Page 63 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Marlowe shrieked as the slippery comforter carried her off the sofa and onto the floor with Angus tumbling after. Her head hit the table leg. His hip jarred a water glass, spilling the contents onto her bare stomach. She jerked in response. Her forehead smacked his nose. He let out a low, pained moan as his hand flew to his face.
“I’m so sorry.” Marlowe reached toward him.
“Fucking yak,” Angus joked through a laugh. “I knew this place was cursed.”
“Or unlucky?”
“Definitely cursed.” He dabbed at his nose. She drew aside his hand and took a look. His skin was pink and his eyes were watering, but he wasn’t bleeding.
“You going to be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just give me a minute.” He wedged himself beside her, lying on his back and exhaling slowly. In the background, the film continued playing, with rapid-fire dialogue and melodramatic,suspenseful music. It set a certain mood, one in which curses weren’t entirely out of the question. Just in case, Marlowe snuggled into Angus’s side. While he patted his nose again, she circled the freckle on his earlobe with her thumb, mimicking his earlier caress of her breast. It appeared to have a similar affect as his eyes closed, he leaned into her touch, and he let out a soft and contented, “Mmmmmm.”
Taking it as a sign that Angus wasn’ttotallyout of commission, Marlowe shoved the table aside and climbed onto his lap. She was all limbs and elbows, moving in a manner that resembled a teetering stick bug, but somehow she managed to straddle him. Scooting backward, she found the hem of his T-shirt and drew it upward. He took over, wrenching his shirt off and tossing it aside. She shook her head at the sight of him, all rippled contours, a high contrast to her bony limbs and lack of curves. She ran her hands down his chest and over the distinct ridges of his ab muscles. As he clenched against her touch, a laugh bubbled up and sputtered out of her without warning.
He responded with an amused smile. “What now?”
She regarded him with awe. “We clearly have the same workout routine.”
He raked his hands up her thighs, following their path with an appreciative glance.
“We’re different people. I enjoy exercise. And vegetables. Looking fit is also one of my job expectations. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m excessively vain.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” She skimmed his sides with her knuckles. The gentle bump-bump-bump of ribs that eased into a sharply defined waist and taut muscles that wrapped his hip bones. “It’s unreal. You’re like a Ken doll, but, you know, anatomically correct.”
“I definitely have all the parts.” He wiggled against her, his eyes twinkling with an unmistakable note of pride. The trait might’ve been off-putting, but not when he was so self-aware about it. He also worked hard on his body. He deserved to be proud of it.
She traced his hip bones toward the waistband of his jeans, wondering what it would feel like to be so used to being looked at and admired.
“Have you ever been self-conscious about anything?” she asked.
“Of course. I’m just really good at compartmentalizing.”
She nudged the tail of his belt through the wide brass buckle.
“Name three things you’re self-conscious about.”
His eyes dropped to her hands, where she continued unbuckling his belt.
“Number one, not having a college education.” He sucked in a breath as she popped the button on his waistband. “Number two, an inability to make small talk or manufacture polite conversation.” His grip tightened on her thighs as she drew his zipper down. “Number three”—he blinked, watched, held his breath as she slipped her hand between his legs and cupped his erection—“number three will have to wait.”
Whether or not he’d completely recovered from her brutal head-butt, he pulled her toward him, his lips already parted for a kiss. Together they plunged into another tempest of reckless kisses, bared skin, gusted breath, and roving hands. He inched backward on the carpet, pushing off with his heels and thrusting against her hand as she stroked him. She grew more turned on with every ragged gasp and moan of pleasure. When their entwined bodies emerged from the valley between the sofa and the table, he flipped her onto her back and pulled her underwear down, yanking themoff her ankles and flinging them toward the sofa. Seconds later he was gliding his fingers through her slick folds, murmuring in her ear about how wet she was and how much it turned him on. She’d never been into dirty talk before. It always sounded kind of ridiculous, but she loved the feel of his deep voice rumbling through her. He could’ve been talking about her body or the latest book he read or even kale. It would’ve been the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
She was lost in the heady euphoria of deep arousal when he abruptly stopped fondling her to grip her face between his hands, his smile curling up, his eyes on fire.
“We have to relocate,” he panted out. “You can’t cum where someone died.”
She turned her head to see a dark, blotchy stain over her shoulder.
“Let’s hope that’s only coffee. But the bedroom’s that way.” She tipped her head toward the open doorway just past the front entrance. He leapt up and hauled her to her feet, drawing her face against his for another kiss. Still lunging at each other—her with her unbuttoned dress hanging off her shoulders and him with his jeans gaping open—they stumbled toward the bedroom. They halted partway there when her back hit a wall. He pressed her against it, parting her legs with his knee. With a quick flash of his grin, he dropped to his knees. His mouth found her thigh. A kiss. A bite. A hot breath against her skin before his lips moved higher. He spread her with both hands, teasing her with the slow, deliberate pressure of his thumbs until his tongue flicked against—
Her head hit the wall, forcing an owl painting to fall from its nail. It nicked Angus’s shoulder before landing face-up on the carpet, its beady eyes staring upward or maybe sideways, full ofaccusation. Marlowe gasped. Angus fell backward onto his heels. He sat there, startled, rubbing his shoulder while sending a punishing leer toward the owl.
“Unbelievable,” he said through another strained laugh. “Your apartment is actively trying to prevent us from having sex tonight.”
“It does seem somewhat opinionated on the topic.” She crouched beside him, peering at his shoulder. As with his nose, the wound wasn’t grave, but still… “At least the dead haven’t risen in the cemetery across the street.”
“Yet.” He frowned at her window as if he expected an army of rabid corpses to push through the blinds any second.
