The second Marcus carried me into the bathroom, I knew there was no stopping this.
Steam curled around us, the shower already running, the room thick with heat—not just from the water, but from the raw, burning hunger radiating between us.
My legs were still wrapped around his waist as he backed me against the cool tile wall, his grip firm, possessive, desperate.
His lips found mine again, bruising, consuming, leaving no space for hesitation. His tongue pushed past my lips, deepening the kiss as he groaned into my mouth, his body pressing against me, pinning me beneath his weight.
“Fucking hell, Betty,” he rasped against my lips, voice hoarse, eyes dark with pure, unchecked need. “Do you have any idea how desperate I am for you?”
His words sent a sharp pulse of wet heat straight between my legs.
His hands roamed my body, rough and impatient, fingers trailing down my wet skin, gripping my thighs as he spread me wider against the wall.
"I feel like losing my fucking mind," he growled, his mouth moving down my neck, sucking, biting, leaving his mark. "I can’t think when I’m around you. I don’t want to think.”
I gasped as his lips trailed lower, his breath hot against my damp skin. The feeling of his mouth on me, mixed with the scalding water cascading down our bodies, sent shivers through me despite the heat.
“Marcus—”
“Shh,” he murmured against my collarbone, his tongue flicking over a sensitive spot that had me arching against him. “Just let me make you feel good.”
His hands slid up, fingers kneading my breasts, teasing my hardened nipples. He pinched them lightly, making me whimper, then soothed the sting with his mouth, sucking one into his heat before moving to the other.
“You like that, baby?” he muttered, voice thick with lust. “Like when I play with these perfect tits?”
I barely managed a nod, too lost in the sensations crashing over me.
He smirked against my skin, satisfied. “Good girl.”
I barely had time to respond before he grabbed my thigh, lifting it high around his waist. His fingers slid over my heated flesh, teasing, exploring, pushing me to the point of madness.
“Shit,” he groaned, dragging his fingers through my slick folds. “You’re so wet for me. I could slide right in, couldn’t I?”
I whimpered as he teased my entrance, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around my clit, making my thighs tremble against his sides.
“Tell me you missed me,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.
I gasped as his hand dipped lower, his fingers teasing the spot where I needed him most.
“Marcus—”
He didn’t let me finish. “Tell me,” he demanded, sliding one thick finger inside me, slow but deep, making my head drop back against the tile with a strangled moan.
“I missed you,” I admitted breathlessly, gripping his biceps for support as he started to move his hand, his touch both gentle and devastating.
His lips curled into a dark smirk. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I choked out. “Yes, I freaking missed you.”
“Bet that best friend of yours can’t make you sound like this.” His voice was dark, edged with something primal. Jealousy. Possessiveness.
“No,” I gasped. “Only you.”
Before I could say anything else, he added a second finger, pumping them inside me, his thumb circling my clit in a way that had my body tightening, my stomach coiling with pleasure.
I moaned, my nails digging into his wet skin. “Marcus—”
“Fuck, I love how you sound when you moan my name,” he rasped, curling his fingers just right, making me cry out.
I was unraveling, falling apart under his touch, drowning in the way he touched me, the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing that mattered.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, just as the pleasure was cresting into something overwhelming—he pulled away.
I let out a breathless whimper, eyes snapping open to glare at him, but he only grinned, gripping my thighs tighter.
“Not yet,” he whispered darkly. “Not until I’m inside you.”
Then, without warning, he lifted me higher, angling me perfectly as he lined himself up against my entrance.
“Look at me, Betty,” he commanded, his voice low, filled with unrelenting need.
I met his gaze, and for a second, everything else faded away.
Then—he thrust into me.
A strangled moan ripped from my throat as he filled me, stretching me completely, his cock sinking deep in one slow, agonizing stroke.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against mine. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Always so tight for me.”
I clung to him, my breath coming in short, shaky gasps. The feeling of him, thick and hard inside me, was almost too much, too overwhelming.
He held still for a moment, giving me time to adjust, his grip on my ass tightening as he fought for control.
Then—he started moving.
Slow at first, rolling his hips, dragging himself almost all the way out before slamming back in, making my back arch, making my nails rake down his spine.
“Marcus,” I gasped, the pleasure sharp, intense, consuming.
“That’s right, baby,” he growled, gripping my hips, driving into me harder, deeper. “Take it. Take all of me.”
I moaned, my body writhing against his, water spilling over our skin, the heat of the shower mixing with the unbearable heat between us.
“You like that?” he taunted, his voice wrecked. “Like being fucked against the wall?”
I couldn’t even form words. I just nodded, my head falling back, giving him full access to my throat.
He didn’t hesitate. He bit down, sucking, marking me as his, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic.
“You’re mine, Betty,” he growled against my skin, his breath ragged. “Fucking mine.”
My body clenched around him, the coil in my stomach tightening, spiraling out of control.
I was so close. So freaking close.
“Come for me,” Marcus ordered, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing tight, relentless circles. “Come on my cock, baby.”
His words sent me over the edge.
I shattered, my orgasm crashing over me, my body tightening, shaking, pleasure blinding as I screamed his name.
Marcus groaned, his thrusts turning frantic, desperate, as he chased his own release.
“Fuck—” His grip on me tightened, his body tensed—then he buried himself deep one last time, his release hitting, his head dropping to my shoulder as he groaned through clenched teeth.
We stayed like that, tangled together, our chests heaving, the water still cascading over us. Clinging to each other, our bodies shaking, our breaths mingling in the humid air.
Eventually, he eased out of me, setting me back down on shaky legs. He kept his hands on my waist, steadying me, his touch unexpectedly gentle now.
For a moment, there was only silence. Only the sound of the water streaming down over us, washing away the evidence of what had just happened.
After what felt like forever, Marcus finally pulled back, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable.
Then he spoke, his voice rough but quieter now. “Stay.”
I looked up at him, searching his face.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek. “I don’t… I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Something in his expression—something raw, unguarded—made my chest tighten.
He looked… tired. Not just physically, but something deeper. Like he was carrying something heavy. Something he didn’t know how to put down.
“Marcus,” I reached up, cupping his face. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting my gaze again.
“My parents… are divorcing. My dad’s cutting my mom off, leaving her with nothing. And me? He doesn’t even care. It’s like I don’t exist to him anymore.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew things had been tense with his father, but I never realized it had gotten to this point.
I leaned into, placing my forehead against his. He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes as if grounding himself.
“They’ve been fighting for years. I guess I just thought…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I insisted, tightening my grip on him. “It matters to you.”
“Yeah?” A humorless laugh left his lips. “Well, I’m not supposed to care. I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”
I frowned. “Says who?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “My father. Myself. Everyone.”
I stared at him, my heart aching.
“Marcus,” I said softly, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to him. Not to your team. Not even to me. Not to anyone.”
His hands flexed against my hips. “I don’t like feeling weak, Betty.”
“You’re not weak.” I pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You’re simply a human.”
He let out a slow breath, his grip on me tightening before he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
I held him back just as tightly, feeling—maybe for the first time—that he was really letting me in.
Letting me finally see him.