Page 11 of Marked

Chapter 6

Riley

Fuck.

How could I mess this up?

My infuriation with myself screams louder than the sting of humiliation that followed his sudden withdrawal. I lurched up into a seated position when he reached for the door knob. The torrent of disappointment raced down my spine like ice water. I haven’t moved since. I am still sitting on the bed, frozen in the same position as when he left, my eyes fixated on the closed door.

I can still feel his possessive touch between my legs. The agitation he caused me is still throbbing between my legs, my heart racing, yearning and hoping for him to return.

I lost control. I was so preoccupied with doing the right thing, the smart thing, hoping to please him without coming across as too eager, that I failed to account for another factor, the one that could endanger this whole plan of mine: the effect he has on me.

This act wasn’t supposed to be about pleasure in the first place. It was about manipulating him, about becoming someone who he cares about.

How can I get close to him without losing myself in the illusion? It’s scary how I lose control when it comes to him. My brain is a well-greased machine, a system that consistently delivers good results when presented with a challenging task. But Cain’s presence acts like a bug or virus on my hard drive. His very presence blocks all communication, blows up the computer chips, and redirects any abilities I have into blurry nothingness.

I’m pretty sure he’s gone for the night and expects me to sleep. And while I feel the weight of weariness drawing me down into the mattress, I don’t fall asleep easily. I sink down into the soft sheets, closing my eyes with a deep sigh, trying to ignore the craving that is still throbbing between my legs. I turn to the side, curling up in a semi-fetal position, not even realizing that my hand slides intuitively down to my hungry center, squeezing itself between my thighs when I reach my wet center.

The shame glowing on my cheeks now bears no logic, as there’s no one watching me. It’s just me—me and my forbidden thoughts trailing back to the man who rejected me the one time I asked for him to stay. I still don’t know why he walked away. It could be because I lost myself when I shouldn’t have. It could be because I was too eager, maybe even because my behavior made him suspicious.

Or it could simply be part of his game. He wanted to deliver a punishment that is harder to bear than a blazing spanking.

Maybe this is what he wanted all along—me, all alone, thinking of him while I touch myself?

Maybe I didn’t mess this up. Maybe I’m simply being punished because I couldn’t open my goddamn mouth with a response when he asked me what I wanted from him.

A punishment that must hurt him as much as it hurts me. I could see his hardened length stretching against the fabric of his pants when he got up from the bed. Fuck, I could feel it pressing against my belly every time he leaned over to kiss me or hiss hot commands at me.

I could feel him, and it only worsened my predicament. I found myself yearning to feel him buried inside me, my core muscles contracting around nothing as I longed for him to stretch me with his thick, steely length.

Heat spreads through my entire body, my center glowing as much as my cheeks, my ears, my limbs—and even the tips of my fingers, as I begin moving them in repetitive circles around my sensitive clit. I jerk and my lashes flutter uncontrollably each time I meet the magic spot that makes my heart jump. My own wetness puts me to shame as much as it kindles the unquenched arousal he left raging inside me.

He wants me to do this.

I’m a good girl for him.

He would be proud and excited if he could see me now.

These thoughts are just speculation, but they fuel my lust and make my heart race almost as much as if it were his touch.

His touch that I miss so much right now. His touch that I shouldn’t yearn for.

His attention is the only thing I have right now—the good and the bad. It’s what got me in this awful position in the first place, but it’s also the only solace to help me get through this ordeal.

I cut my stream of thoughts and redirect my focus to the state he left me in, the unanswered call for release. I clamp my eyes shut as I fight to commit my focus where I need it. With him. With me. With imagining the things he would do to me if he hadn’t decided to let me suffer here all alone like this. He could be fucking me right now, his thick cock stuffing me like no other cock has before, and I could hear his dark voice uttering delicious promises and intimidating commands in my ear. I could feel his hot breath dancing across my skin, his skilled fingers digging painfully into my flesh, maybe even leaving colorful marks on my ass as he spanks and fucks me into oblivion. He would adjust his pace, alternating between the rapid, vicious shoves that serve his needs and the rhythmic, steady thrusts that follow my heart’s desire.

Cain is a ruthless man, in and out of the bedroom. He’s not the kind of man I would ever describe as ‘nice’, and that’s exactly why he kindles a fire in me that I didn’t know was possible.

Tonight was supposed to be about executing my plan, my gain—yet, all I can think of now is the profound sound of his voice when his mood turns sinister and craving surpasses the impatient hunger of my own lust. Imagining it is all I need. I guide myself back to concentrate on that sound, the feeling of his warm, demanding touch, the way his hand closed around my throat while he pleasured me with his other hand.

There it is.

The crests are shallow at first, but once my climax fully awakens, it consumes me with a brute force that is rare to say the least. I welcome it, moaning loudly as my orgasm unfolds with a surprising surge of satisfaction. It’s a peak he denied me, which he denied us, but that I try to imagine we both wanted.

Yet, as satisfying as the orgasm is racing through me, even in the midst of the highest waves of bliss, I feel agony. Something is missing to make the moment perfect, to make it complete.

That something is him.

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