CHAPTER 3

Lena woke to the solid weight of Marcus’s arm still locked across her waist and the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back. The loft smelled of sex and damp air. Her body ached in places she had forgotten.

Her ache—wrists faintly marked, her thighs is tender, the deep inner bruise of being taken hard and kept open.

She shifted carefully. His arm tightened at once.

“You’re awake,” he said, with a low voice and rough with sleep.

“Yes.”

He did not release her. Instead his hand slid down, using is palm to cover the soft heat between her legs. He put two fingers inward, testing her. She was still wet from the night, still swollen. A quiet sound left her throat. He worked those fingers in slowly with shallow strokes, not enough to build anything, just enough to remind her body who had been inside it.

“Sore?”

“A little.”

“Good.” He withdrew his hand and brought the fingers to her mouth. She opened without being told and cleaned them. The taste was thicker now, overnight musk mixed with both of them. When he was satisfied he rolled her onto her back and rose over her, bracing on his forearms. His cock rested heavy against her thigh, already half-hard.

“I need to know something,” he said.

Lena looked up at him. In daylight his face was harder with his sharp cheekbones, a faint scar near the left eyebrow she had not noticed in the storm light, his eyes has the color of wet slate.

“What?”

“Whether you came here only for this.” His hips shifted, dragging the thickening length of him along her folds. “Or whether you want more than one night of being used.”

The word landed between them like a stone. Used? Not loved. Not held. Used.

Heat licked low in her belly at the bluntness of it.

“I don’t know yet,” she answered truthfully. “I only know I didn’t want to leave last night.”

Marcus studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once, as if the answer was enough for now. He reached down, lined himself up, and pushed into her in a single slow thrust. The stretch pulled a sharp breath from her lungs. She was still tender; the burn sharpened every sensation. He did not rush. He fucked her with deep, measured strokes, watching her face the entire time. When her eyes threatened to close he said, “Keep them open.”

She obeyed. The intimacy of being watched while he moved inside her felt more exposing than the rope he had. Every roll of his hips dragged against sensitive tissue. Her hands rose to his shoulders; he caught both wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other slid under her ass, tilting her so he could drive deeper. The new angle forced a broken sound from her throat.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take it the way I give it.”

He kept the pace ruthless in its control—never frantic, never soft. When the climax built-in, it did so in a tight, almost painful coil. She came with a choked cry, walls pulsing hard around him. He rode the contractions without changing rhythm, then pulled out just before his own release. Thick creampie of come striped her stomach and the undersides of her breasts. He watched it land, then used two fingers to spread it across her skin in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Don’t wash it off yet,” he said. “I want to see it on you while we talk.”

He left the bed, pulled on a pair of dark trousers that hung low on his hips, and walked to the kitchen area. Lena stayed where she was, The creampie dried in cool patches on her skin. The air against her bare body felt almost clinical after the heat of him. She heard water running, the clink of glass. He returned with two mugs of black coffee and handed her one. She sat up carefully.

Marcus sat on the edge of the platform, close enough that their knees touched. For a while they drank in silence. The rain had stopped; only the occasional drip from the glass roof marked the quiet.

“I saw you at the gallery three weeks ago,” he said eventually. “You were standing in front of the large charcoal piece—the one with the figure half-erased. You looked like you wanted to step into the paper and disappear.”

Lena’s fingers tightened around the mug. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

“I always watch.” He set his coffee down. “You left early and alone. I followed you as far as the street and then stopped myself. That night I decided if you ever came here I would not stop.”

The confession should have frightened her. Instead it settled low in her belly like another kind of heat.

“Why me?”

“Because you look at things the way I fuck—like you’re trying to find the place that breaks.” He reached out, dragged one finger through the drying cum on her stomach, then brought it to her mouth again. She licked it clean. “And because when I put my hands on you last night you didn’t flinch. You opened.”

Lena set the mug aside. The honesty in his voice was more dangerous than the roughness. She shifted closer, straddling his lap without asking. His hands settled on her hips at once, steadying her. She could feel him hardening again beneath the thin fabric of the trousers.

“I want more than one night,” she said quietly. “But I don’t know how to ask for what that means.”

Marcus’s eyes darkened. “Then don’t ask. Let me decide.”

He stood, lifting her with him, and carried her the few steps to the wooden chest against the wall. He set her on her feet, turned her to face the brick, and bent her forward so her palms braced against the rough surface. The trousers were shoved down just far enough. He entered her from behind in one hard thrust, burying himself to the root. Lena’s forehead dropped against the cool brick. He fucked her like that—standing, one hand fisted in her hair, the other clamped on her hip—deep and relentless. Every stroke forced a wet sound from between them. The angle was brutal; she felt him in her throat.

When she cum again it was with a raw, open-mouthed cry that echoed off the high ceiling. He followed a handful of thrusts later, grinding deep and flooding her. This time he stayed inside, pulsing, while their breathing slowed together.

Only then did he pull free. creampie slipped down the inside of one thigh. He turned her, pressed her back to the brick, and kissed her—slowly, thoroughly, almost gentle after the violence of the fucking. When he broke the kiss his forehead rested against hers.

“Shower,” he said. “Then food. Then I take you again before the afternoon light changes.”

Lena nodded, her legs is unsteady. He guided her toward the open shower area in the far corner of the loft— They both poured Hot water on their body, Marcus washed her with the same focused attention heqa used to fuck her: rubbing soap across her breasts, between her legs, along the faint rope marks on her wrists. His cock stirred against her hip while he worked. She reached for him; he caught her wrist and shook his head once.

“Later,” he said. “When you’re clean and fed. I want you steady when I put you on your knees again.”

They dried with the same black towels from the night before. He pulled a soft gray shirt from a drawer and dropped it over her head; it hung to mid-thigh and smelled of him. She wore nothing underneath. He kept the trousers low on his hips, shirtless. In the kitchen he made eggs and toast with economical movements. They ate standing at the counter, her hip brushing his. The simple domesticity after the intensity felt almost more intimate than the sex.

When the plates were cleared Marcus took her hand and led her back to the platform bed. Daylight had strengthened, turning the loft pale and clear. He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at her.

“On your knees.”

Lena sank down between his spread thighs. He freed himself from the trousers. Already hard again, the head glistening. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth without being told. The taste of soap and skin and the faint salt of earlier release filled her. He let her set the pace for a few moments—slowly, deeper with her tongue working the underside—then his hand settled on the back of her head and guided her farther down. She relaxed her throat and took him until her nose pressed against his stomach. He held her there, breathing steady, then released her enough to breathe before guiding her down again.

He used her mouth with the same controlled intensity he had used the rest of her body. When he came it was with a low groan, flooding her tongue. She swallowed everything he gave her, then licked him clean while he watched.

Marcus pulled her up onto the bed and arranged her on her side, spooning behind her. His arm locked around her waist again. His cock, soft now, rested against the cleft of her ass.

“Rest,” he said against her hair. “The afternoon is still long. And I am nowhere near finished with what I want from you today.”