Page 45 of Pas de Don't
She refused to think about Jack in this moment. Refused to think about how, on the rare occasions he went down on her, she’d feel like she needed to come as fast as she could so he wouldn’t get boredor annoyed. About how, after she did, he would hastily wipe his mouth on the sheet and act like he deserved some kind of medal.
Heather pushed that out of her mind and focused on Marcus. Marcus, who ran his tongue between her folds, coming within torturous millimeters of her clitoris but never quite touching it, who hummed in satisfaction every time she gasped. When he ran one hand up over her hip and slid it under her bra to gently pinch her nipple, Heather clutched at the comforter and stifled a moan, only to remember she wasn’t in an apartment with neighbors on all sides, but in a house, where she could be as loud as she pleased. She whimpered and arched her back, thrusting toward his face, desperate for his tongue on her clit.
“Oh God, please,” she moaned, and Marcus obliged. He sucked on her clit, gently at first, letting his lips and tongue play over it, lightly, lazily, like he was planning to spend all day there and saw no point in rushing. Heather released her grip on the comforter and ran her hands through his hair, tracing her fingertips up the back of his neck the way she knew he liked. He groaned, and the vibrations rocketed through her, bouncing off every nerve ending. She did it again, and he growled against her, sucked her harder, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb. She felt light-headed and woozy, and yet somehow hyperaware of every sound he made, every movement of his fingers and lips.
Heather rolled her hips against his face, feeling the heat and pressure spiral through her muscles as her orgasm approached, desperate for it to arrive but already sorry it was coming so soon. Marcus pulled his hand away from her breast and placed both palms on her hips, spreading his fingers wide and digging into her flesh to hold her to him, and she knew that if she wanted to come again, he would make that happen as many times as she wanted.
That flash of realization sent her careening over the edge. The orgasm ripped through her, and she cried out to the ceiling as she held Marcus’s hair tight, bucking against his mouth. Her heart hurled itself against her ribs. She was out of her body, and yet shecould feel every cell alight with heat and pleasure and hunger for more.
As her climax subsided, the world came back into focus. Her rasping breath slowed, and Heather’s entire body, down to her gums, tingled and buzzed. She loosened her grip in Marcus’s hair and pushed her melted body up on her elbows.
Marcus stared at her, his lips and chin glistening. As she watched, he licked his lips, and then dropped light, tender kisses on her inner thighs. The sensation set off an aftershock of pleasure, and she gasped in surprise and delight.
“That was fucking incredible.” He grinned. Heather could only nod. Her brain was too scrambled to find the words to tell him that “fucking incredible” didn’t begin to cover it, that she couldn’t remember ever coming so hard, that if ballet didn’t work out, he should open some kind of school and teach workshops on what he’d just done to her.
When her words returned, she didn’t say any of that. What she said was “Thank you.”
He tipped his head to the side, looking vaguely perplexed.
“Thank you?” he repeated.
“I, uh, yes?” she said slowly. “Thank you for doing that.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “This again?”
Her delirium had well and truly evaporated now. “What do you mean?” she asked, scooting up the bed and away from him.
Marcus sighed and slowly stood, testing his weight on his left ankle.
“Heather,” he said, his tone firm but kind, “you don’t have to thank me for doing something I’ve wanted to do since the first day I met you. It wasn’t some kind of favor to you. I mean, it wasn’t only for you. You don’t have to thank me for doing something that turned me on so much I might actually die of blood restriction if I don’t get out of these jeans.”
Her cheeks burned, and she wanted to avert her eyes, but Marcus started undoing his fly and she couldn’t look away. He unzippedhis pants and slid them down his legs, revealing gray boxer briefs that had ridden up high on his thighs for an unobstructed view of his glorious legs, all muscle and sinew and light brown hair on olive skin. A moment later, his jeans fell to the ground, and he stepped out of them, kicking them across the floor, visibly relieved.
She felt as if she owed him an explanation, and she opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. Marcus wasn’t Jack, and she wasn’t about to let the memory of her ex ruin this for her. So she said nothing.
Instead, Heather met his gaze, crossed her arms over her body, and pulled her bra over her head, tossing it somewhere in the general direction of his jeans. Marcus gritted his teeth and stared at her, eyes dark with concentration and lust, and she let her gaze slide down his body, over his lean, sculpted torso to his briefs, which bulged so insistently it made her mouth water.
And then his phone rang.
Chapter 12
Marcus was going to die.
He was going to die right here in Heather’s bedroom at the tender age of thirty-one, naked except for his boxers, and the paramedics wouldn’t be able to zip the body bag over his crotch.Here lies Marcus, dead of sexual frustration and blood loss to the brain. Rest in Penis.
“This better be a fucking emergency,” he growled into the phone. Heather lay on the bed, naked and waiting, desire clear on her flushed face, and Marcus decided that if he didn’t die, if he somehow survived this ordeal, he was going to kill his brother instead.
“It is a fucking emergency,” Davo shot back. “Mum’s at the hospital. She’s fallen and hurt herself in the house, apparently there was a lot of blood. I’m on my way now.”
The arousal drained out of Marcus faster than he’d imagined possible. He turned towards the bedroom door, seized by a sudden urge to run, coupled with a completely contradictory urge to crawl back into bed and hide. Heather sat up. Moments ago, she’d beenloose and relaxed, but now there was new tension in her body that matched his own.
“Marcus, did you hear me?” Davo had him on speakerphone and was half shouting in the car.
“Yeah, shit, yeah, sorry, I heard you. How...how bad is it?” He pushed away the image of his father, half-conscious in his hospital bed, weak and ghostly pale under the fluorescent lights.
“I don’t know, just get there as fast as you can. You’re closer than I am.”
“Okay.” Marcus nodded, but his neck felt strangely disconnected from his head, like his skull wobbled in midair. “Fast as I can.”
