“Impossible.” He steps closer, crowding me, placing his hands on the counter, muscular arms running along either side of me, caging me in. “I haven’t thought clearly around you since the night we met.”
I laugh a little breathlessly, the memory rising vivid in my mind. “You had some balls coming over to the table and asking if we should have our first kiss that night or wait for our first date.”
“I’ve still got ‘em.” He gently places my hand on the stiff length of his erection. “See for yourself.”
A low groan slips through my gritted teeth when his soft, full lips feather kisses down my neck, to the juncture of my shoulder where he nips the skin. Markus is a biter, leaving his marks on soft undersides and tender inner thighs like secret whispers only he and I ever hear. It takes all my will power and a good portion of my Black girl magic to shove at his chest when all I want to do is burrow into it. Maybe lick a nipple or two while I’m there.
“Don’t.” I make my voice firm and look up straight into his dark eyes. “I want it as much as you do, Markus, but don’t use my body against me. It’s manipulative and unfair.”
His expression falls, the smile slipping completely from his face. His concern gathers into a frown. “I would never—”
“You are. If I let you get away with it now, you’ll do it when we’re married. Stop it and tell me why you keep punking out with your mother.”
For a second, I almost waver under his intense stare. He works in a male-dominated space, populated with rich, entitled athletes. As a heavily-recruited college player himself before a career-ending injury sophomore year, in many ways, he’s just like them. There is a definite alpha male vibe to Markus, but he doesn’t have a drop of actual male toxicity, or that big dick and pretty face wouldn’t have gotten him any further than my bed that first night.
And yes, I brought him home and fucked him the night we met. I’d never done anything like that before. I wasn’t proud the morning after, but you better believe I was satisfied. And I’ve since found that goes a long way.
His mother may be annoying me right now, but she did raise him right. He has a dominant personality, yes, but he’s respectful and kind and generous, and against all odds, relatively humble.
Swagger notwithstanding.
“Tell me.” I risk my control to reach up and cup his strong jaw. “What’s going on?”
He leans into my palm, closing his eyes and covering my hand with his. “Dad cheated.”
Shock winnows through me. “What? Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes. There are photos and recordings.”
“What the . . .how?”
“Mom suspected there was something going on for a long time.” Markus shrugs, takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pocket of his tailored slacks. “She hired a private investigator.”
“Like on Cheaters?”
“Um . . .not quite so dramatic. She didn’t show up with a camera crew at a Motel 6.”
No. Bertice Carrers-North, who’d refused to yield her maiden name for the man she loved, certainly wouldn’t surrender her dignity.
“Have you talked to your father? What does he say?”
Markus’s handsome features harden and his lips tighten into a thin line. “What can he say? She caught him red-handed and kicked him out. He’s staying at a hotel.”
“How are you feeling about all of this? I mean, I know you’re not a kid, but at any age this kind of thing must make you feel . . .sad? Angry? Betrayed.”
“I’m fine. I—”
“Markus, you can tell me the truth.” With my arms, I encircle his lean waist, bring him close and, I hope, make him feel safe enough to share his vulnerabilities with me. He swallows, the muscles of his throat moving and the line of his jaw clenched.
“I’m pissed,” he finally admits softly. “I’m disappointed. I’ve always wanted to be like him. He was the one who taught me to treat women with respect, but he does this to my mother? That’s the epitome of disrespect.”
“Have you seen him? Talked to him?”
Markus nods slowly, annoyance twisting his firm mouth. “He says it was just this one time. That it was a mistake. He told me he was about to break it off when Mom found out. Like that matters.”
“How long has she known?”
“About three weeks.” He grabs my hand, brushing his thumb against mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. She asked me not to say anything to anyone yet. I thinks she’s embarrassed.”
“She has nothing to be ashamed of. Your father on the other hand . . .” I narrow my eyes at him. “Markus North, if you ever cheat on me, I promise to pickle your balls.”
His lips quirk with the smile I hoped my comment would elicit. “Should we add that to our vows?”
“I’m serious. I could never forgive you. Is she taking him back or what?”
“He wants to go to counseling, but she doesn’t seem very open to it. I think she’s done.” He sighs, shaking his head. “And I think she’s been using our wedding to distract herself.”
Guilt and frustration and sympathy roil inside me in equal measures.
“I understand her pain,” I tell him, reaching up to finger the collar of his shirt. “But I’m not having fowl flying around my reception because your mother needs a hobby while they figure out their future.”
“Oh, the doves were actually for the wedding ceremony, not the recept . . .”
The razor sharp look I slice at him cuts down that explanation.
“Right,” he finishes, grimacing. “No doves at all. I’ll talk to her.”
I stare up at the rugged face, usually so impassive. After years of learning him, loving him, knowing him, I see right through the guard at his eyes. I stormed through the gate at his heart. He’s mine now, and as much as I hate fighting, I love making up even more. I step closer and tip up onto my toes, dusting kisses along his jaw. His hands find my hips, pulling me close so I can feel him hard and stretched out.
“You handling this before we eat or after?” he asks, his voice husky at my ear.
“Who needs food?”
“You do usually,” he says, his laugh low and modulated.
“Not when you’ve been on the road.” I undo his belt, unbutton the expensive pants and slip my hand in to squeeze his ass. “You may fuck me now.”
“Finally,” he bends to growl into the shallow base of my throat. “I thought I was losing my touch.”
I pull him by the leather belt hanging at his waist, walking backward into my bedroom, eyes smoldering. “Come show me this famous touch you claim to have and I’ll let know if you’ve lost it.”
He sexy-stalks me until my knees hit the bed, bringing our bodies flush. I push his polo shirt up, baring the corrugated expanse of abs and pecs. You don’t care for the most finely-honed bodies in the world without finely honing your own. He yanks the shirt over his head, and the ridges at his hips peak over the edge of his briefs. I’m not sure what God was thinking when He gave men that line at the hip. It actually supports the theory that God is female because that anatomical feature is the inspired design of a woman.