Page 50 of This Thing of Ours

His lips trailed across her jaw, down her neck, and over to her bare shoulder where they stopped, his tongue emerging, licking a line back and forth.

“Fuck. I’ve been fantasizing about this spot all night. Teasing me. Making my dick so fucking hard, it was painful.” His teeth bit down, capturing some of the flesh that’d been torturing him, almost to the point of pain as if he were punishing it for the agony it’d caused him.

She panted, her legs squeezing him tighter, drawing him impossibly closer.

“What about the three-date rule?” Her question came out breathy as she sucked in some badly needed oxygen.

“Fuck the three-date rule.”

She had no problem with that.

One of his hands moved from her hair, finding the zipper at her back. She felt dexterous fingers at work, sliding it down, peeling the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders. He attacked her bra next until her breasts were free from all restraints.

He took a moment to stare down at them, looking his fill. She felt heat crawl up her chest, scorching her cheeks.

“So fucking beautiful,” he said, lightly circling the tip of his finger over her nipple until it responded, puckering and growing tight.

His finger stilled on the swell of her breast right above the nipple. “What is that?”

The question—seeming to come out of nowhere—threw her, and she looked down at her chest. He stepped from between her legs, flipping the switch on the wall, turning on the overhead light. She squinted at the sudden brightness. He was back between her legs, hovering over her before they fully adjusted.

His finger was back on her breast, feathering a light touch across it. “Who did this?”

She could understand why he would ask who. Though half the scab was gone, the whitish-pink marks of newly healing skin were not, leaving it very clear the injury had been a bite mark.

She got up on her elbows, looking down at her chest—though she knew what she would see—buying time to think of an answer that wouldn’t make him lose his shit.

Big surprise, nothing came to her.

He moved his head in closer, his finger moving to the underside of her nipple, noticing more of the marks there. He stared silently, for an endless minute, before his blazing eyes landed on her. “I asked, who the fuck did this?”

She knew he wasn’t angry with her, but his expression and tone had her flinching just the same. He noticed—of course, he did—and his eyes gentled a fraction.

His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb skimming her lower lip. His voice was softer but still had a sharp edge when he asked, “What happened?”

She ducked her head against his probing stare, a sense of mortification filling her. Logically, she knew she had nothing to be embarrassed about, but try telling that to her brain. She gathered the loose bodice of her dress and held it up, covering herself so she wouldn’t feel so exposed.

Finally, she answered, “It, um, happened when I was taken.”

“What happened? You said they didn’t touch you. You said you were okay.”

His voice kept growing louder. Reaching out, she touched his shoulder, hoping to calm him down. “I am okay. Nothing happened.” At his glare, she amended, “Or, at least, not what you’re thinking.”

“Who did it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know any of them except for…” She trailed off, not wanting to say his name and bring up an even touchier subject.

“Derek?” Marco snarled. “So, it wasn’t him?”

Gabby shook her head again. “No. In fact, he was the one who stopped the other guy from… well, you know.”

Marco pushed away from the breakfast bar and stalked into the living room. Gabby jumped from the counter and quickly followed, tightly clutching her dress to keep it from falling.

She saw him pluck his keys from the coffee table and his jacket from the back of the couch. “You’re leaving?”

He didn’t answer her question, instead saying, “Be sure to keep the door locked and don’t answer it for any reason.”

She tried to detain him, reaching to grab his arm, but he was already walking away. “Where are you going?”

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