Page 19 of All That Glitters

I want him to touch me, more than he already is, to shuck the script aside and go for it. Except this is Marcus we’re talking about. Marcus, my guardian, who has never once looked at me with desire in his eyes.

“Tell me to move,” I repeat.

His grip tightens as he slides his hands to my hips, up the side of my torso to tickle my ribs, then lower, until he drags his hand along my thigh. Back up again in a slow and idle stroke. I want to touch him too, to feel him, but I’m about to catch fire.

“You know I’m not going to do that,” he replies.

His breathing is just as uneven as mine when he tugs me closer, our bodies like two pieces of the same puzzle, his heat and scent seeping beneath my skin.

I tilt my head to the side, staring at his face.

The feral look in his eyes has me blushing.

Empire blushes, I think distantly, not Alicia.

Marcus shifts his hips to increase the pressure between us.

Fuck the script. I don’t care about the movie anymore.

Not when I’ve been numb inside, dazed and cold and lonely for so long. Every piece of me leans into the contact and cries out for it. Just to be touched. To feel some kind of joy and life.

“Then what are you going to do?” I slide my hand to his chest in case I need to physically shove myself back and stop this before it goes the way I…I want it to go. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to taste you, Mr. Patterson.”

One of his hands lifts to grab the back of my neck and keep me in place.

“Wouldn’t you like someone your own age?” he asks.

My blood starts to boil in the best possible way, and I savor the sensation where our bodies meet, every place we connect. Everything. How do I maneuver to get everything? “Do you want the truth, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

He’s silent long enough to have my heart thudding in anticipation.

“Marcus?”

The sound of his name has him wincing. He pulls back a little, and I lean forward with his movement. We stare at each other, my hands shaking. His hand slides along my upper thigh, his index and middle fingers bending slightly. He’s dangerously close to my aching pussy, and I’ve got on nothing but a small thong that does nothing to conceal how wet he makes me.

Finally, he tosses his script aside, and my pulse quickens. “Fuck this.”

“Fuck what?” I ask in a husky voice that doesn’t sound like me.

I grind against him, shifting to get his hands even further toward my center. There is only the thrill of power at his hardness and the impressive length contained inside his pants.

Marcus lets out a rough laugh. “I’d think it’s obvious.”

I’m not in full control of myself, and I care even less.

Lust rides me harder than it’s ever done before, and the heat crackling between us finally erupts when we lunge for each other at the same time. The inches between us are nothing but fuel to the fire and simmer away in an instant.

It’s a mistake.

A terrible mistake that both of us will regret once this moment passes, but it’s a problem for future me.

Current me latches her mouth to his, hot and insistent and yes. This is exactly what I want: his tongue lapping at mine and the scent of him, lemongrass, undoing every last reservation.

Marcus threads his fingers through my hair to keep me in place, changing the angle of the kiss to go deeper, and I part eagerly for him. His tongue slides between the seam of my lips and teases me with expert caresses that have me fisting his shirt to stay steady. I’m coming apart at the seams.

I’m not supposed to want Marcus, but I do.

I always have.

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