Sweet Retribution (Ruthless Games 2)

I wrap my arm around him, sliding my hand up to scratch at his scalp and tug on his thick brown hair.

“You’re here.”

I gasp the words into his mouth as our bodies collide with desperate movements, writhing and grinding against each other like we could each somehow disappear into the other person.

That’s what I want.

I want Marcus to swallow me up.

I want to lose myself in him.

I want our bodies to fuse into one so that no one can ever fucking take him from me.

He tears his lips away from mine, grabbing my hair by the roots and tugging my head back to expose the soft line of my neck. His mouth trails hot kisses down the column of my throat before his teeth scrape over my collarbone, his tongue darting out to lick away the sting.

When he bites down hard on the place where my neck and shoulder meet, I let out a muffled scream as sensation explodes inside me, my clit throbbing hard and fast. He doesn’t let go, just clamps his lips around my skin and sucks in long, deep pulls, making my eyes roll back in my head.

He’s marking me, I realize.

He’s staking his claim.

But more than that, he’s doing exactly what I wished he would. He’s trying to consume me.

I groan, hooking a leg around his waist as the fabric of my dress slides up. It hurts. He’s bruising my neck, and I can feel every bit of it. But I don’t fucking want him to stop.

His hips thrust into me, and he grunts against my skin like an animal, his hands roaming possessively over my body. He squeezes my breasts through the dress, then s

lides his large hands around to the back again, delving them under the fabric of the low-cut back to palm my ass.

Finally, he releases my skin with a wet pop, and the rush of blood through my veins makes me almost dizzy.

“I will always come back to you, angel. Do you understand that?” he murmurs, breathing hard as he gazes down at me. His eyes are almost entirely black, and he looks more like a devil than a man in this moment.

My devil.

My man.

I nod in response, unable to form words. I swear I can feel every minute I spent mourning him, missing him, needing him. Each one of those minutes fuels me as I pull him toward me to kiss him again.

He hauls me away from the wall, and the two of us stumble across the room, groping and panting and moaning. When my ass hits the washing machine, we jolt to a stop, mouths still locked together.

“I need to be inside you, angel.” Marcus’s words are a tortured rasp. “I need to be fucking sure you’re real.”

I know how he feels.

My skin is marked and bruised by him, my hair ruined and my pulse racing, but it still feels a little like I’m kissing a mirage.

Like he’ll vanish if I let go of him for even a second.

Like he’ll disappear into thin air.

Reaching between us, I fumble for the button and fly of his pants. As soon as I get them open, I shove my hand inside, relishing the feel of velvet steel against my palm.

Marcus growls, like he’s pissed I got my hand between his legs before he got his between mine. But he must not be that mad, because he thrusts into my palm, fucking my hand with harsh, uneven strokes.

Then he pulls away from me, stepping back so fast it leaves my body reeling. He grabs my hips and spins me around, folding me in half over the washing machine. The cool metal shocks the bare skin of my arms and chest, and a breathless gasp falls from my mouth as he fists the material of my dress and shoves it up around my waist, leaving my bottom half covered by nothing but my flimsy thong.

His sharp, desperate movements slow, although I can still feel him breathing heavily behind me as he takes in the sight of me like this. He was in a hurry a second ago, but now that he’s got me where he wants me, he seems determined not to rush.