Page 39 of Pulling Heartstrings

When I hear the heavy thud of footsteps coming toward me, I stop pacing. There’s no way he’s found me, but Marcus can be determined when he’s in pursuit of something he wants. To be safe, I slide to the end of the stacks and press my back to it.

I tilt my head, trying to listen, but there’s only silence. Disappointment starts to hit me, which is insane because I don’t want him to find me.

Then I gasp because he’s suddenly there, filling up all the space in front of me. I’m pinned to the end of the bookshelf, and somehow I’ve cornered myself.

“You ran from me.”

“I didn’t run.” I push my glasses up my nose. “I walked quickly.” Marcus tilts his head before shaking it. “I’m doing research.”

His hands come up on either side of the shelves, and I’m truly caged in. “You’re not going anywhere, teapot.” Marcus dips his head, and then I feel his mouth at my neck. He kisses me there before I feel his teeth nip at me. “I wasn’t done with you.”

“That’s part of the problem.” I whisper the words because now that he’s here, all my thoughts are getting jumbled.

“Tell me,” he demands, and I bite my bottom lip. It might be better when he’s pushing my buttons so I’m not so vulnerable. “I can’t fix it unless you do.”

“Do you really think I’ve been cruel?” I recall what he'd said in our office earlier. “That I am now?”

He hadn’t outright said I was, but it was kind of implied. He said I kept him on edge for months, and his need matched mine. The way I felt when he had his mouth between my thighs was torture and pleasure mixed together. I can't believe I could have done that to him. Not me. I’m not a vixen. I glance down between us and notice the hard outline of his cock in his slacks. I want to reach out and touch it or at least rub myself against him.

“I don’t think you do it on purpose. I also don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

“I’m not like the other girls—women,” I quickly correct it. “I’m not fancy or...” I wet my bottom lip as I look into his eyes. “Experienced.”

A soft smile pulls at his lips. “You’re not.” I have to look away from him, but Marcus grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re different from everyone else, Bronte. I know who you are, and I know what I want. That sweet innocence you have is always at the surface, teapot. Even when you’re going off for me. I want it.” Marcus brushes his mouth against mine. “It’s mine to have.” He presses his lips to mine in a soft kiss. “To protect.” He kisses me again. “To love.”

“Marcus.” I breathe out his name. Did he really say love? And how did that turn me on as much as everything else he’s done? “I don’t want to be cruel.” His hand drops to my hip, pulling me into him. That’s when I feel his hard cock press into my stomach.

“Then stop running. You know, for a smart woman, you’re really not figuring this out as quickly as I would like.” Marcus lifts me, and I wrap my legs around him like it’s the most natural thing.

“What does that mean?”

“You think I moved here randomly, teapot? I packed up my entire life and relocated to a small town I’d never heard of. To be with you.”

I search his face and see the truth in his eyes. I never thought about it that way, but it sounds too romantic and crazy to believe.

“It didn’t seem real.”

“I promise you, Bronte, I’m very real.” He grinds his cock into me, and I grip his shoulders.

“You know, I used to fantasize about you,” I say, my confession breathy. “Right here in this room. I read about you and your cases, and I would have fantasies.”

“What kind?” The way he looks at me sends a hot shiver down my back.

“Dirty ones,” I whisper. “I’d think about what you could do to me up here, hidden in the books. But then I worried that I was once again letting fantasies get away from me.”

A wicked smile spreads across Marcus’s face.

“Well, teapot. I can’t think of a better way to prove to you exactly what you mean to me.”

Chapter Eight

MARCUS

“Do you remember the first time you walked into my office?” My hand releases her hip as I go for the buttons on the front of her dress. Her legs squeeze around my waist, but I’ve got her pinned to the wall. She’s not going anywhere.

“Yes.” Her breath catches when I yank open the front of her dress and then roughly pull down the cups of her bra.

“You were wearing that damned sweater. The one that had the baby bunny on it holding a knife. It said Not Guilty in red jewels.”

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