Page 91 of Best Man Speaking

The letters form and fade without leaving a single lasting mark on his skin, but in the process, it’s there for me to see.

Mine, mine, mine.

My body’s hot, my panties wet where they slide against my now-slick skin.

With the last letter drawn, Marcus’s eyes spring open, his large body flipping us to come back down over me. His breathing is rough, matching my rapidly beating pulse.

“You are trouble,” he says with a flex of his hips, pressing his erection against where I’m suddenly desperate for him. Thesweatpants he’s wearing do nothing to hide his thickness. And all I want is to pull the front of them down, releasing his cock, so that as I move my panties to the side, we can join once more.

But he’s quicker than I am, snatching my hand from where it’s about to grab for his waistband. He presses my wrist onto the mattress beside my hip, and I give a moan of discontent. Quickly as I can, I try and use my other hand to achieve my goal, but Marcus catches me again, this time laughing as he presses both my hands down into the mattress by my sides as I buck my hips, struggling to get closer.

“Dirty girl. Desperate for it, huh?” he asks with raised brows and a smile I’d like to kiss off his damn face.

I feel myself blush scarlet. “Maybe,” I reply in a voice that barely conceals the undertones ofyes, please.

“Well, we don’t have time for that this morning. We need to get you back to your room before Erica notices you’re gone. We can play all you want when we get home,” he says with a swift kiss to my lips before jumping to his feet. “You can join me in the shower if you calm down enough to look at me without falling to your knees. Okay?”

I don’t bother with an answer. Instead, I throw a pillow at his retreating back.

Asshole.

Falling back into the bedding as the bathroom door closes, I bask in the moment, listening as Marcus brushes his teeth, the water running as the shower turns on. They’re comforting sounds. Sounds of domesticity I’ve never shared with another person before. But sounds that I could get used to.

Deciding I better join him before I lose the chance, I sit and reach for my phone next to the bed. I check for the time, feeling ill as it’s only six a.m., way too early for any Vegas wake-up call. You should be allowed to get home at this time, but not get up.

It’s when I place my phone back on the nightstand that Marcus’s phone lights up, and I don’t have a chance to look away before two texts flash up on the screen consecutively.

Johnathan Cairns:You’re a fool, Marcus. I asked for one simple thing.

Johnathan Cairns:One conversation with my daughter, and the money’s yours.

The oxygen in my body leaves me in a single, heavy exhale.

I’m empty and still staring at the screen as it goes dark. Blinking, hands icy, heart racing, I reach the index finger I’d so recently used to write my name over Marcus’s heart to bring light back to his phone’s screen.

The texts are still there.

And so I read them again.

You’re a fool, Marcus. I asked for one simple thing.

One conversation with my daughter, and the money’s yours.

I didn’t imagine it.

I close my eyes. Open them.

You’re a fool.

Words written just for me.

Ice continues to trickle into my fingers even as my insides start to heat, the embers of long-ago hurt being stoked to flame once more. This whole scenario feels horribly, achingly familiar, causing all my unease from last night to creep up and around me, smothering me completely.

I should’ve known better.

I move from the bed swiftly, my poor heart too open, too vulnerable to even try and be the bigger person. To try and talk this out.

Everything that’s been between us, —every touch, each conniving word—is in the hope of getting me to talk to my father. For money. Of course.

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