THEN

Katia

“Oh my God,” I moan, closing my eyes and licking my fingers—yes, licking them.

When I open my eyes, Marcus is watching me with that melty chocolate, sex stare again. Damn. I bite my bottom lip and look away. I just had a food-gasm over the pasta we got served at this amazing Italian restaurant and he watched, fascinated¸ like I am the first woman he’s seen in his life and he’s just discovered he has a penis.

“It’s good, yeah?” he says, reaching over the table and swiping his finger over my bottom lip. He returns it with a dollop of sauce and slowly, seductively, slides it into his mouth.

Man.

This guy is to die for.

“Yeah,” I whisper, watching his lips curl around his finger as he sucks the sauce off.

Yum.

“Tell me something about yourself, Katia,” he says, his voice husky.

“I’m pretty sure you know most of it.”

I force my eyes away from his face, his lips, just him in general because he almost hurts to look at. He’s so striking.

“Then tell me something I don’t know. Do you have siblings?”

My eyes flash to his and he must see the pain in my face because he narrows his eyes.

“No,” I whisper.

He studies me, then murmurs, “That hurts you.”

I shrug and stare down at my food. His hand comes across the table and he grips my chin, tilting it up. “Katia.”

“Tell me something about yourself,” I say, jerking my head out of his grip and forcing a fake smile to my face.

He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t push it. He sits back in his chair, watching me as he speaks. “No siblings; well, direct, anyway. I have step-siblings. My father is dead. My mother is dead. My grandfather just died.”

Jesus.

“I’m sorry, Marcus.”

He shrugs. “Life happens, Katia.”

“What about your step-siblings? Are you close?”

He shakes his head. “No. My father married their mother long after mine died. I never liked them and they never liked me. I’m not sad. They’re selfish, spoiled and are never going to make a life for themselves.”

God, he’s so . . . bitter.

“So you have no family left?”

“There are some, cousins and such. None that are close.”

Poor man. I’d die if something happened to my mother.

“And your job. You love that, obviously?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, Katia, I love it.”

That way he said that . . . strange.

“Do you run it?”

“Yes.”

I nod.

“Come here.”

I blink, then stammer, “What?”

“Come here.”

My cheeks heat as he crooks a finger at me. My body, the little traitor, obeys and I stand, walking over. He pulls me down beside him and I become fully aware of every inch of him. God. His hand finds my thigh and he turns me towards him, dropping his face until it’s right near mine.

“I won’t pull any punches here. I’m going to come right out and say I’m interested. I don’t play games. I don’t chase. I get what I want, and what I want is you.”

Oh God.

“You don’t know me,” I whisper.

He lifts a finger, running it down my cheek. My body shudders. “I know enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“For me to know I want you in my bed more than once.”

I shake my head, breaking eye contact. “I can’t, I . . . can’t. Men like you . . . I just can’t.”

“Tell me why,” he growls, dipping his face into my neck and pressing his lips there. My eyes flutter closed, and damn, if I don’t want to just give in and melt into him.

“Because my mom . . . she needs me around a lot. I don’t have time.”

“Your mom will be fine,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I work a lot,” I protest breathily. “I can’t find the space in my life to date.”

“You come to my house after work, or I’ll come to yours. Simple.”

“Marcus,” I moan, when he slides his tongue up my neck and his hand disappears under my dress, grazing my panties.

“Soaked,” he rasps. “Fucking sweet.”

“Marcus, please,” I beg weakly.

He slips his fingers beneath my panties and begins stroking. Holy shit. My fingers curl around his bicep and I try to push him back, but I’m as successful as I would be if Marcus were a brick wall. He doesn’t budge. He keeps nuzzling my neck, causing my skin to tingle, while his fingers stroke my pussy.

“Your pussy is wet, Katia. I assure you,” he growls into my ear. “While you’re with me, it’ll stay that way.”

Such a promise.

Such a tempting promise.

“Marcus, you don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand.”

Jesus.

His finger dips and then slides inside of me. Mother of God.

“Marcus, stop.”

“No, Katia,” he rumbles.

“More wine, sir?”

My body goes still when I hear the waitress’s voice. Marcus lifts his head from my neck and looks at her; thank God she can’t see that his fingers are deep inside me.

“Please,” he purrs.

Using her as an excuse, I shove backwards, knowing he won’t fight to keep me there because of our sexual position. His fingers slip from me and I shift so she can’t see what’s going on as I move from the seat. Marcus shoots me a warning glare, but I stand anyway. “I need to use the bathroom.”

I turn and rush off, shoving past people until I reach the bathroom. I stop, hesitate, and then decide I just can’t deal with this. A man like Marcus is dangerous for me. I don’t have the time or the patience to fall for someone like him. He’ll destroy me. Crush me. Take my life in his hands and twist it until there’s nothing but a pathetic, dangling string left.

I can’t let that happen.

Instead of going into the bathroom, I run out the back door. I don’t know how he knew I wasn’t going to come back, or how he got out before me—all I know is I’m running for a cab, my chest seizing, when a strong arm goes around my waist, hauling me against a hard chest. I squirm, only causing that arm to tighten.

“I can handle being run out on once,” he growls into my ear. “I can’t deal with it a second time.”

“You won’t listen to me,” I yell, frustrated. “I’m not the toy for you, Marcus. I’m broken; I’m not some pretty, shiny thing you can keep around until you’re finished. I have a mother, Marcus, who had a brain tumor and the doctors screwed up her surgery. She lives life in a chair, a God damned chair that’s so fucked up I’m surprised it hasn’t caused an accident, but I can’t get her a new one, even with the ridiculous hours I work, because I’m paying for her care and a shit-load of debt from her surgery. I’m asking you—no, I’m begging you—don’t make me your toy. Pick someone else. Anyone else.”

His arm tightens around me, and I’m panting by the time I’m finished with my speech. I wait, the silence surrounding us. He holds me there for a long, long moment, his arm tightly around my middle, his breath hot against my ear. “Katia,” he finally murmurs.

“I work so much,” I whisper, my body slumping. He keeps me upright. “For a boss who is a complete asshole.”

“Katia.”

“My mom wants me to have a life. I can’t have a life.”

“Katia.”

“Then you come along and I want you; I don’t know you, but I want you.”

He gives up trying to say my name and spins me around so fast I lose my footing. His arm circles my waist and he holds me up, my front crushed against his chest. Then he dips his head and he kisses me. My eyes flutter closed, my legs stay dangling, and I kiss him back. I kiss him back because I want to, because I need to, but most of all, because he’s not letting me do anything else and I’m okay with that.

Slowly, he starts walking us backwards. My body hits the side of a car, and then my leg is up around his hip and he’s tearing my panties aside. Frenzy takes over and I reach down, unbuckling his belt. With fumbling fingers, I manage to open his pants and reach inside, finding his cock. He hisses against my mouth, and thrusts his fingers inside my depths, working me, preparing me.

“Fuck me,” I plead. “I just need you to . . . fuck me.”

He takes his cock from my hand, guides it between us, and does just that. He plunges inside me, deep, hard, causing my body to jerk with pleasure. My nipples harden almost painfully, and I arch into him. His fingers clutch my hips, and he holds me so tightly I know I’ll find bruises in the morning. He fucks me harder, slamming my tiny body against the metal of the car.

“Marcus,” I scream.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

His cock drives deep, slamming over and over, harder and harder, until we’re both panting, clutching, growling each other’s names. Then I come, I come so fucking hard my vision goes white and my scream hitches in my throat. Marcus rides my pussy, fucking me through my pleasure, until he too finds his release with a bellow. My face drops into his chest and I clutch his suit, holding him to me, wondering why the fuck he decided I was good enough to fight for?

“Why me?” I whisper there.

He squeezes my hip. “If it wasn’t you,” he murmurs, “and it was another girl, she too would probably be asking the same question right now. Why would she be good enough, Katia? Why would she be the best choice? There is no answer. It just is.”

What can I say to that?

Absolutely nothing.