Page 25 of Mark & Don't Tell

Yes.

*eye roll emoji* It’s fine. Mom has a new boyfriend.

Marco is only fourteen. He never got to know the good version of our mom. All he’s ever known is the one who breaks hearts and takes whatever she can get her grubby hands on. His father is out of the picture—hell, knowing Mom, the guy might not even know Marco exists.

While Mom was out doing whatever it is that she does on the days I stayed with her—gambling, drinking, or worse—I was the one taking care of Marco.

I give it two days.

Marco sends a gif of a lizard laughing.

I hate it here.

My chest clenching, I frown, hating that I’m not in a better position to help. I don’t even have enough money to take care of myself, let alone a fourteen-year-old awakening omega. Marco is in the thick of puberty, and he needs his own space. My one-bedroom apartment can’t offer him that.

I know. Want to watch a movie next Friday?

I’d go over tomorrow, but I need to work on my pitch for Good Vibes before the meeting on Monday.

My pick.

As long as it’s not that weird alien one again.

Dammit. How did you know?

Smiling at my phone, I tuck it away. Vic moves his leg, and his thigh presses into mine. Lifting my gaze, I try to pretend like he’s simply one of Letti’s brothers and finally acknowledge him, but it’s impossible to look at him without remembering the way his fingers teased my clit or the way he called me little doe.

Or the way his collar fit so perfectly around my neck.

His lips quirk, almost as though he’s remembering the exact same thing. Lifting one eyebrow, he drops his gaze to my throat, and I swear the bastard smirks even harder, knowing he’s the reason I had to wear the turtleneck tank top. His leg presses against mine even harder.

“How’s work, sweetie?” Brock asks.

I suck in a breath, welcoming the distraction, and turn away from the devil at my side. “It’s good,” I admit to my dad. “My boss is great and I’m really happy.”

“Daria is working at Moon & Rock, doing marketing. She’s so smart,” Letti praises.

“And what do you guys do?” I look at Carlos, avoiding Vic, whose hand falls onto his thigh under the table. His fingers graze against my jeans, and heat swoops through me. I school my features, refusing to show him how he’s affecting me.

“Alejandro and I work in IT, and Vic is a tattoo artist.”

“The best in the world,” Letti adds, beaming at her brother.

He moves his hand onto my leg, and I stiffen. “No, just the best on the East Coast.” His palm smooths over my thigh before squeezing it. The movements are so small, there’s nothing to indicate his inappropriate behavior to the rest of the table.

“He’s really good,” Letti says to me, eyes sparkling.

I grin at her, dying a little on the inside as his pinky brushes over my pussy through my jeans. “I bet he’s amazing,” I say, voice a little lower than normal, but no one notices.

He squeezes the top of my thigh again. Good girl, I practically hear him whisper into my ear, breath hot against my skin as he—no. Fuck. I can’t fantasize about him.

“My pack is going to London in the fall,” Carlos says.

I exhale when everyone turns their attention to him, acutely aware of the pressure on my thigh. My heart hammers against my rib cage.

“What are you going to do there?” Letti asks.

Vic strokes his thumb over my thigh, and I press my legs together, stopping the torture. He glances at me, eyes narrowing in challenge. Yeah. Vic doesn’t like to be told what to do. He definitely doesn’t like me trying to prevent him from touching me. Pushing against my thighs with his fingers, he nudges my legs apart and splays his palm over my thigh in a possessive claim as the conversation continues. He holds on to me like that, thumb circling the inside of my leg every once in a while, until dinner ends.

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