Page 76 of Wicked Ends
Ari cleared her throat, and when she spoke, her voice was throaty and sexy as hell.
“But—correct me if I’m wrong—doesn’t this count as blinking?”
Blinking?Shit. The game.First one to blink. The game of chicken we were playing that I’d lost.
Her words slowly sank through the haze in my head. I pulled out of her on a rush of cum and rolled to the side. Ari turned, leaning up on her elbow. Her face was blotchy and red, her hair was a mess around her head, and she’d never looked more beautiful when her lips curved in a smile.
“I won, didn’t I?”
My little game hadn’t broken her; it had broken me.Fuck.
I picked up her hand and inspected the tattoo on her wrist, rubbing my thumb lightly across the design. I’d been awestruck only a few times in my life, and most of them revolved around hockey. None of them compared to the awe I’d felt standing in that concert hall the other day, listening to Ari play. She was special in a way I had no experience with.
“Yeah, beautiful. You won. You were always going to win.”
I pulled her into my arms, sated and spent and strangely satisfied, despite losing. She might try to deny it, but it was clear as day. She couldn’t stay away from me any more than I could stay away from her.
Maybe she just needed the chance to realize that for herself.
Arianna
When I woke,hours later, I was alone. The bed was still warm, so I didn’t think Marcus had been gone for long. I moved my legs and found my ankle was free.
I pried myself out of bed, sticky and wet from what we’d done earlier.
It had been… I shivered at the memory of Marcus working me through orgasm after orgasm. He was trying to ruin me forever, and I was pretty certain he’d already succeeded. No other man could ever compare. It was impossible.
I grabbed a towel from the back of the door and wandered around the room, taking in the furnishings. There was a huge wrought-iron bed in the middle of the space. There were framed photos on the walls, and Marcus was in most of them. Marcus with his friends, and others with guys from the MC, presumably, judging by the amount of patched leather. Marcus at graduation, with a dangerously handsome man standing at his shoulder. The man beside him was wearing a suit, but he appeared uncomfortable and restrained by the tie and shirt. Tattoos peeked out of his neckline, and he had a heavily inkedhand on Marcus’ shoulder. His brother, Cole, I’d bet, from the family resemblance. Marcus’ handsomeness was athletic and confident, full of that jock arrogance and amusement that always seemed to light up his face. His brother, on the other hand, had an equally handsome face, but forbidding, somehow. Those dark good looks warned the viewer to back the fuck up.
I studied the others. Marcus at practice and winning games was a strong theme. After indulging my need to stare at the gorgeous man who’d locked his sights onto me, I went in search of the shower. This had to be Marcus’ brother’s house. The room I’d woken up in certainly felt like a high school bedroom, with its dated posters and impressive collection of medals from high school hockey games. He’d told me that his brother had taken him out of the group home when he could. Was this the home he’d made to take care of his younger brother? The house was beautiful. Not at all what I’d expect from a tough biker guy like Cole Bailey.
The shower was shockingly good. I relaxed in the hot, strong stream of water, luxuriating in the steam and space. Compared to the dribble that came from the shower at the Night Owl, and the shower curtain there that was impossible to dodge, this was a real treat.
I finished showering and got out, drying off quickly and wrapping my hair up. In Marcus’ room, I looked for my clothes. I looked… and looked. They weren’t there. In fact, there weren’t any clothes in Marcus’ room at all, except for a high school hockey jersey hanging in the wardrobe. All his clothes had to be at the Hellions’ dorm these days, I supposed, pulling on the hockey jersey. It was huge, thankfully, and fell to mid-thigh.
My stomach growled. I tied my wet hair up off my back. I guess I was going downstairs. I couldn’t leave until Marcus came back,and I didn’t know where my clothes were, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t eat something.
I went down the stairs, my bare feet sinking into the dark-red stair runner, and reached the sitting room. It was a light, lofty design, with a big fire roaring at the end. Fireplaces were a cozy luxury I hadn’t had much experience with growing up in California. I ventured closer and held my hands out to the heat, basking in the warmth.
“My, my, Marcus has a guest,” a deep voice said.
I spun toward the sound. Someone lounged in the doorway that led out of the sitting room into the kitchen.
He wasn’t the man from the photos upstairs, but he was no less intimidating.
“And who might you be?” he continued, giving me a long, sweeping look up and down.
I wished I were wearing a lot more than a hockey jersey.
I stared at him, not sure what to say. I was Marcus’ friend? Teacher?Shit.
“Cat got your tongue?” the guy continued and glanced over his shoulder. “Maddox, we’ve got a quiet little church mouse here. Come and make her feel at ease so she’ll tell us who the fuck she is.”
Another guy appeared, this one even bigger. His face was creased in a frown, and he took me in. He stepped past the other man and sat on the couch.
“She’s Anna Moore, and she’s Marcus’,” a new voice joined the one-sided conversation. Cole Bailey entered the room.
The energy shifted. While the other two guys were terrifying, there was no doubt that this guy was the boss.
