Chapter 25 Cass

Marcus returned to the conference room after his meeting with Alex and he didn't say a word. He took a seat, pulled out his binder, and began writing.

I didn't mention it.

He was quiet for the rest of the day, his attention on his laptop. I ignored some texts from Trevor, knowing that even if Marcus wasn't speaking to me, he was watching me. As soon as he had left earlier, I regretted how insensitive I had been about Trevor. Hurting Marcus was the main reason why I was reticent to keep sleeping with him, even when we weren't exclusive. I needed to be careful. I knew this. I should have been more tactful from the jump.

We worked late, heads down as his coworkers started to leave. At some point, the sun began to set and the dusky light of the evening began to pass through the window.

"Cass."

"Yes."

"It's seven o'clock. Do you want to make out for a little and then call it a day?"

I looked up and I saw Marcus's attention was still focused on his laptop screen, but when he noticed me watching him he made eye contact with me. His expression was unrevealing: placid and illegible as usual.

And so handsome. So freaking handsome.

"Why stop at making out?" I asked, hoping I could make him laugh. "Why don't you shove all the stuff off the table, rip open your shirt so the buttons scatter everywhere, and make sweet, tender love to me?"

Marcus snapped his laptop shut with a tap of his finger and I was furious at myself for jumping at the sound. "Because I don't want to make love to you," he responded, his tone serious—and so sexy. "I want to fuck you. And I would do just that, but I have dinner plans tonight. A make out session is going to have to suffice."

"Fine." I closed my laptop. "Come here."

He didn't flinch. He simply stared at me with desirous eyes. "No, you come here."

"Are we really going to play this game?" I reached up and hooked a lock of my hair around my finger as I continued to watch him. I twirled it, just like he did this weekend when I was in his bed.

"We'll play. I'll win."

Seconds passed and I realized he really wasn't going to get up. And I had no intention of giving in, so it looked like we were at an impasse. That was fine. It gave me a few more seconds to just stare at him and appreciate just how disarmingly attractive he was to me. My eyes lingered on his regal, sharp features. He was stately, so elegant that he turned heads when he was in public.

"Can I ask you something?" I inquired after a beat.

A nod. "Always."

"Do you still think it's some unbelievable miracle I'm attracted to you?"

Marcus breathed in deeply, clearly contemplating the right words to give to me. "Yes and no."

"Why?"

"You're very hot, Cass. I don't know if you know that. You're like…sex on legs."

"Stop it," I interjected.

He frowned. "What?"

"You know I don't like compliments."

"Why the hell not?" he questioned, and he seemed genuinely perplexed. "I should be complimenting you constantly. If anything, it's borderline insulting to you if I don't remind you every day that you're the most stunning woman I've ever seen and your tits were clearly an experiment by some all-powerful creator, who wanted to test the limits of just how perfect a pair of breasts he could create."

I glanced down at my chest and back up at Marcus. "Relax. They're nice, but they're not that nice."

"Shush. They're incredible. And just so we're clear, if anyone ever so much as utters a moderately pessimistic word about you or your tits, I'll destroy them. I'm not going to absolve you from that either."

"You're going to destroy me?" I teased, hoping he would pick up on the double entendre.

"I'll wreck you," he said, sending sparks of heat through me right here in his office. "Ah, Cass."

"What is it, Marcus?"

"We're past the kinky fucking. I've made you come enough times to know your body well . For example, I know you like having two fingers in you, but you need three. I also know you go wild when I come anywhere close to your perfect little asshole, and you make this beautiful fucking sound every time my cock goes in you—like you were dying without it. So, I'd say you owe me one. I want to be able to compliment you without it being a… thing . Can we do that? Can I just compliment you? It would make me so happy."

It wasn't that simple, but he didn't know that. "Fine," I reneged, offering him an olive branch. "You can give me one more compliment today if you tell me why you don't believe I'm attracted to you."

"Really? You want to cut deals?" There was intrigue in his tone, which didn't surprise me. Marcus loved to talk business. It practically flowed through his veins.

I nodded.

He leaned back in his seat. "Three reasons why I don't believe you. No, I take that back—just two. Number one: I'm infinitely less experienced than you are. And number two: I lost my virginity three years after I dropped out of college to found a tech company, and by that point Libra was going to go public and I was going to become a very young, very horny millionaire. So, I'm sure you can do the math there. I take anyone's interest in me with a grain of salt."

"I wished you wouldn't doubt it," I admitted, speaking honestly. "What was the third reason? The one that you decided not to share?"

"Oh." He waved his hand. "I was going to reiterate that you're way hotter than I am—"

"—you're fishing for compliments at this point—"

"—but I didn't want to waste my free compliment on that." He smirked. "Instead, I wanted to use it to tell you that you make every day better. Seriously. Every day is better with you in it."

"Same."

My answer seemed to surprise him, but that was exactly what I wanted. I rose from my seat and I walked over to the window in the brick wall adjacent to us. I yanked on the cord and lowered the blinds, blocking us from the view of passersby. When I made my way over to the other side of the table, Marcus didn't hesitate to pull me into his lap.

I kissed him slowly, holding each of his cheeks in my hands as I began a leisurely exploration of his lips. He groaned softly when I pressed my tongue against his. After a few seconds, I pulled away and began to kiss a trail along his jaw.

I rubbed my thumb over his lips, studying his handsome face. "Marcus, does it piss you off that I'm a slut?"

I liked saying that word with him. There was something forbidden about it—something that I, as an educated and professional woman, was hardwired to hate. And I did hate it—I thought it was a vile word that had been weaponized against women who simply loved to fuck. But that word meant something else between us. It wasn't a slur. No, it was an unspoken acknowledgement. I loved to fuck—and Marcus loved that about me. It didn't disgust him or trouble him—he accepted it. Fully.

And sure enough, when I asked him that question he shook his head. "No, I love it," he replied, not missing a beat. "I love that you let guys fuck you whenever they want. I get hard when I think of you taking pleasure you so fucking deserve, Cass. But when you're with me, you're only with me."

I tilted my head to the side. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"Of course not. I'm not an idiot." Marcus reached forward and lifted a lock of my hair with the back of his finger. His motions were delicate—affectionate. Loving . "But right now, I want you thinking of me—and only me." He kissed me again. "And on Friday when you're with Trevor, you're going to keep thinking of me. I know."

"How do you know?"

"I know you," he said, stating it as a fact. "He pretends to know you, but he doesn't. I do. And you're never going to stop thinking about me, Cass. He has no chance."