Page 80 of Fool's Gold

“No, not drunk,” he murmurs. “Broken.”

I jerk back at the word, shock helping to lift the fog. “It’s not your business anymore.”

He says nothing as his lips form a harsh line. He doesn’t try to remove my hand, either. We’re frozen in place, in time, unable to pull free from each other.

What is it going to take to get over this man? To sever the cords between us once and for all?

Do I even want them severed for good?

No. I swallow over a sob before it’s given airtime. I don’t want things to be done. I want them to begin, in earnest. No matter the differences between us. It’s the only thing I desire, and it’s the furthest thing from my reality.

“Empire, please.” His voice is a low growl, and I’ve got no clue what he’s asking me for.

If it’s space, then I’m not able to give him what he wants.

If someone asked, I wouldn’t be able to tell them when things shifted or what exactly changed. I only know in the next moment, Marcus loses the plot entirely. He grabs me and whirls me around, pressing me against the wall, his lips hot on the side of my neck.

Maybe I’m the one who moves first to take him by the base of the neck and keep him pressed to me. I’m surely the one who presses my opposite hand to his cock, feeling the way it hardens against my palm.

He touches my ass, palms it, gives it a slap that sends the beads and pearls of the gown clinking together. This is the same harried, no-holds-barred, need-based coming together as the office with a different tone. The same kind of song but in a minor chord.

Marcus lifts me, caging me between his strong chest and the wall. His stubble scrapes against my face, and I gasp, wrapping my legs around his torso.

Kissing him is the best feeling in the world. He rocks his pelvis against me, and my body starts to shake and tremble, every inch of skin erupting in fire. My pussy clenches in preparation for what I think, I hope, is going to happen.

We’re fumbling for each other as I go for the zipper of his trousers and he pushes my skirt up to my waist.

There’s no talking. Both of us have lost the capability through kisses and heat.

His fingers probe my pussy, checking for wetness and shoving my panties aside. In the next breath, he pushes his cock inside me.

A low moan scrapes my throat as he pulls out again, leaving only the tip buried inside before thrusting to the hilt and leaving me no choice. I can hold on and feel, or I can cry.

He thrusts harder and faster.

I break our kisses only to press the side of my face to his. I don’t want him to see the way I’m fighting back tears. Getting upset over this last time—I feel it in my bones—like somehow things will be better once we come.

Marcus keeps a tight hold on me, his fingers brushing against my tit only once before he buries his face against my shoulder and picks up the pace.

Fucking against the wall in partially undone formal wear.

The arch of his pelvis grinds against my clit in the most delicious way, an edge of pain making the pleasure sharper. He pulls out long enough to turn to the massive circular table in the foyer and set me on the edge. I catch a glimpse of his cock drenched in my wetness before he slides back inside.

I keep my legs wrapped around his waist.

From this angle, he feels even larger than normal with just the right tilt upward. The table is sturdy enough not to rock beneath my weight as he slams into me.

The soft hairs on my arms lift, the fire inside me burning brighter with every punishing thrust.

I tense beneath him, and Marcus groans, but not my name. Names have no place here. Only his electric touch and the voiceless plea to hurry. To go as fast as we can because we’re out of time.

He grinds his hips against my clit, and the last thrust pushes me over the edge that’s been teasing me. I pull him tighter into me and shudder through the orgasm.

One final groan and his cock twitches, spasming, working him through his orgasm as well.

Neither one of us looks at the other when he finally pulls out. There are no more passionate kisses, like he’s gotten this out of his system, only pressed to this point because he denied himself for too long.

When Marcus draws away from me to replace his cock in his boxers and straighten his jacket, I lie on the table for a long moment. Part of me wonders, through the haze of lust, if I should ask for a moment to clean up and if he’ll set his timer again.

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