One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

Cutting my eyes back to him, I try to understand. He steps closer, taking my hand and lifting it. His skin is electric against mine, and he’s so close our bodies are touching. The heat radiating between us clouds my judgment. I don’t pull away or try to run like I should. When he speaks the words are right against my lashes, causing my eyelids to flutter closed, intensifying the sensation of him all around me.

“Marcus.” He’s making me wet. He’s making me want him inside me.

“I need you to come back.” His low voice caresses my skin. “I missed you so much this week.”

Lust warms my lips, making them heavy with want. Eyes closed, all I can think is just a few inches, and our mouths will touch. His consumes mine in my dreams. It marks my skin and makes me come, screaming and twisting in the sheets.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, and he groans softly before answering my secret desire.

Large hands slide behind my head, gripping my skull and sealing my mouth firmly against his. My lips part, and his tongue plunges inside, demanding mine, hungrily consuming my small cries of surrender. Our bodies are still pressed together, only now heat flames between us. I feel like I’ll catch fire if I don’t have him.

Breaking away, we both gasp. His hands move from my neck down, pausing at my breasts so he can circle tightening nipples with his thumbs. I can’t wear a bra in this dress, and it feels as if he’s touching my bare skin. Dropping my head back, I moan, and he dips down to pull a hard bud into his mouth through the fabric. He’s going to leave a damp mark, and I don’t care. I want him marking me everywhere. Every day the marks he left faded, I felt my insides breaking.

“I have to taste you.” He drops to his knees.

“Oh, god,” I gasp as he shoves up the hem of my short skirt, and in one swift move, he catches the side of my lace thong, ripping it off my body. I only barely note him push it into his pocket before his mouth presses against the skin of my inner thigh, sucking and pulling, marking me afresh.

“Marcus,” I whisper-cry as his mouth moves closer to my center. Another mark.

It’s a teasing sensation, erotic and slightly painful, and I want more. Both hands grasp my legs, pushing them open and lifting me higher before covering my center with his mouth.

“Yes, yes.” My eyes squeeze shut, and I cough out a wail as intense pleasure explodes through my core.

He’s on my clit, sucking and pulling over and over. I come fast and hard, shuddering in his hands, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue continues circling furiously over me and then down, deep inside.

“Oh... oh,” I moan as he fucks me with his tongue. My fingers weave into his thick brown waves as shocks of pleasure clench in my lower stomach. He slowly moves to the side, making his way to my thigh, to my hipbone, then standing, pressing his body against mine again.

I’m reeling, eyes still closed, trying to find my bearings when he speaks. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not running. You’re staying right here with me.”

My hands tighten into fists on his jacket. I can’t speak because I can’t argue with him. Everything in me wants to obey him, and simultaneously, everything in me roars in opposition to his words.

“Open your eyes,” he orders. “Look at me.”

Don’t do it, my mind warns. For a moment, I’m at war with myself in what feels like the best embrace of my life. I’ve craved his arms for a week. I wanted his arms that night in the bar when Karen appeared.

Karen. Her words come flooding back, and my eyes open. Like a shock they crash into his gaze, penetrating and demanding. His are forceful, claiming me. Only... he’s here with another woman.

It’s my worst nightmare trying to pull me under. “Let me go.” My voice is shockingly low and forceful, considering how hard I just came and how badly I want to go home with him and spend the night fucking.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”

I start to struggle. “Let me go, Marcus.”

His grip only tightens along with the muscle in his jaw. “NO. You want this. Say it.”

Panic twists in my chest, and I have to get out of his embrace. I have to get away from my traitorous insides begging for him. I have to force logic and do the right thing.

“My body wants you, but I can’t give you what you’re asking. It’s not something I’m able to do.”

“Why?” His voice is still angry, demanding.

“I’m just not.”

He hesitates, and when he speaks again, his tone changes—the anger is now an argument. “We can work on it. Take it one day at a time. One hour at a time.”

It’s Marcus Merritt, the best lawyer in Chicago speaking to me, and in this moment I believe every word of praise I’ve ever heard about him because I’m so close to giving him what he wants.

“It won’t work,” I insist.