Chapter 21 Cass

I stood on the balcony and gazed out at the city, a glass of champagne in one hand and an unlit joint in the other. My mind raced. I was strongly considering lighting up the joint to quell the asteroid field of thoughts shooting through my brain. That usually worked. But as my shit luck would have it, I left my lighter in a different purse. Of course, there was no shortage of people at this party who would happily light my joint for me—and would probably invite me for a bump of coke just to be nice. But I still wasn't sure just how much of this night I wanted to forget.

I knew what I wished I could erase. If I were to glance over my shoulder, I would probably see Marcus and the leggy, hot brunette he brought tonight. Erin. The message was clear: He could easily find someone prettier than me. Smarter than me. Taller than me. In fact, he went and did just that.

Erin probably came with so much less baggage, too. I bet her parents would be front row when she got her PhD, and she would waltz right into a dream career that fulfilled her intellectual and financial needs. A PhD in economics? I bet the Wall Street Journal was already knocking on her door for consultations.

I knew what I wanted to remember too. Marcus was rare. He deserved Erin. He deserved someone who didn't balk at the idea of commitment, who didn't seek out filthy words while she fucked guys because she was too damaged to take a compliment. He deserved someone who hadn't screwed her way through Brooklyn, accepting subpar fucks from guys with no purpose other than to sneak out of her bed in the morning.

A hand came to rest on the small of my back, too low to be anyone else but Marcus. Sure enough, he entered my periphery. The sight of his face still worked up my body, even when I wanted to be angry with him.

He kept his hand on my back and leaned against the railing, his elbow resting casually on top. The pose worked for him, making him look uncharacteristically debonair in the suit he was wearing. If I hadn't been so pissed off at him earlier, I would have told him he looked incredible. Sharp and expensive. But I wouldn't necessarily say that he looked better than he usually did. Briefly, I noted how I actually missed the Apple Watch he had replaced with a Cartier watch tonight.

"Having fun?"

I didn't justify that with a response. Instead, I brought my glass of champagne up to my mouth and took a drink, all while examining Marcus. He didn't break the eye contact. He simply took another step closer and tucked my hair behind my ear.

"I'm heading out now." His breath was warm on my skin.

"Congrats." I noted that Erin was nowhere in sight, but I chose not to mention that.

"I called a car for you too," he continued as his hand lingered near my cheek. "If you go downstairs, the driver is waiting. The hotel valet will point you in the right direction. Feel free to head out whenever you want. He'll wait as long as he has to."

I exhaled slowly, wondering what choice words to offer him. After a long pause, I decided silence was the best route.

"I'll see you later," he said when he pulled his hand away from my face. He lowered it so it rested on top of my own hand on the railing.

"See you Monday," I responded.

Marcus paused, leaned forward, and kissed my cheek. "Later, not Monday," he whispered in my ear. The comment rang like a command, more than a recommendation. I hated him for that.

I didn't watch him leave. Instead, I forced myself to stare out at the city, to appreciate it for its vibrancy. That failed miserably. Almost immediately, I fixated on a panel of windows in the distance, in what looked like an office building. I recognized those fluorescent panel lights, just like we had back at Davenport-Ridgeway. They beamed down on empty offices, whose inhabitants had long left for the weekend. I wondered what they were doing right now.

With a sigh, I put the joint back into my purse and turned around. My eyes scanned the partygoers, nostalgia pinging me. I knew the type. They were overdressed yet underdressed at the same time. Wealth was subtle. It whispered. I could still spot it a mile away.

When I was a senior in college, I would come to parties like this. I would take the train from New Jersey and meet up with friends on slick New York streets, darting into the places where even the scaffolding looked privileged. Without pause, I would throw my father's credit card down and spring for bottle service. Other nights, I would watch as management consultants and i-bankers nonchalantly rang up bills that totaled more than I now pay in rent every month. Those men—boys, actually—plied me with liquor and promises. They guaranteed me houses in the Hamptons and wealth older than America. I was careful back then, only drinking enough to keep up, but never too much to disappear into oblivion. I was always on the cusp. On the cusp of drunkenness. On the cusp of reality. On the cusp of happiness.

At a table, Alex was surrounded by a small horde of women. Scantily clad. Stunning. They weren't called women though; they were called girls. Some of them were models and others were Instagram influencers. They orbited him like stars on the fringes of a galaxy, laughing at some joke he was telling that I just knew wasn't funny.

Dating boys like Alex used to be my bread and butter. I could spot them in a crowd and they would always lock eyes with me. Pedigree always found pedigree; that was a fact. Their mystique wore off quickly though. There was nothing behind the credit cards and the clothes. It was no surprise that by the time I was in my senior year of college, I had enjoyed more than my fill of these boys—and was ready for something else. Trevor was like a breath of fresh air. He was tattoos and piercings and sex. He gave zero shits about anything—in a sea of boys with roman numerals after their names that often seemed higher than their IQs. It was a classic rich girl scandal among my circles. Rumors quickly traveled that Cassie Pierson was dating a cater waiter who lived in Brooklyn. The rumors only made the sex better.

Alex brought one of the women into his lap, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. His hands toyed with the short hem of her dress, daring to expose her. He could just get it over with—he could nail her if he wanted to. She would be game, I was sure. But that wasn't how people like Alex and this woman operated: The song and dance was the most important part of the ritual. Being seen. It was only worth doing if everyone else saw it—and envied it.

I didn't want to be seen. No good ever came of it.

Without another glance at Alex, I finished my glass of champagne and headed back towards the door to the hotel.

***

As promised, there was a car waiting for me outside of the Peninsula. When I slid into the backseat, the driver informed me he had instructions to bring me to an address I didn't recognize. That could have been creepy, but then he quickly added that he had also been instructed to take me wherever I wanted to go, if not the mystery address.

Typical Marcus. He had planned for all possibilities, and respect was at the heart of his intentions. It made it so hard to stay angry at him.

Twenty minutes later, when Marcus opened his front door, he smiled too broadly for me to just let that slide.

"You're an asshole," I informed him from my spot in the hallway outside of his apartment.

"For?"

"For living in Tribeca, for one," I remarked as I looked him up and down.

Only an hour had passed since we parted ways at Alex's party, and Marcus had already changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of black, athletic sweats. Immediately, I knew Loungewear Marcus was my second favorite Marcus, right behind Nightclub Marcus.

Unfazed, he continued to smile at me. He was so frustratingly handsome and seemed to grow more attractive the more I looked at him. I wanted to punch him for that. "Why else am I an asshole?"

"For whatever game you're playing with me and with Erin."

Marcus glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at me. "Keep it down. She's going to hear you."

"She's here ? Ugh, you're disgusting. I really never—"

Marcus stepped into the hallway and pulled me towards him by my shoulders. He kissed me hard, taking my mouth with the kind of possessiveness I had grown to yearn for over the past week. "She's not here," he said hurriedly, before he kissed me again.

"Does she know I'm here?" I asked as I wrenched my lips from his.

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm not ready to stop yet," he informed me as he continued his decadent capture of my mouth. He pressed his tongue between my lips and I could feel him smiling as my arms relaxed involuntarily. No matter how hard I tried, my body responded to his and was basically ordering my brain to shut up and get on board.

"Marcus…" I said between kisses. "Does Erin know—"

"Probably." He lowered his lips to my neck. "She doesn't care. Even if she did, why do you care?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I questioned. I finally pulled away from him and took a step back.

Without breaking eye contact with me, he took his thumb and rubbed it along his lower lip, where my red lipstick was smeared around his mouth. He glanced down at the blotch of red on his thumb and back up at me. His expression darkened, and oh that made me flutter with anticipation. He nodded his head to the side, signaling for me to come in. I entered the apartment and he shut the door behind me.

"It means you have three guys named Will in your phone, whose last names are saved as the different places where you met them."

I froze in place, my eyes widening "Did you go through my phone?"

"No. I just guessed," he admitted. A frown arose on his face. "Wait, am I right?"

Instinctually, my hand went to my purse. It took me a beat to realize checking my phone to verify his suspicions would be nothing short of an admission of guilt. "My hookups are not the point. The point is, you brought another woman to a party and paraded her in front of me. Now you think I'm just going to come over here to your fancy apartment and screw you on the same night?" Then I finally looked around the apartment and realized we weren't in Kansas anymore. "Holy shit. How much does this apartment cost you?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "Way too much. But it's within walking distance of the office, so that's convenient. And there's a green patch on the balcony where Frank can use the bathroom. Do you want to meet my dog, by the way? I put him in my office. My cat's there too, but she hates meeting new people."

"No, I don't want to meet your dog. I want to talk about the shit you pulled with Erin." I paused, shrugged, and admitted, "And then, yeah, after we talk I would love to meet your dog."

Marcus took a step forward and put his hands on my waist. I loathed how much it excited me to suddenly feel his hands on the tight leather, softly pressing on my body. "Erin and I are platonic."

"So? I've had plenty of platonic relationships that have involved sex."

Marcus canted his head. "That means they're not platonic."

"In your book."

"In the dictionary, Cass…" He gave me a peck on the lips before I could stop him. "She's not here; you are. You're the only person I want here and the only person I wanted at that party. But you turned me down—"

"So you decided to make me jealous?"

"I needed a date. I asked you. You said no. I found someone else. I'm not sure where, in that sequence of events, I can be accused of trying to make you jealous."

"Why did you need a date?"

He sighed. "It's in my contract. I'm supposed to show up to events with a date so I don't look like a bachelor or a fuckboy—like Alex."

I lifted both eyebrows.

"Do you want a copy of the contract?" he inquired, using that quick, informative tone he used at the office. "You know what? Forget I asked. I'll just forward you a copy. What's your personal email address?"

"I don't want a copy of your contract." Once again, I pulled away from him and put some space between us.

Marcus let out another sigh. "I'm happy you came, Cass. I've wanted to have you over since last Friday."

Happy? He was killing me. I came here to tell him off and he was treating this like a sleepover…which was cute, but still so frustrating.

I resolved to stay focused on the reason I came here. "So you can have secret sex with me and then bring hotter, smarter girls to parties?" I asked.

"There's literally no such thing as a woman hotter or smarter than you," he responded, and I hated how much that comment made my stomach flicker with excitement. "Can I get you a drink, by the way? Something to eat? You're probably hungry."

"I'm fine."

"Feel free to take your shoes off if you want," he went on as he turned and walked away from me. He headed in the direction of his kitchen. "You can keep them on if you prefer, but I'm guessing your feet are tired."

I looked down at my heels and I briefly considered how much pain I was willing to endure just to prove him wrong. But when I looked up again and saw he was pouring two glasses of red wine, I realized there was a decent chance I would be here for a while. As subtly as I could, I kicked off my heels.

Marcus walked over with both glasses of wine. He handed them to me, saying, "There you go," before he bent down and picked up my heels. He brought them over to a side closet by the front door, and he carefully placed them inside.

"Frank will chew them if I don't hide them," he explained. Then, he took one of the glasses of wine from me and motioned for me to follow him with a tilt of his head.

"I'm not here for wine and conversation."

"You're here to fight," he responded factually. He walked over to a white sofa and he took a seat. Instead of joining him on the same sofa, I took a seat on the adjacent one. That clearly annoyed him, but he didn't say a word.

"So what you're telling me," I said, "is that your contract requires you to bring dates to these parties, and if you don't…"

"There would be consequences," he finished flatly. "I'm not sure how serious that all is. I've never actually broken a single line in the contract until you."

I raised an eyebrow. "None of it?"

"Nope."

"And I could have been your date?" I went on, trying to catch him in a lie. "If I had gone to the party with you, even though we're working together on due diligence, that would have been fine?"

"I probably could have gotten Lilac to approve it, sure," he said. "I mean, as far as anyone knows, you're a stunningly attractive woman with a stable job and a double Ivy League pedigree. Most people have no idea you let guys fuck you in stairwells after happy hour."

Those words burned right through me, making me wish I weren't so stubborn. He was right; I came here to fight. But when he spoke to me like that, it made me want to give myself to him in every way possible. It made me want to beg him to take me, to defile me, to do anything he wanted to me with those skilled hands and that stern COO voice.

I took a long drink from my wine, hoping it would calm my nerves. "You know Davenport-Ridgeway can't find out about this. I couldn't have gone with you, even if I wanted."

" If you wanted?" he questioned, his beautiful eyes narrowing. "Why didn't you want to go with me, Cass?"

I let out a sigh. "We barely know each other," I replied, wishing I had prepared a better answer for this inevitable question. "It's only been a week since the first time we hooked up."

"So?"

"So, you probably have women falling over themselves to be with you. You don't need me getting in the way right when you're at your sexual prime."

He was clearly unconvinced. I could tell by the way he swirled his glass and took an extended drink.

"A couple thoughts there," he responded after a beat. "One, I don't care what women want from me. I have a very low-key love life."

"Liar."

"Pardon?"

"You're filthy rich, annoyingly handsome, semi-famous, and so competent I get hot just thinking about it. We both know you don't have a low-key love life."

"I do," he insisted.

"Come on. There's no way you're that good with your hands and mouth without a little practice."

"The compliment has been noted." He smiled softly in that bashful way of his. It reminded me that he had almost no ego to him. "But I'm just thorough. I do my research."

I shook my head so hard it nearly made the room spin. "You're trying to tell me you don't regularly hook up with tons of women?"

"Why is that so hard to believe, Cass?"

"Because you're…you're a freaking unicorn among men, Marcus."

He lifted an eyebrow and canted his head. I could see his mind turning, wondering where I got that idea. "I don't ask out many women."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm shy," he stated.

It took me a moment to realize he was serious. I let out a near-delirious laugh. "You are not shy."

"How would you know?"

"Because nobody who is actually shy would say the kinds of things you've said to me while you fucked me."

"I'm a nerd in the streets and a freak in the sheets."

Why the hell did something so embarrassing sound so sweet to me? I pretended not to be enchanted and ignored his smile. "Never say any of that again," I advised.

Marcus took a drink. "Look, if you want the real, honest truth, I'll give it to you. I know how much you love learning secrets."

"I do."

"Cass, you make me so nervous that my palms sweat when I'm around you." His eyes landed on me, letting me know he truly meant it.

"Stop it," I interjected.

"I'm serious," he assured me. "My heart starts beating faster and I can never think of the right things to say. I lie awake at night, replaying conversations we had and wishing I had said something funnier or smarter or sexier, but I never get it right. I felt like this about you when I was eighteen years old, back when I was just this shy kid from Vermont. I still feel that way about you. Sometimes, I can't believe you're even interested in knowing me, let alone sleeping with me, because you're just…" he trailed off.

This time, I didn't say a word. My pulse had never moved faster and desire had never felt more potent in me. My body was pulsating and we weren't even touching.

"Well one, I think you're noticeably hotter than I am. And two, you're just everything I want in a woman."

"Me?"

He nodded. "You."

"Why me?"

"Because you and I get each other," he said, and he stated it so matter-of-factly that his words made me wonder why I couldn't comprehend it. "That wasn't always the case, but it is today. Not a lot of people get me."

I was quiet. I looked away from Marcus and focused on the view of the cityscape through his living room windows. All the while, I could feel his eyes pinned on my profile, watching me. I wished I could forget his words. I wished I had never heard just how much he wanted me—and I knew it didn't make sense. Whenever I was with him, I was desperate for him to want me. For it to be true…it felt like I had cursed him.

"Look," he said as he got up. He walked over and took a seat next to me on the sofa. I faced him again, wishing I could just get it over with and kiss him and be with him. "I realize we don't have much time left to talk. You're angry with me, and you look so fucking good that I probably only have about five more minutes before all my willpower wears out and I outright beg you to sit on my face."

I was hard to rile, but Marcus's words immediately made me flush. I inhaled sharply and forced myself to look away from him. Still, I could feel the heat from his body, tantalizing me purely through proximity.

"Cass, why don't you want to be with me? Tell me honestly. You've given me every excuse in the book, but I don't believe you."

"That's not fair."

"It's not?" he asked. "I think it's all misdirection. Our jobs, the deal—yeah, that's a part of it, but we could get around it by being discreet. And you can't say that we barely know each other because there's nothing stopping us from getting to know each other. And now that I've dispelled the notion that I'm out in the streets hooking up with women every night, you can't use that as an excuse. So that leaves you. What's the real reason why you don't want to be with me?"

I didn't respond at first. I couldn't.

He breathed out, his expression earnest as he waited for an answer. Fuck, I knew I owed him that, but I couldn't do it.

Marcus leaned forward and kissed my shoulder, his touch fleeting and gentle. "Look, I can take a lot from you, but opening my heart and then having you tell me you don't want me because you simply don't like me is going to wreck me. So what's the truth?"

"The last time I was in a relationship, it ruined my life," I replied, giving him just enough. "I can't do that again."

"Was it the guy you came to New York to be with?"

I nodded.

"I'm not him," he reminded me, his voice softening as he spoke. "I'm just…Marcus."

"It doesn't matter," I said, shaking my head. "I don't do relationships. Clearly, you do. So if that's the case, this isn't going to work."

"I already told you I don't expect a relationship with you. All I expect—and hope—is you'll let me make you feel good."

"And what if I hurt you?" I probed, challenging him. "What if you want to make this into a serious relationship, and I still can't give you that?"

He shifted and oriented his body away from me. Silently, he leaned back against the sofa cushion and he watched me as he pressed his hand through his hair. He let out a sigh. "So, if I want to be with you, it has to feel casual," he reasoned. "No expectations, just sex."

"That's right. But I don't think you can do that."

Without responding, he stood and picked up both glasses of wine. "Up," he instructed. That tone was back—that commanding, orderly, I run this motherfucker tone.

"Are you mad at me?" I questioned as I followed him. "I'm just being honest."

"And I appreciate that." He spoke as he walked, not looking back at me.

"It's been a long time since I've met anyone like you, but I have to protect myself in the process. I've learned that lesson the hard way," I replied.

I trailed him across his living room and over to a bedroom. He flicked on the light with his elbow and motioned for me to enter before he closed the door behind me.

Finally, he looked at me and his countenance was neutral, almost flat. "Cass, I get it. I'm not going to fight you."

I found myself standing awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure where to go. It was a stunning bedroom—minimalist and white. As a result, the only place to sit was on the king size bed situated in the middle.

Marcus put the glasses of wine down on his nightstand and pulled open the drawer. It rolled quietly, whispering of quality—not like the rickety old nightstand I picked up on someone's curb. From the nightstand, he took out a small, black booklet and sat down on the bed. He didn't look at me.

"What's that?" I asked.

"My checkbook," he replied as he opened it. He scribbled something on a check and ripped it off the pad. "Here." Without getting up, he held it out to me. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Confusion passed over me like a gentle rolling fog. My eyes traveled from his outstretched hand to his face. His expression was still stony—impossible to decipher. Slowly, my face folded into a frown. "Excuse me?"

"You want to fuck me without worrying about feelings," he explained, his gaze unwavering. "So, I'm giving you exactly what you want."

"Did you just write me a check?"

Wordlessly, Marcus nodded.

"Fuck you," I snapped, rage building in me at the notion.

He walked over to me, folding the check in half as he went. His eyes remained locked on me the entire time, feasting on me. Appraising my body. When he was standing in front of me, he held up the folded check between his index and middle fingers.

"Fuck you," I repeated, glaring at him.

He smiled and leaned in close, his nose brushing against mine as I stood there with my arms folded. "Let me be bad, Cass," he said as he placed one hand on the curve of my waist. "Let me break the clause in my contract that forbids me from paying for sex. Let me pay you to fuck me however I want."

Still simmering, I didn't say a word. I glared at the check, glared up at him. What a fucking asshole.

"We both know you like it," he continued as he placed the folded piece of paper on my neck. The surface of the paper caught me off guard with its cool texture. "You like the idea of me paying to fuck you. You pretend like it's disrespectful, but you like the idea of me using you for your body."

He slid the check across my collarbone, inciting goosebumps in its wake. To my chagrin, my body was unfolding with want.

"I'm not going to let you pay me," I snapped, working to keep my mind resolute.

"Yes you will," he whispered as he lowered the check down between my breasts. His fingers tickled them as he inserted the check between my cleavage. "You don't want compliments or commitment. You just want me to do things to that insane body of yours." Marcus leaned in close and pressed a kiss on my lips. "Let's make it worth your time."

"You're such an asshole. I'm not a whore , Marcus."

"I didn't say you were." He traced a path of kisses around my mouth, each one lighting up another part of my body. "We both know you'd fuck me for free. I'm paying you because you clearly need something to convince you that you can be with me without giving up your freedom."

My breath hitched at the idea. I looked up, fixing my eyes on his. There was a brightness in his green eyes, something at the intersection of excitement and desire.

"When I fuck you tonight, it's not because I like you, Cass. It's because I paid for you—and I'm not a man who wastes or mismanages his money." He lowered his lips to mine.

I let him kiss me, but I didn't kiss him back. I could feel the paper tucked into my cleavage, scratching my skin. I had no clue what number he wrote on it, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. Regardless, I was never going to accept that money.

"So that's it?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "You think you can write me a check and I can just forget that speech you gave me about how much you like me?"

Slowly, he shifted his hands from my waist to my ass, where he gripped it through the leather. "Don't forget it. Just put it aside for one night. Call it a transaction. Fuck me without worrying, Cass."

Gently, Marcus ran his hands over the globes of my ass, massaging them. "I own this ass tonight." He lowered his lips to my neck, just as he slid his hands up and along my sides. "And these tits," he murmured as he cupped them. "Your whole body, Cass. I own it. And I'm going to fuck it like I own it. Like I paid for it."

When he kissed my lips again, I parted them to let his tongue meet mine. He probed my mouth, his tongue rolling over my teeth and exploring me. As our kiss deepened, I could feel my body softening in his hands. The premise of what we were doing was abhorrent, but the reality was searing. Filthy. I wanted him to give me everything, to take my body and use it for his pleasure.

"There we go," he murmured as he began to walk backwards, bringing me with him in slow, measured steps. "There we go. Give in to it. Show me what my money is worth."

Marcus took a seat on the bed, but he held my hands in his. He looked up at me, his lips tinged faintly with my lipstick. Already, a look of pure desire had set in on his face. His gaze burned, soaking in my body like another man would look at a luxury sportscar. Marcus could buy anything; all he wanted was me.

"Come here," he ordered, tugging on my hand.

I moved forward until I was standing between his knees, closer to that cock I wanted so badly. He released my hands and fixed his grip on my waist. His touch was familiar, scalding. I moaned softly as he massaged me, and his pupils practically dilated at the sound.

"Who did you wear this for?" He leaned forward and kissed my stomach through my dress. "Did you wear it for Alex?"

Coyly, I shook my head as I pushed my fingers through his hair. I loved how thick it was—how good it felt to tug on it.

"Tell me who you wore it for."

"You." I stopped there. If I kept going, I would have told him that everything I did to my body that night was for him. Waxing, washing, penciling, curling, shoving myself into a dress that put my curves on display. I did it all for him. Only him.

"Me?" Marcus questioned as he looked up at me again. He lifted an eyebrow. "Well, I hate it."

That obviously wasn't the case. But I played along and tilted my head to the side. "What should I do about it?"

"You should take it off."

"I see. Well," I cooed as I raised my hands up to the zipper in the front of my dress, "the customer is always right."

Marcus inhaled sharply when I called him that. A smile tiptoed onto his lips.

Slowly, I pulled down the zipper, exposing just a couple of inches of my skin at first. When the zipper was level with my nipples, I stopped.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression looking dangerous. His hands tightened on my waist. "Who said you could stop?"

"My apologies," I replied as I brought my hand up to the zipper. "I just wanted to make sure you liked it."

"Of course I fucking do. Look at you," he replied. His eyes traveled the length of my body, stilling at my breasts that were just on the cusp of exposure. "You're worth every penny."

Fueled by his words, I pulled the zipper down even lower so it rested at my belly button. My straining dress had spread apart above my waist, and just an inch of fabric still covered either of my nipples. Marcus pressed his tongue over his lips, wetting them.

"More?" I asked.

He nodded, eyes on mine. There was a note of hesitation in them.

I paused. "Are you holding back, baby?" I inquired.

Marcus didn't speak. He flexed his hands on my body, reminding me that he owned me tonight.

I smiled. "You paid for me. Say whatever the fuck you want to me."

"Careful what you wish for," he murmured, and I practically felt myself growing wetter at the idea. I nodded vigorously.

"I want it," I told him, tracing the curve of my breast with my fingertip as I spoke. "I want you to give me hell. Say what you want. And do what you want."

Without waiting for a response, I took the zipper the last few inches, over my pussy and to my upper thighs where my dress ended. As soon as I hit the end of the track, the dress fell right off me. It landed on the floor of Marcus's bedroom, and I was left standing completely naked in front of him.

He was silent. It felt like an eternity. His green eyes raced over my body, surveying me up and down like he was committing me to memory. It was the first time I had ever been fully unclothed in front of him, and it was a reminder I had seen so little of him.

"Your turn."

Marcus chuckled, brow furrowed as he looked up at me. "What, Cass?"

"Your turn," I repeated. "I want to see you—"

"Fuck no. You're not in charge," he snapped, his words searing me. "And you didn't pay. You couldn't afford me if you wanted to."

His hand came up to touch my hip. He rested his fingers against the side of it and planted his thumb right on my hip bone. Focused, he began to run his thumb over that spot in a circle. The touch was the eye of the hurricane and my body awakened. Pleasure radiated from that spot, sending waves all the way out to my fingertips. "You'll see me when I let you."

He brought his other hand to rest on the small of my back, drawing me close to him. I took a step forward and had nowhere else to go. He raised his chin, signaling for me to kiss him. Dutifully, I bent over and pushed my lips against his, enjoying his taste.

"I'm going to indulge myself with you tonight," he whispered, kissing me between every other word. "I'm going to do the things that I've been imagining all week while we sit in that conference room together."

"Yeah?"

He continued to kiss me, speaking softly into my lips. "You have no idea how hard it is not to walk over and pull out these luscious tits of yours." His hand came up to cup my breast. "How hard it is not to take your delectable, pink nipples in my mouth right there in my office, Cass."

"I would let you," I murmured.

Marcus pulled back from my lips. "Of course you would," he said, looking up at me. His tone was factual, almost cocky. "You can't get enough of me." His mouth drifted down to my nipple. "You would let me use your body. You want to be my personal fuck toy."

I found myself nodding, still running my fingers through his hair, begging him for more. More dirty words. More pleasure.

"You probably spend all day thinking about how hard I could take you. You're so filthy. How do you even look at yourself, after all the filthy things I do to you?"

"I love it." I let out a gasp as Marcus caught my piercing with his teeth and gave it a tug.

"I'm not surprised," he hissed as he continued to lavish my nipple.

I was moaning now, shamelessly driving my pussy closer to his face in the hopes he would lick me. Or finger me. Or do any number of exquisite, skilled things to me.

"You're such a slut, Cass. Mine. My brazen little slut."

My body was on fire, craving and needing him to the point of frustration. I whimpered, letting out sounds I didn't even know I could make. "I want you to use me for your pleasure. Make me yours. Make me hate you for wanting you so much," I managed to say.

"That's the plan tonight," he declared before he pulled me into his arms.

I barely had time to react before he flipped me over him and rotated me onto the mattress. I ended up on my back, staring up at him as he straddled me. He grinned down at me, those eyes feasting on me. The way this man appreciated my body was a dangerous aphrodisiac. I would have done anything for him in that moment—would have let him play any game he wanted with me.

"You want to see more of me?"

Immediately, I nodded, my hands reaching to tug on his shirt.

"Beg for it," he ordered.

"What?" I demanded, barely getting the word out before I inhaled sharply. Marcus had cupped his hand over my mound and had started to massage it. I was so ready for him already, so drenched and so anticipatory that I practically quivered against his touch.

"Holy shit. You're soaked , Cass." He rubbed my pussy harder and grinned. "You're so dirty. Look how it turns you on to get paid to fuck me."

"Marcus—"

"Beg me for it," he continued, his tone dark—nearly destructive. "If you want to see me naked, you're going to have to beg for it."

"Please." I tightened the handful of shirt I was holding. I was out of my mind for him, grinding against his hand. "I want to see you."

He clicked his tongue. "Really?" Marcus shook his head. "I've seen you beg. I know you can do better."

"I need to see you," I insisted, feeling desperate. "I want to touch you, Marcus. Please. I need you. I'm obsessed with you."

That last line just slipped out. As soon as I said it, I wasn't even sure where it came from. It did the trick though, because Marcus immediately reached over his shoulders and tugged his shirt up over his head.

I had to fold my lips over my teeth to keep from smiling. My eyes swirled over his bare chest, taking in his flawless skin. He was toned and tan and not too bulky—just how I liked. I reached up, hoping—silently pleading—that he would let me touch him. When my hand made contact with his abdomen, he immediately placed his own hand on top of mine.

There was something inexplicably intimate about that gesture—more intimate than him even touching my pussy. I shifted my gaze to his face and I saw he was watching me watch him. Faintly, he smiled.

"You're so unbelievably beautiful," I told him, breaking character. I wasn't playing. I wasn't a whore, ready to do anything he wanted. I was Cass. He was Marcus. And he was everything to me.

Something about the way he smiled made me wonder if my affirmation had relieved him. He exhaled heavily—I could feel it against my hand.

"Seriously," I continued, my voice steadying as I spoke. "You're the blueprint. You're what I'm going to compare every man to, from here on out."

He didn't have a filthy, smoldering response for me—for once. Instead he leaned forward and kissed me, his tongue seeking mine and meshing together in our mouths. He easily spun me up and left me panting and wanting more of him.

He hoisted himself up on his arms so he was hovering over me. I didn't want to stop kissing him, but gravity took over. I fell back on the bed and found myself staring up at this charming, sinfully handsome guy—who had just put his own fingers in his mouth.

Marcus sucked on his index and middle fingers for a few beats, never breaking eye contact with me. That eye contact persisted as he lowered his hand and carefully inserted his fingers into my pussy. I let out a breath through my teeth as he decadently penetrated me with his digits.

"So wet," he murmured. "I've never been with a woman who gets wet like you, Cass. You're so ready for my cock, aren't you?"

I nodded, groaning softly as he worked his skilled fingers into me. He was touching all the right places, all the spots that felt so good, my eyes started to water.

"I'll be in you soon enough. I'll have my dick in you, making you wish I weren't so damn good at it. You're going to hate me for ruining all other men for you."

"I already hate you," I replied, unable to keep my eyes open anymore. I had to shut them tight, gasping to stave off an orgasm that dared to arrive too soon. "Even you couldn't—"

Marcus pulled his fingers out of me. I was on the verge of cursing him out for doing that when he flipped me onto my stomach. I was face down on his bedspread with his body pressed against my back. I felt him shift, rolling off me. His body moved along my side. When he got back on top of me, I could feel skin on skin. It took me a moment to realize Marcus was completely naked—and his hard cock was resting right on my ass.

I started to flail in a sorry attempt to get my hands on him, but he kept me pinned down.

"Asshole," I murmured.

Smack . A sharp pain landed on my ass, stinging me.

"Did you just spank me?" I demanded.

I felt his hand rub against my ass cheek, soothing the spot. "I did. Spanking isn't my kink, but if you call me that again, it's going to happen again."

"Asshole," I repeated.

Smack . Another one. I gasped, delighted by the sensation. The spot prickled as the nerve endings fired and sent alerts to the rest of my body, basically singing the news that a wave of pleasure was going to drown us all tonight.

"You enjoy that?" He pressed his body on top of mine so his mouth was at my ear. "Ooh, you're fucking sick, Cass."

"Ass—"

"Nope," he said as his hand slid up my side. It tickled the edge of my breast, swooped over my shoulder, and came to my neck. His hand surrounded it, holding me lightly in that way I loved. "Don't exploit it."

"I love it."

He adjusted his grip on my neck. "You need it," he responded. "But you need my cock more."

I didn't tell him the truth—that he wasn't wrong. Instead I just wiggled my ass against him, teasing him. But I quickly realized I wasn't the one doing the teasing—not by a longshot.

He released my neck and climbed off me, leaving me feeling cold. I glanced over my shoulder to find him, and I spotted him standing by the dressers opposite the end of his bed. He was languidly rolling a condom over his dick.

My eyes widened as I feasted on his naked body.

"Did I say you could look at me?" he questioned, nodding his chin at me. "I don't think I did."

"You're perfect."

Marcus paused, his hand still working the condom over his length. I shifted, turning over onto my back so I could stare at him. I took in the dusky dark hair on his lean, muscular body. He was built fluidly, almost gracefully, in a way that accentuated his height. But there was something indescribable about him. Beautiful wasn't quite the right word. Maybe it was pristine— unspoiled . He didn't have a tattoo on him, or even so much as a scar. That wasn't a feat—the guys I slept with before I met Trevor were always clean cut, clean shaven, rich boys. No tattoos, no nothing. But Marcus didn't look like them either. He lacked the pruning and the grooming and the pretty boy muscles. Marcus was different, built to just be…Marcus. Healthy. Safe. Stable.

Marcus looked unmarred and untouched in every possible way.

"Turn over," he ordered, glaring at me.

I tried and failed to keep from smiling. I couldn't believe I was allowed to touch him. "You're flawless."

"Cass," he warned. "Turn over. Turn the fuck over or I'll come over there and turn you over myself."

As soon as I flipped back over onto my stomach, Marcus's hands were on me. He yanked me back by my hipbones without warning, making me cry out with surprise. Immediately, his hand wrapped around my neck.

"You didn't want sweet. You didn't want a boyfriend. You didn't want strings attached," he hissed, his words hot in my ear. "So you don't get any of that."

I felt a slap against my ass cheek. It was stinging and delicious, clearly meant to punish me for refusing to follow his directions.

"No compliments," he went on.

Another one.

"No fucking googly eyes admiring me."

Another slap. I bit back my lip and inhaled sharply, which spurred Marcus to roughly tighten his grip on my neck.

"And no ignoring me when I tell you to do something."

He didn't spank me that time. Instead, his hand came to wrap around my hanging breast, cupping it. He heaved it up with his palm, pressing it against my chest.

"They're so big," he whispered, his lips traveling to my earlobe. He sucked it in, nibbling it with his teeth. "And nobody else touches them like I do, right?"

"Nobody," I admitted, grateful I didn't have to lie to him. "You're so much better at it."

"Good." He released me. "Hands behind your back."

I paused, wondering if I heard him correctly.

"I'm not going to wait," he said as he climbed off the bed. "Either you do it, or I do it for you."

Slowly, I brought one arm and then the other behind my back. Marcus came up behind me and ran his hand along my spine.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "She does exactly what I tell her to do."

I felt him situate himself at my entrance, his cock pushing against me. I was so ready for him—so ready to feel him spear me on his cock again. I had been fantasizing about this for days, counting down the hours to this weekend when he would fuck me again.

"Ask for it," he grunted.

I didn't hesitate. "Put your cock in me."

"Say please."

"Please, Marcus, put your cock in me. I need you to fuck me. Please."

"Much better," he said just as he fully sheathed himself inside of me.

I groaned, lowering my face into the bedspread as his length spread me. He felt big—too big—at this angle. I felt his hands on my wrists, stacking them. He gripped them with one hand and pulled me up, elevating me off the bed once more.

His other hand rested flat on my stomach, stabilizing me. Tentatively, he started to move in me—his motions slow and deliberate, like he was making sure I could take it.

"So good," I murmured, assuring him. "You feel so good in me."

His hand began to roam my body, pinching my nipples and making them ache. As he explored me, I could feel him increasing his pace. He pulled back and rolled his hips, pushing them into me harder each time.

"More," I said, wanting to feel him deep in me.

"More?" he confirmed, squeezing my nipple at the same time. "You're not the one paying."

"I need it."

"I don't care," he hissed as he started to thrust. His grip tightened on my wrists. "You're just a transaction for me. I could pay thousands of women like you. You think I have to give you more?"

"Please," I begged, wondering how it could feel so good to be penetrated like this. "I want more of you."

"You had your chance." He was plowing hard into me, like he had never done before. His thick cock rammed inside me, sending me towards the edge.

Marcus released my hands and I tumbled forward, catching myself on the lush bedspread. His hands went to my waist, pulling me back against his cock.

"You could have been mine," he was saying. "Now you have to come when I want, how I want, and you don't get to ask."

I was nearly frantic, clawing at the duvet as he thrusted into me powerfully, relentlessly.

He curled his hand around my neck and pulled me upwards. His other arm wrapped around me, grasping at my curves. I was kneeling in front of him now, trusting him completely to hold my body up and to keep me from falling.

He lowered his hand down to my clit and began to strum it. My weakness. I cried out, unable to hold back anymore.

"Is that enough, Cass?" He thrusted harder. "Is that enough of me?"

"Yes, Marcus!" I brought my hand over my shoulder and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head close to mine. He kissed me. He let me pull on his hair, probably so hard that it was painful for him. He didn't stop.

The power of my orgasm caught me off guard. My ears started ringing as the burst of pleasure exploded right in my core. I was screaming—complimenting him endlessly even though I wasn't supposed to.

"Fuck yes," he groaned, his hand working my clit. "Come on me, Cass. Give me your body. Give everything to me."

"Take it," I heard myself saying. "Anything you want."

Seconds later, he came with a grunt, pumping through his climax. Even with a condom between us, I could feel the heat of his spend. Gradually, his strokes slowed.

We were kneeling on the bed, catching our breath together when I realized just how close we were. Our bodies were pressed together, sticky with sweat where our skin met. Marcus's big hands were flat against my body, one hand still cupping my mound and the other wrapped protectively over my breast.

He layered a string of soft kisses on my shoulder before he pulled out of me. And just when I expected him to leave me to throw away the condom, he spun me around.

We were facing each other now. His hand came up and pushed my hair away from my forehead. That was usually my move—the one I did to him.

"Thank you," he said, before he pressed his forehead against mine.

"For what?" I asked as I moved my hands up to his shoulders.

Marcus didn't answer. He brought his hand to the back of my head and cradled it gently while he placed a soft kiss on my lips.

I didn't understand how I knew it, but I could tell—he was thanking me for the way I looked at him, for the way I was awed by him. "You're welcome," I whispered.