“I said yes, asshole! Just let me…c-come.”
“Hmm.”Jerk.“That means I better not see girls throwing themselves at you, baby.”
“I should be the one who says that.”
I chuckle. “Won’t be happening again.”
“Good or I’ll kill them and you…”
“Such a menace.”
“Mff…now let me come, I’m so close…”
I release him and pull away, and he jerks up. “Why the fuck did you stop. I said yes!”
“Uncorrelated. A punishment is a punishment. Us being exclusive is something else.” I step away. “Dress up. We’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
I lick the tattoo behind his ear and whisper in low, dark words, “The fact that you’re now mine, my prince.”
21
PRESTON
Marcus’s idea of a celebration is taking me on a ride, and he drives the motorcycle like a madman.
It’s actually fucking intoxicating!
I didn’t know motorcycle riding could feel surprisingly liberating. Yes, Jude has talked about it before, and I have ridden a bike on my own, but it wasn’t as special.
Not that the ride with Marcus wasspecial.
Fine, so clinging to him the whole way and feeling the contracting of his solid muscles beneath my grip might have contributed to the enjoyment.
Listen, I’m not even going to try talking to my brain about it at this point. I’ve been edged to within an inch of my life—something I didn’t think I’d enjoy, butsurprise, my newfound sexuality definitely did.
Being glued to him as he drove helped relieve the ache yet made it worse at the same time.
The bike rolls to a halt in the neighborhood with only a few functioning streetlights, and my arms are still securely wrapped around his waist.
My thighs are against his large ones, my chest pressed to his muscular, broad back, and most importantly, I’m breathing him in with every inhale. And he smells ethereal. It’s notreally about cologne or soap—it’shim. The way his natural scent mixes with leather and his woodsy aftershave affects me more than it should.
Needs to be illegal, just saying. I don’t even get affected by smell. Fine, I do, but it’s usually the unpleasant ones like a mint mixed with cigarettes.
But male scent, in general, used to be background noise. Not now, apparently, because I keep sniffing Marcus like he’s made of drugs.
Actually, he’s more like those diffusers Jude buys—the ones that help with sleep.
“We’re here.” He hops from the bike, forcing me to release him.
I grind my teeth against the crashing wave of disappointment. This is the second time it’s happened today.
Disappointment.
The first time was when he pulled out of my ass instead of fucking me—seriously, since when does the motherfucker choose not to use me for his sick entertainment?
And why the hell did I, for one fraction of a second, nearly blurt out “Fuck me”?
