Page 7 of Fool's Gold

Like the contract and those press stories don’t even matter anymore. Like his betrayals and semi-responsibility for my parents dying doesn’t matter either.

“I promised to keep you safe no matter what. Do you remember? There is nothing I won’t do in order to protect you, Empire. So, you have to listen to me.” His voice drops a pitch and smoothes over my skin like velvet. “Please?”

That last word does me in.

He looks nearly as overcome as I feel. His grip on my chin gentles into a caress, and he brings his palm flat against my cheek. His fingertips trail pure fire along my face, down the line of my neck.

I’m a shivering mess beneath him. My stomach rolls in an entirely new way, my skin prickling with awareness and my breath quickening.

“I am sorry. For everything. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” His whispered apologies are as potent as his physical touch.

“Stop it.”

He takes a step forward and arches his hips enough for me to feel his dick, already hard in his pants. “I’ll never stop, baby girl. You’re in this mess because of me. It’s up to me to make it right. I’m going to take care of you,” he continues. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

What kind of a fool am I for wanting to believe him?

I want to trust that Marcus knows what he’s doing and that he really does want to protect me. How easy it would be to lean into him, but instead, I shake my head, lifting my hands between us, prepped to push him away. “I can’t do this.”

Even through the empty protest, I’m leaning in for him to kiss me.

Please.

He glances down at my mouth, his tongue darting out to slick his lips like he can already taste me. The hand on my cheek shifts to the back of my neck. It’s a comforting weight but also a hook keeping us tied together, keeping me in place when a part of me is still poised to run.

I came here to get away from him. From myself. To put distance between my feelings and the reality of the situation because outside this house is a world where I’m not wanted.

Inside the house, Marcus is staring at me like I’m the answer to every question in the world. Like I’m the be-all and end-all. Like I’ve been fashioned exactly for him, and no one has ever looked at me the way he does.

“You sure you want me to stop?”

His whispered question lights the match and sets us on fire.

He finally closes the distance between us and fastens his mouth to mine. His familiar touch sends a zap of electricity through my body all the way down to my toes. They curl against the floor as we lunge for each other, desperate, hungry. Two animals who crave the taste of the other and know they will never be able to get enough.

The kiss is hard and brutal and everything I need.

His lips are punishing, and his stubble burns along my chin and upper lip. He grabs my hips and hoists me onto the countertop before shoving my knees open wide and stepping in between my legs.

Marcus is very good at one thing, and he’s never disappointed—he has the singular ability to take control. He’s overpowering in the best way, and the longer he kisses me, the more frantic I am for him.

To be absolutely filled.

He hauls me to the edge of the counter, and I wrap my legs around him automatically. The movement brings his erection against the pressing heat of my core, a small whimper escaping me. He shifts to change the angle of the kiss, swiping this tongue inside my mouth as I grind against him, pressing ever closer until I’m not sure where I end and he begins.

I gasp, and he breaks the kiss to nip my lower lip, the base of my neck, and I drop my head backward.

“Fuck, Empire.”

The way he says my name is a plea and a prayer.

Marcus drags his teeth over my collarbone, and goose bumps erupt everywhere. His hand skims from my hip up to my torso and ribs, higher to the swell of my breast. I stop breathing when he squeezes the globe, his thumb brushing my already hard nipple.

I’m panting for him, my lips throbbing and the rest of me tight and hot and dripping.

He buries his head in the crook of my neck and drags down my shirt to touch my breast.

The piercing shrill of his ringing phone ruins the moment.

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