The glowing cherry of Marcus’s blunt cast sharp, angular shadows across his face as he stood in the driveway, completely unbothered by the fact that he was trespassing on his locked-up cousin’s property. Emily’s breath hitched behind the blinds. Her fingers trembled against the plastic slats as she watched him take one slow, deliberate drag before dropping the ember onto the concrete and crushing it beneath the heel of his heavy boot.
He didn’t knock on the front door. He didn’t have to. Emily was already running down the stairs, the silk of her tank top brushing against her skin as her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The sheer audacity of what she was doing made her dizzy. She unlocked the heavy deadbolt, pulling the door open just wide enough to let the humid July air slip inside.
Marcus was already standing on the threshold. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped into the foyer, his massive frame instantly consuming the quiet space of the house Christian had built for her. The scent of winter air, leather, and fresh tobacco smoke cut through the familiar smell of her vanilla candles, instantly corrupting the environment.
“You’re late,” Emily whispered, trying to inject a note of confidence into her voice, though the slight tremor betrayed her completely.
Marcus locked the front door behind him with a slow, definitive click. He turned around, his heavy, hooded eyes locking onto hers with a predatory clarity that made her knees instantly weaken. He didn’t say a word. He just stepped forward, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor, forcing her to back up until the small of her spine hit the wall of the hallway.
“I don’t operate on your timeline, sweetheart,” Marcus murmured, his deep voice a granular vibration that resonated right through her chest. He reached out, his large, rough hand gripping her jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into her chin to force her head back. The contrast of his cold, grease-stained fingers against her hot skin was an immediate jolt of adrenaline. “You added me because you were bored. You invited me into Christian’s house because you wanted to see if the rumors were true.”
“Maybe I just wanted some company,” she defied him, her hands instinctively coming up to rest against his solid chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thud of his own heart underneath his black t-shirt.
Marcus let out a low, dark growl that sent a violent shiver down her spine. “Don’t play innocent with me, Emily. You’re Christian’s wife, and you’ve spent the last three weeks staring at a ceiling wondering what it feels like to be broken by a real man. You wanted the dirt. You wanted me.”
Before she could form a reply or pull away from his bruising grip, Marcus slammed his mouth down onto hers with a sudden, relentless fury that completely shattered her remaining resolve. It wasn’t a gentle introduction; it was a violent, possessive reclamation of a woman who didn’t even belong to him yet. He tasted like smoke, winter rain, and a dangerous, dark hunger that she was utterly powerless against. Marcus parted her lips with a harsh necessity, his tongue tangling with hers as his free hand slid down her spine, his palm flat and hot against the thin fabric of her tank top.
She let out a low, desperate sound against his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck as she gave up the illusion of control. She was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, betraying her husband in the very house he paid for, but her body betrayed her mind completely. She arched into his touch, her core aching for the dangerous rhythm only Marcus could provide.
Marcus backed her up slowly against the wall, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her slightly off the floor until she was clinging to his broad shoulders for survival. He tore his mouth away from hers, tracking a trail of burning kisses down the sensitive line of her throat, his teeth biting gently into the skin right above her collarbone.
“Say his name right now,” Marcus growled against her skin, his thumb pressing hard into her hip bone, leaving a mark he knew would last for days. “Tell me you want to wait for him to get out.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed out, her fingers digging deep into the muscle of his shoulders as a sudden, electric shudder ran through her entire body. “Marcus… I can’t.”
Marcus let out a dark, satisfied chuckle against her skin, his hands mapping the contours of her body with a bruising familiarity that proved his absolute victory on night one. The trap had closed completely, and as he buried his face in her hair, pulling her into the living room toward the plush fabric of the sofa, Emily realized she was officially a prisoner of her own dark addiction.