An involuntary moan slips from my throat. “Marcus...”
He’s up and over me, pulling me down beneath him as he continues a trail of kisses across my breasts. “Or here.” His tongue circles my right nipple before he pulls it between his lips.
My hands go to his cheeks, cupping his face as it moves over my body. “In fact, I hope he’s gay, or he’s a complete idiot of an angel.”
Exhaling softly, I hold him as all the excitement of what he’s doing floods my lower body. “You’re insane. And possibly sacrilegious.”
His head pops up, and he gives me a teasing frown. “I take religion very seriously,” he says. “So long as it stays out of my way.”
With that, he’s following the trail from my offending mark down my stomach, to my navel, which he circles with that amazing tongue, and then lower. I fall back into the pillows, lifting my hands over my head and letting out the most delightful exhale of my life.
Chapter 9: No Strings
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.