Page 61 of Marked By Him

I would always have a piece of her now. Right in my pocket.

I’d grip the handle and remember the time her slick little pussy swallowed it right up.

She was a sight to behold in that moment—grinding back against me, panting for air, begging for more.

My cock begged too. It was throbbing painfully, needing to be inside her. The moment I did pin her against the wall and slide into her pussy was life-changing. The sky might as well have parted to allow the heavens to emerge.

She felt so good clenched around me from all angles.

Warm, wet, tight perfection.

All discipline left my body. I became a man desperate to feel the woman he desired in every way possible.

I was so unlike myself, I kept Monroe with me. Allowed her to sleep in my bed like a lover.

It seems the morning has brought clarity to us both. Otherwise, why else would she leave the bed?

I swing my legs over the side and plant my feet on the floorboards. I’m about to head to the bathroom when I hear the soft, faint noise of… someone in the other room.

Obviously Monroe. But it’s the sound itself that’s unfamiliar. My ear strains, listening more closely.

Sniffling.

Monroe is in the next room sniffling.

I move as subtly and silently as a shadow to the door, cracking it open only slightly. As suspected, she’s curled up on the futon with her hands covering her face. Her breaths come shallow and uneven. Her shoulders are slightly hunched.

She’s… crying.

As quietly, as soundlessly as she can. Likely because she doesn’t want to wake me. She doesn’t want me to know that she is.

I should walk away. I’ve never known what to do with tears. Emotions in general are a foreign concept. There’s often little logic or rationale to emotion, which makes it impossible to track or understand.

Just a few hours ago, she was in my bed begging to be pounded. She moaned and told me how good my cock felt in her pussy.

Now here she is, sobbing silent tears.

It’s probably regret. She hates what happened between us last night. I can’t say that surprises me considering she tried torun awayin the first place.

I step back and intentionally knock my elbow on the wardrobe, producing a dull thud. A noise loud enough to startle her and make her realize I’m awake.

I pick up on her rustling. She’s trying to compose herself before I appear.

I wait another couple seconds, then drag the door open and step out like nothing happened.

“You’re awake,” I say plainly, voice still hoarse from sleep. “I assumed you’d sleep in until later.”

Monroe says nothing, merely giving a glum nod. Her eyes are puffy and red and she avoids a direct look at me.

Uncertain how else to handle the situation, I do the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” I declare flatly, crossing into the kitchen. “This is the first time I’ve touched a pan in months, so it should be interesting. But good or bad—you’re eating every bite.”

Her brows slant in confusion, like she’s unsure if I’m serious.

“This is why I don’t joke often,” I mutter as I open the refrigerator. “No one ever understands them.”

That gets me a quiet huff of a laugh. Not much, but it’s something.

---