Page 64 of The Butterfly Killer

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Marcus couldn’t do it.

The pressure of his life being at stake couldn’t even make him fold. His stubbornness usually worked in his favor, but this time, no amount of scare tactics could make him drop to his knees—figuratively and literally. As much as he wanted to be free of Roman, he didn’t have the guts to let the man dothatto him.

The awkwardness had settled in far before they stopped dancing. Marcus’s face was aflame as he stepped away. Roman seemed reluctant to let him go, his hands lingering on Marcus’s waist as he moved away from him. The silence was more deafening when Marcus wasn’t trying to pretend they were in a club.

The whole idea had been idiotic. It was just another ploy to get Marcus to trust Roman. He hated to admit that his guard had lowered since they started dancing. Something about it had made him feel safe even if it was a false feeling. He chalked it up to being starved to get out of this cabin and for human touch. It seemed he didn’t care where it came from. As long as he wasn’t alone.

Marcus turned away, quivering hand on his mouth as he tried to rationalize what he was doing. Seduction? Did he really think it would work? Did he think someone as intelligent as Roman would fall for something like that? He was a man without any feelings. He’d play with Marcus before chucking him to the side without a second thought.

He flinched as he heard Roman walking away. He turned around to find the man sitting in the recliner. He gazed lazily at Marcus as if nothing had happened. Of course. This didn’t mean much of anything to him. It was all a game before he got what he wanted from Marcus. Which Marcus still didn’t know.

Roman touched the left side of his chest. He frowned.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

The question was out of Marcus’s mouth before he could think twice. It had been bothering him since the first time Roman had done it—reaching for something that was no longer there and making that face.

Roman pulled his hand away and feigned innocence. “Keep doing what?”

Marcus fully turned and gestured. “You keep reaching for something and when you realize it’s no longer there, you make a face like you smell shit.”

Roman snorted. “I do not.”

Even though he was denying it, he looked away as if Marcus was going to call his bluff again. His eyes searched the books on the shelf meaninglessly.

Marcus swallowed his pride. He took one step and then another. His hand grabbed the arm of the recliner, fingers lightly braced on the worn fabric for a second before he swung his leg over Roman’s lap.

Roman jerked upright. “What are you doing?”

His hand grabbed Marcus’s waist, but unlike it had been when they were dancing, he seemed afraid to touch Marcus.

It was that hesitance that gave Marcus the willpower to fully seat himself on top of Roman. He was extremely uncomfortable. His skin was aflame from head to toe. His heart was beating so fast he was having trouble breathing.

But it all seemed worth it to see the look upon Roman’s face.

Marcus played coy.

“What do you mean?” He mocked Roman’s words back at him, cocking his head. The forced innocence made him feel dirty on the inside, but there was a sick thrill he got by throwing Roman off.

The cocky bastard had been able to derail Marcus’s life without barely lifting a finger. It was only fair that Marcus dish out the same.

Roman pressed his back hard into the recliner. His neck was straining so hard it looked like he was about to pop a vein. He was definitely going to have a kink in it later. His hand clenched Marcus’s waist, attempting to push him off. Marcus was sure he was strong enough to do it. Marcus might have been over two-hundred pounds, but Roman had some height on him—it wouldn’t be a question who’d win in the end.

But as much as Roman probably wanted to throw Marcus off, he looked like he didn’t want to touch Marcus as much as possible. Which completely went against everything that had taken place during their “dance”.

Roman’s left hand clawed at the recliner’s armrest. His nails turned white with how much he gripped it. Marcus glanced down at that clenched hand, then the one on his waist, then at Roman’s flushed face. It wasn’t just flushed—he wassweating. He was reacting like Marcus was about to interrogate him.

Marcus relished in the domination. He would worry about how wrong it was later when he was away from this psycho. For now, he delved deeper into the persona he was creating just for this.

His thighs tightened on Roman’s hips. With a slight upward thrust, he fully seated himself on Roman’s crotch. The little movement drawled a noise from Roman that got stuck in the back of his throat. He tried to disappear further into the chair.

Marcus understood why when he felt the unmistakeable hardness pressed just under his balls.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. If he was being honest, it didn’t. Roman’s offer still lingered in the back of his mind. The way he said it made it obvious it wasn’t a hang up for him. It would be another layer in the game, another box to tick off at the end of the way.

However, the way Roman was practically quivering beneath him told a different story. Maybe when the roles were reversed—Marcus taking the lead—the man lost his confidence. Every killer had an inadequacy they were trying to disprove. It was the foundation for what they based their whole life around.

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