Page 18 of Calculated Risk
"Sensitive?" I ask.
"Apparently." His hands find the clasp of my bra with surprising deftness. "May I?"
Even now, he's asking permission. It's so perfectly Marcus that I can't help but smile. "Yes. God, yes."
The cool studio air hits my skin as he removes the last barrier between us. His eyes go dark, hungry, and for once he doesn't overthink. He just acts, mouth finding my breast, tongue circling until I'm gasping his name.
"Okay?" he asks against my skin.
"More than okay." My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close. "Don't stop."
He doesn't. His mouth explores while his hands map my body like he's memorizing every curve, every response. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below my ribs, I gasp, and he files that information away with a satisfied hum.
"Still cataloging data?" I manage to ask.
"Can't help it. You're fascinating." His lips trail down my stomach. "The way you respond, the sounds you make, I want to know everything."
"Then stop talking and find out."
I lift up enough for him to work on my jeans, and his hands, those careful, precise hands are shaking slightly as he unbuttons them. It makes me feel powerful and tender all at once.
"You're nervous," I observe.
"Terrified," he corrects. "And completely out of my depth. You're—" He looks up at me, vulnerable and honest. "You're everything, Lilah."
The confession steals my breath. I lean down and kiss him, soft and deep, trying to pour everything I can't say into it. When we break apart, I whisper against his lips, "Then stop being scared and have me."
He stands, lifting me with him, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the cleared table against the wall.
"Here?" I ask, surprised.
"Here." He sets me down, and I can see the change in him, the planner giving way to something more primal. "Unless you object?"
"No objections." I pull him between my legs, enjoying the way he towers over me like this, the way his control is fraying at the edges. "But you're wearing too many clothes."
"Easily remedied." He makes quick work of his jeans, and then we're skin to skin, and coherent thought becomes difficult.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider as he steps closer. I can feel him, hard and ready, and the anticipation makes me dizzy.
"Protection?" I ask, ever practical even now.
"Wallet. Back pocket."
He retrieves it with shaking hands, and I watch as he tears open the packet. Even this, even this mundane, necessary moment feels charged with electricity.
"Come here," I tell him, and he does, pressing close, one hand braced on the table beside me while the other guides himself to my entrance.
"Tell me if—" he starts, but I cut him off with a kiss.
"I will. Now please, Marcus. I need?—"
He pushes inside, slow and careful, and we both freeze at the sensation. His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breathing ragged.
"Oh God," he groans. "Lilah?—"
"I know." I wrap my arms around him, holding him close as my body adjusts to the fullness. "I know."
For a moment, we just breathe together, suspended in this perfect, overwhelming instant. Then I shift my hips experimentally, and he makes a sound that's pure desperation.
