy-whipped husband.

I’ve got to get a grip.

* * *

Amy

Marcus has invited me to lunch twice this week, but I’ve turned him down both times. I don’t trust myself since our “business dinner” followed by pretty much twelve hours straight of scorching hot sex.

The mark on my breast slowly fades, and every day it grows lighter, the pull of temptation grows stronger. What the hell is wrong with me? We’re in a mutually agreed upon no strings “fuck buddy” relationship. I should not be frustrated. We should be banging our brains out whenever we want.

The whole point of a no-strings “fuck buddy” relationship is to have all the sex we want, a’la the all you can eat buffet (hmm... warm tingles at that suggestion), until we eventually tire of each other, shake hands, and walk away.

That’s. The Deal. Right?

My stomach twists at the thought. He walks down the hall, and my insides flip. I’ve established my temporary workstation in the firm’s library. It’s across the hall from Paul’s office. Very safe.

Why am I so hung up on safety? If I’m being honest, I’ll say Marcus scares me. Only I’m not being honest. I’m a professional businesswoman, and professionals do not fuck at the office. A shiver moves across my shoulders.

Tuesday morning was scorching. I asked for it. I knew he was wound up, and something wicked in me couldn’t resist pushing him. His anger turned me on, and I wanted to see how far he’d go.

Jesus, it was amazing, and it’s possible things got a little too real. As a result, I keep his office door wide open any time I have to show him a design idea or ask for input on a page, and I’ve stayed hidden here in my safe little office with his genial partner steps away happily chatting on the phone.

“When did you plan to take those pictures we discussed?” I jump at the sound of his low voice.

Marcus stands at the table where I’m working all sexy deliciousness, teasing the desire I’ve been fighting all week. A quick glance across the hall—Paul is rocked back in his chair, attempting to trap a pencil between his nose and upper lip.

Bingo. I’m back in control.

“I don’t think they’re necessary.” Looking up, I catch his grin like he’s figured out what I’m doing. It kind of pisses me off, and it totally makes me want him more. Clearing my throat, “Anyway, I thought you wanted a professional photographer.”

“You suggested a professional photographer.”

No table-turning. “Only because you’ve invested a lot in this rebranding. Any new images should be top quality.”

“I’ve been more than pleased with your work so far. I’m sure you’ll do a good job.”

This is supposed to be my last day here. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, my eyes go to the clock over the door. “I don’t have my equipment, and it’s nearly five.”

Large hand at his waist, he doesn’t make any advances, only turns to the door. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Just tell me where and when.” Stopping he glances back, and I can tell he’s watching for signs of weakness. “Paul and Chris don’t work on the weekends. It’s part of our agreement. Family time.”

“Of course,” I nod.

He waits, and I know it’s for my answer about where. If we meet alone tomorrow, we’ll have sex. It’s that simple. At least I’m honest with myself about it. We need to be somewhere very public, lots of people and no secluded spots.

“Well... I had wanted something relaxed,” I say, stalling. “What about Millennium Park? Maybe with the Cloud Gate sculpture?”

“The Bean?” He frowns.

“It’s a famous attraction, and it’ll give us dramatic images.”

His expression changes. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Okay...?”

“Meet me at the Belmont Harbor. Say, noon?”

A quick mental rundown—sounds safe enough. “We can shoot along the pier with the sailboats in the background.” Nodding, I start to collect my things. “I love it.”

He calls over his shoulder as he heads down the hall. “Wear a swimsuit. And remember, no black soles on the boat.”

“Wait—” Hustling around the long conference table, I step out into the hallway. He’s gone. “Great.” I collapse against the doorjamb.

Being on a sailboat alone with Marcus is not a good idea. With a groan, I walk back to the large wooden table holding my stuff and pick up my phone.

We’re going on a sailboat? I text.

His reply is quick, as if he expected my message. You wanted relaxed.

Chewing my lip, I try to think of an alternate plan. Nothing’s coming to mind, and I already said I loved his idea. You tricked me.

Afraid?

Of course not. Oh, yeah. I’m lying.

Good. See you at lunchtime.

Now all I can do is pray for rain.