'Til Death: Volume Two

“Dance with me,” he says, pulling us back.

“Marcus.”

“Dance with me.”

He wraps his body around mine, puts his hands on my hips, and I can’t help but raise my hands to lock around his neck. My fingers find a stray piece of hair at the very base of his neck and I twist it around as we begin to move across the living room floor. We’re moving softly to the song “Feels Like Home” and the words cling to me in a way I know I’ll never be able to detach.

His eyes are on mine.

Mine are on his.

And there is nobody else in this room but the two of us. Just him and me. There are no problems here. No issues. No monsters lurking behind the curtains. It’s just us, an us I always wanted us to be. More tears slide down my cheeks, because the sudden realization that I’m going to lose this man hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

He stares down at me as if he wants to devour me, as if he doesn’t want this to be the last time we’re together, but there’s something in his expression that tells me he’s doing this purely because he needs it as much as I do before it’s finished . . . before this . . . is over. He reaches up, stroking my tears again, then his thumb glides over my bottom lip and we both make a gasping sound.

We both want this.

That much is one hundred percent clear.

With that thought lodged into my mind, Marcus leans down and captures my mouth in a hungry, frenzied kiss. I groan, closing my eyes as I remove my hands from his neck and slide them over his body. I need this. Just once more. His tongue glides out, torturing mine before disappearing back into his mouth, leaving me wanting more.

“Marcus,” I breathe, wrenching my mouth from his and pressing my cheek to his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Screw it.

I lift my mouth to his again and this time the kiss is deep and slow, like the kiss we should have shared in the hospital, like a damned kiss should be. Real. Pure. Perfect. His hands tangle around my hips and he hauls me forward, bringing my body to his. I can feel his erection against my belly as he backs me to the wall.

“Not against the wall,” I whimper. “Please, Marcus. It’s always hard, rough, and against a wall.”

He removes me instantly and lets me go. I stand on wobbly legs and watch as he walks over to a large chest and flings it open. He brings out a warm, fluffy cover and lays it on the ground in front of the window. Then he turns and gives me the most molten, devastating stare. My legs can’t carry me fast enough towards him, and the moment I reach him, we’re on the ground, tangled in each other, mouths crushed together.

Marcus’s hands move down over my body, tracing down my sides and gently stroking until he reaches my dress. He lifts it and I shift so he can get it off, then his mouth is back on mine, sliding down my jaw and neck until he reaches my collarbone. My head drops back and I moan as his mouth continues down. He finds my breasts, and I can feel his hot breath through my bra.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

In a split second, my bra is gone and his mouth is covering my nipple. I arch and cry out his name as he inflicts pure torture on my body. His hands move down at the same time and grip my hips. After my whimpered plea, he reaches for my panties. He moves with them as he slides them down my legs. Then he’s staring at my naked body with a hungry, desperate look on his face.

“I want to fuck you, Katia. But first I want to taste you.”

He takes my knees, slowly lifting them. Then he pushes them apart before lowering his body down until he’s between my legs, his hot breaths coming out in short bursts against my exposed pussy. I groan, reaching up to tangle my fingers in my own hair. “Marcus,” I plead. “Please.”

He teases me with his breath and his presence alone until I’m squirming and begging with no shame. Then he closes his mouth over my clit and goes to work. And when I say he goes to work, I mean he goes to work. His mouth moves over my clit, occasionally sucking it in. Then he moves down, plunging his tongue inside me before moving back up for more torture.

I come shamefully fast, my fingers curled into the blanket beside me, my back arched, screaming his name. He’s over me, naked, in a matter of minutes. He plunges his tongue into my mouth and I can taste myself, and I love it, I fucking love it. My fingers find the skin on his back and I drag my nails down his skin, making him groan, low and deep.

“Keep doing that, this won’t last.”

“I don’t care,” I mewl.

He flips us over so I’m straddling him. “Baby, I do.”

He grinds my pussy against his straining cock, rubbing it up and down, collecting my arousal and rubbing it over his skin. I groan and stare down at his cock. It’s hard, red, and looks like it’ll explode. I don’t hesitate. I reach down, shift, and slide myself down onto it. He gasps out my name and I cry out his as I sink slowly down onto his throbbing dick.

Fuck. Yes.

“Marcus,” I breathe.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck.”

I rock my hips, sliding up and down, grinding into him. My breaths come out in short, hard bursts, and God, it feels amazing.

“Fuck, I need it deeper.”

He flips me over, spreading my legs wide and thrusting back inside me. He braces his elbow beside my head, his other hand tangled in my hair, and he fucks me. He doesn’t fuck me hard or even slow—he just fucks me real nice, a deep thrust of his hips that has me coming so hard and fast it slows his pace.

“Jesus,” he grinds out. “So fuckin’ sweet.”