Page 74 of Knuckles & Knives
“Beautiful,” he says reverently, his hands cupping my breasts with gentle precision. “I’ve imagined this so many times, but reality is so much better.”
When he takes one peaked nipple into his mouth, I cry out, my hands fisting in his dark hair. He works me with that same focused attention, alternating between gentle suction and the scrape of teeth until I’m writhing against him.
“Marcus, please,” I gasp.
“Please what?” He lifts his head, dark eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me exactly what you want, Raven. Use that brilliant mind to describe it.”
The demand sends another wave of heat through me. Even in passion, Marcus wants precision, wants me to articulate my desires like we’re planning a strategic operation.
“I want you to touch me,” I whisper, my cheeks burning. “I want to feel your hands on every inch of my skin.”
“Where?” His fingers trace maddening patterns on my ribcage. “Be specific.”
“Everywhere,” I breathe. “But especially… here.” I guide his hand lower, to where I need him most.
His fingers find the waistband of my pants, and he pauses, looking into my eyes. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” I reach for his belt, my fingers working at the leather with trembling urgency. “I need you, Marcus. All of you.”
What follows is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Marcus undresses me with the same methodical care he brings to everything else, his hands and mouth mapping every inch of exposed skin. When he lifts me easily to sit on the edge of his desk, scattering papers and cables, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer.
“I need you to know,” he says, his voice rough with want as he settles between my thighs, “this isn’t just physical for me. What I feel for you… it’s everything. Admiration, desire, protectiveness, love… all of it tangled together into something I’ve never experienced before.”
“Love?” The word comes out breathy.
“Love,” he confirms without hesitation, his hands skimming up my thighs with deliberate slowness. “Complicated, dangerous, probably inadvisable love but real nonetheless.”
His fingers find the edge of my panties, and I gasp at the contact. The last barrier between us disappears, and Marcustakes a moment to simply look at me, his dark eyes drinking in every detail.
“You’re trembling,” he observes.
“You make me nervous,” I admit.
“Good.” His smile is predatory as he drops to his knees between my legs. “I want you off-balance. I want you to feel exactly how much power you have over me.”
The first touch of his mouth has me crying out, my hands fisting in his hair. He works me with focused intensity, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me writhe, cataloguing every response with that analytical mind.
“You taste incredible,” he murmurs against my heated skin. “Better than I imagined during all those nights I thought about you.”
The confession makes me clench around nothing, desperate for more. “Marcus, please…”
“Please what?” His tongue flicks against my clit with surgical precision. “Be specific.”
“I need you inside me,” I gasp. “Need to feel you when I come apart.”
He stands, his hands already working at his remaining clothes. When he frees himself, I can’t help but stare. Marcus is impressive in every way, and the knowledge that I did this to him, that I made this controlled man desperate with need, is intoxicating.
“See what you do to me?” he asks, stroking himself slowly. “I’ve been hard since the moment you kissed me.”
I reach for him, and when my hand wraps around his length, he groans deeply. “I love seeing you lose control,” I murmur.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he says roughly, positioning himself at my entrance. “Look at me, Raven. I want to see your face when I make love to you.”
When he pushes inside, slow and deep, I can’t hold back the cry that escapes me. He’s overwhelming, filling me completely, and the possession in his dark eyes makes me clench around him.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, his control visibly fraying.
He starts to move, each thrust deliberate and powerful. One hand grips my hip while the other finds my clit, circling with that methodical precision that’s driving me wild.
