Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games 1)

His lips are wrapped around the junction of my neck and my shoulder, and he’s sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. The feel of it draws another low noise from me, and that, finally, seems to penetrate the singular focus that drives him.

He wrenches his head away from my neck, pulling back slightly. His blue and brown eyes are glazed, his lips slightly parted.

He glances over at his two friends, who stand just a few feet away, and I see him realize they’ve been watching us. I see him take in the expressions on their faces.

For a moment… he hesitates.

A new kind of tension saturates the air, and time itself seems to pause as he meets his friends’ eyes.

Then Ryland presses his lips together and turns away.

Theo’s gaze lingers for a second longer, moving over my body like liquid fire. But then he turns away too.

I barely have time to process the flicker of disappointment that flutters through my belly before Marcus turns his attention back to me. His hands skate over my ass and down my thighs, parting my legs to wrap them around his waist as he heaves me into his arms.

He carries me into the house, his path erratic since he’s barely watching where he’s going. His lips keep touching every part of me they can reach, and his heavy breaths are hot against my skin. We reach the second floor, and he makes it down the hall to his bedroom in a few long strides.

As soon as the bedroom door shuts behind us, he presses me up against it. His hands release my hips as he tears at my jacket, shoving it down over my shoulders. He can’t get it off, though. There’s no room. I’m sandwiched between the door and his large body, and my jacket is pinned to me.

He keeps tugging at it, yanking at the worn fabric in his desperation to get it off me, but unwilling to break his hold on me for even a second to make that possible.

The prosthesis on my other arm is controlled by movement in my shoulders, and the silicone hand is flailing erratically, but Marcus doesn’t even seem to notice. He growls into my mouth as he tries to shove my jacket down once again.

“Wait!” I gasp, pushing at him with my good arm. “Let me. I’ll do it.”

He’s breathing so hard that I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my own. His eyes are glassy, his pupils blown out with desire, but he nods. Stepping away from me, he slowly unpins me from the door, setting me back on my feet.

My legs are shaky, and I realize as my feet touch the floor that I lost a shoe somewhere between the garage and the bedroom.

Marcus takes a step back, leaving hardly more than a foot of space between us. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he jerks his chin at me. “Take it off.”

Barely breathing, I shrug the jacket off my whole arm and then pull the sleeve off my prosthesis. A momentary flash of self-consciousness moves through me as the fake silicone arm is exposed. This thing is literally a replacement limb, but somehow it makes me feel more broken, more damaged, to have people see me wearing this than without it.

With long sleeves, it’s hardly noticeable. But bared like this? I feel like it’s all anyone can see.

The harness that attaches across my shoulders sits over my tank top, and I shift a little under Marcus’s stare. But he’s not looking at me with disgust, or even pity. The same fierce heat still burns in his eyes, and as I watch, he reaches down to cup himself through his pants, squeezing and rubbing the hard outline of his cock.

Like he can’t help himself.

Like he can’t fucking wait.

Like he needs some kind of relief right now or he’ll die.

“More,” he rasps. “Take off more.”

The sound of his voice and the sight of him stroking himself like that makes my thighs clench. My clit aches as I reach up to unclasp the shoulder harness of my prosthesis. I tug it off and pull the fake arm away from my amputated limb, dropping it gently to the floor. As I roll down the sleeve I wear over the stump to keep the prosthesis from chafing, Marcus’s gaze tracks the movement, devouring every new centimeter of my skin as it’s revealed.

The blood-red flowers and dark shadows of my tattoo come into view, and Marcus groans as I toss away the sleeve.

“Beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful. More.”

Maybe I shouldn’t give Theo and Ryland so much shit for jumping when this man says “jump.” Because I’m no damn better. My mind is still spinning, a riot of unanswered questions, but I don’t hesitate when Marcus gives the command. My hand reaches down to the hem of my tank, and I pull it over my head, letting it drop away.

“More.” His voice is gravel.

My heart beats out a fast rhythm in my chest as I reach around behind me and unclasp my bra.

It hasn’t even fallen from my shoulders when Marcus moves. He’s on me again, pressing me back against the door as he yanks the bra off and throws it away. Then he drops his head to my chest and feasts like a starving man, grabbing both of my breasts in his large, calloused hands, kneading and massaging them, pressing them together so his tongue can lap first at one nipple, then the other.