Page 70 of The Sentinel

I grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach in one rough move, and she gasped, her hands fisting the sheets. I dragged her up onto her knees, spreading her thighs wide, and fuck, she was dripping—pink and glistening, her cunt slick and ready for me. I ran my fingers through her folds, slow, teasing, and she moaned, pushing back against my hand.

“You want this?” I rasped, smearing her wetness over her clit, circling it hard with my thumb.

“Yes,” she breathed, voice shaky, needy. “Marcus?—”

I didn’t let her finish. I lined my cock up with her entrance, the head nudging her open, and thrust in—deep, hard, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She cried out, her back arching, her walls clamping tight around me, hot and wet and perfect. I gripped her hips, bruising, and pulled out slow, just to slam back in, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

“Fuck,” I groaned, setting a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her forward, her tits bouncing, her ass jiggling with every hit. She moaned, loud and raw, her hands scrabbling at the sheets as I fucked her senseless. I reached around, finding her clit with my fingers, pinching it, rolling it, and she bucked, her whole body trembling.

“Marcus—oh God—” Her voice broke, high and desperate, and I felt her tighten, her cunt pulsing around my cock as she teetered on the edge.

I leaned over her, my chest pressing against her back, my mouth at her ear. “Come for me,” I snarled, biting her shoulder, my fingers relentless on her clit, my thrusts brutal. “Now.”

She shattered, screaming my name, her orgasm ripping through her so hard her legs shook, her walls milking me tight. I didn’t stop—couldn’t—driving into her harder, chasing my own release, the heat of her soaking me, her slickness coating my thighs.

But I wasn’t done. I pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and spread her legs wide, hooking them over my shoulders. Her eyes were hazy, pupils blown, her chest heaving as she panted up at me. I thrust back in, deeper this time, the angle letting me hit that spot inside her that made her sob with pleasure.

“Look at me,” I growled, grabbing her jaw, forcing her gaze to mine as I fucked her raw. Her tits bounced with every slam, her nipples brushing my chest, and I leaned down, sucking one into my mouth, biting hard enough to make her gasp.

“Marcus—fuck—” She clawed at my back, nails digging in, and I felt the sting, the burn, fueling me harder. I shifted, grinding my pelvis against her clit with every thrust, and she whimpered, her body arching, chasing another peak.

I slid a hand between us, finding her ass, my thumb pressing against the tight ring there. She tensed, then moaned, loud and filthy, as I pushed in, slow, stretching her. “You like that?” I rasped, fucking her cunt and her ass at the same time, my cock pounding, my thumb sinking deeper.

“Yes—yes—” Her voice was a wrecked sob, her head thrashing, and I felt her clamp down again, another orgasm hitting her like a freight train. She screamed, her body convulsing, come gushing around my cock, soaking the sheets, and that was it—I lost it.

Heat roared down my spine, my balls tightening, and I thrust once, twice, then buried myself deep, coming hard, ropes of it spilling into her, marking her, claiming her. I groaned, low and guttural, my vision blurring as I rode it out, her cunt still pulsing around me, pulling every last drop.

We collapsed, slick with sweat, her legs trembling over my shoulders, my breath ragged against her neck. I stayed inside her, softening slow, feeling her heartbeat thud against my chest. She reached up, fingers threading through my hair, and I pressed my forehead to hers, both of us spent, wrecked.

“You’re mine,” I murmured, voice hoarse, and she nodded, a small, shaky smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “I am.”

For a long moment, we just lay there, tangled, the chaos of Hart and Dad and Department 77 fading into the background. It’d come back—soon—but for now, it was just us, and that was enough.

27

CLAIRE

Iwoke up alone.

The bed was still warm, Marcus’s scent tangled in the sheets, but he was gone.

For a long moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body sore in all the best ways, my mind still sluggish from my nap. The past few days had been a blur of grief, tension, and unanswered questions—but in this bed, with Marcus above me, inside me, claiming me with every rough touch, everything else had disappeared.

And now, he was gone. A thread of unease tightened in my chest.

Marcus didn’t just leave. Not like this.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it in the quiet hum of Dominion Hall, in the absence of his steady presence, in the way the air itself felt heavier, like the walls were keeping secrets.

I gripped the sheets tighter, my stomach knotting.

And then, another thought hit me—Diego’s parents.

The jet Marcus had sent for them was already on its way. Within hours, they’d be landing in Charleston,stepping onto the tarmac expecting answers. Expecting comfort.

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