Page 79 of Best Man Speaking

Marcus shifts before me. He brings the tips of my fingers to his mouth, where he nips on them gently, his eyes on mine as I wait for him to respond.

“I. Want. You.”

The next breath I take catches in my throat. They’re words I’ve longed to hear.

I want you.

The words rage through me like an inferno, setting my cells alight until I can no longer be still. Twining my fingersinto Marcus’s hair, I take his lips once more, our kiss deep and slow, pulling at a desperate ache low within me.

Settling his hands on my hips, he pulls me over his thighs, so I’m straddling him on the edge of the bed, and he traces clever fingers up and down my spine. Our bodies move together in a mesh of sensation as we make out. He knows my love of being touched, how much I need it, and he doesn’t hold back. And it’s only once my lips are swollen, breath coming in small pants, that I reach down, pulling my silk camisole up and over my head. Then I unclip my strapless bra, both items falling to the floor.

I’m warm, my insides stoked with pleasure as Marcus’s eyes roam over my freshly bared body. It’s not the first time he’s seen me topless, not even close, but every time his eyes land on me,my heart never fails to race. I can’t help but secretly hope it never changes.

He sucks his lower lip in, white teeth pressing down into the soft flesh.

“I do love this little guy,” he growls out.

The small serpent rests protectively, close to all that’s vital. Marcus traces the heavy swells of my breasts with his thumbs, around the finely detailed ink of my tattoo, and over the tips of my nipples.

“I think you’re growing on him too,” I rasp.

His caress goes from teasing to firm. He grips my hips, his hands slipping under my thighs. He lifts us both, turns, then comes back down to the bed, this time with me beneath him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” His voice is a gruff whisper against my skin.

It’s all I can do to simply nod in some nonsensical confirmation that, yes, I know exactly how long he’s waited. Because while we might have been here before, while we might’ve performed this act, it hasn’t been like this—not in a bed, not with such vulnerability.

Not without a single thing between us.

Marcus might’ve been a sight to behold with the cuffs of his white dress shirt rolled up—the absolute definition of forearm porn—but as he stands to his full height, toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt, swaths of golden skin are unveiled before me, and it takes all my self-restraint to remain a simple spectator.

“See something you like?” he asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Yes.” I release the word on an unintentionally breathy pant.

At any other time, I would’ve been concerned by the blatant want and desire displayed through a single syllable, but I’m no longer that woman. That concern is no longer mine.

A deep chuckle is the only response I get as my eyes track down Marcus’s body, keeping tabs on his hands as they move to his belt, the sound of the leather and buckle doing indecent things to me. A button is popped, a zipper scrapes, and then he’s pushing down his pants, taking his briefs along with them.

My mouth waters at the sight of him, long and hard and deliciously mine.

There’s no stopping me. I reach for him with my entire body, and thankfully, he doesn’t deny me. Doesn’t try to play with me in that way. I don’t think I could take it.

His eyes track mine as he braces himself over me on the large bed. Whatever he sees has his face softening for just a moment. He brings his thumb to my bottom lip, rubbing it back and forth. Then he takes my lips with his.

His attention moves to my skirt and the slow slide of the leather down my thighs, leaving only a small scrap of lilac lace between us.

“You are beyond beautiful.” Marcus’s voice is rough and full of masculine appreciation as he brushes a single finger from my collarbone to the delicate trim of my panties.

I believe his words, my insides filling with a warm glow as he touches me so reverently. I want this last bit of material between us off and away, but I’m hesitant to interrupt the joy Marcus is finding in my unwrapping.

“Touch me, please,” I beg quietly, knowing he won’t refuse my request.

“I am touching you.”

It’s true. He hasn’t stopped touching me. His hands have barely left me, his eyes so set on mine that I’m sure he can see straight through me. But I want more than the exploring touches we’ve traded so far, and I have no shame in nudging him forward, placing one of his hands on the lace covering where I ache for him so desperately.

“I need you inside me,” I whisper.

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