Page 50 of Knuckles & Knives
He strips me without rushing, but there’s nothing leisurely about it. Every motion has purpose. His fingers glide along my skin like he’s programming himself with every texture, every breath, every tremor.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, his voice low and sharp like a scalpel. “Do you know what that does to me?”
“Marcus—”
He silences me with a look, that intense, all-seeing gaze. “I need to know everything. Every place that makes you gasp. Every angle that makes you come undone. I want to map you, Raven. Memorize you.”
And he does.
His mouth trails down my neck with reverent deliberation, his tongue tracing the hollow of my throat as though he’s reading a secret etched into my skin. One hand cups my breast while theother slides between my thighs, and when he finds me slick and aching, he lets out a sound I’ve never heard from him before.
A growl. Controlled, yes, but animal at its core.
“You’re wet for me,” he says, like it’s both a revelation and a reward. “I want to ruin you for every man you’ve ever known.”
“You already have.”
That shreds what’s left of his composure.
Marcus pushes me back onto the bed, and the next kiss is bruising—hot and hungry and fueled by years of restraint finally snapping. He slides two fingers inside me and groans like he’s discovered a new addiction.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes against my ear. “Responsive. Sharp. Wicked. Everything I fantasized about while pretending I stopped caring.”
“Then stop pretending.”
His eyes blaze as he thrusts inside me, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, brutal motion that knocks the breath from my lungs.
My back arches. His hand presses to my sternum, holding me down—not roughly, but deliberately. It says “you are mine right now.”
“You feel like fire,” he grits out, moving with powerful, punishing strokes, “and I want to burn.”
Each thrust is calculated to drive me wild—adjusting angle, depth, rhythm like he’s gathering data with every moan I make, but his control is fracturing. His mouth trails down my shoulder, and he curses under his breath when I clench around him.
“You think I’m precise,” he says, panting, “but I’ve never been messy. I’ve never wanted to lose control. Until now.”
“Then lose it,” I beg, breathless. “Show me who you are without the plans.”
He flips me onto my hands and knees in one smooth motion and drives into me from behind, gripping my hips like he ownsthem. Like he owns me. His teeth graze my shoulder. One hand slides around to toy with my clit, sending sparks ricocheting through my spine.
“You’re mine, Raven. My greatest success and my most dangerous weakness all wrapped into one impossible woman.”
“Yours,” I gasp, meeting him thrust for thrust, lost in the intensity of his complete focus. “All of ours.”
“All of ours,” he agrees, but his hand tightens possessively on my hips, and he rubs my clit harder and faster. “But right now, in this moment, with those monitors dark and the rest of the world shut out—right now you’re just mine.”
And when I scream his name, he shudders, curses, and slams into me one final time before falling over the edge with a hoarse, guttural sound of victory.
He collapses over me, chest heaving, breath hot against my back. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing and the distant pulse of the city below.
Then, softly, he says, “I’ve fought wars for less than what I just felt.”
We roll together, limbs tangled. He’s still inside me. Still catching his breath. And for once, Marcus looks… undone.
Unmasked. Human.
I stroke a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes like he’s never felt anything so gentle.
“What happens now?” I whisper.
