Chapter 108
[Claire's POV]
We got out of the car. Marcus's house was a modest single-story structure with blue siding and white trim. A small porch light illuminated the front door. As we walked up the path, I noticed how neat everything was—trimmed bushes, swept walkway, American flag hanging by the entrance.
Very Marcus. Disciplined. Controlled.
But as soon as the door closed behind us, that control shattered.
Marcus pushed me against the entryway wall, mouth finding mine with renewed hunger. I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pressed his full body against me. The food bag dropped from my hands, forgotten.
His hands slid under my sweater, warm palms against my bare skin. I shivered at the contact, my own fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. I needed to feel him, needed to confirm he was real and alive and here.
"Bedroom," I breathed between kisses.
Marcus didn't answer verbally. Instead, he scooped me up again, cradling me against his chest as he navigated through the dark house. I caught glimpses of his life as we passed—police commendations on the walls, case files stacked on a coffee table, a photo of what must be his family on the mantle.
Then we were in his bedroom. Marcus set me down on the bed, and I bounced slightly on the mattress with a small laugh. The room was as neat as the rest of the house—military corners on the sheets, nothing out of place.
Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor. Marcus stood at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, eyes locked on me.
Slowly, deliberately, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
I sat up on my knees, watching every movement. The way his fingers worked each button. The gradual reveal of skin. When the shirt fell open, I saw the white bandage wrapped around his ribs—a stark reminder of his injuries.
My eyes stung. "Marcus..."
"I'm okay," he said, shrugging the shirt off completely. "I promise."
But he wasn't okay. Not fully. I could see the bruising peeking out from under the bandage, the careful way he moved to avoid jarring his injured side.
Yet the look in his eyes—that hungry, desperate, utterly devoted look—made me forget everything else.
Marcus reached for his belt. The metallic clink as he unbuckled it sent electricity through my body. He pushed his pants down, stepping out of them along with his shoes. When he straightened, wearing only his boxer briefs, I couldn't help but stare.
His body was beautiful—muscular from years of physical training, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. And the prominent bulge straining against his underwear left no doubt about his arousal.
"Your turn," he said, voice low.
My hands trembled as I pulled my sweater over my head. Marcus's eyes darkened as he took in my lace bra. I reached behind to unhook it, letting it fall away.
"Christ, Claire." He stepped closer, kneeling on the bed in front of me. "You're perfect."
His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch. Marcus leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, and I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him to me.
His tongue circled and teased while his hand worked my other breast. Heat pooled between my legs, my body responding to every touch. When he switched sides, giving equal attention to the other breast, I couldn't hold back a moan.
"Marcus, please..."
He lifted his head, eyes meeting mine. "Please what?"
"I need you." My voice came out breathless. "All of you."
Marcus helped me out of my jeans and underwear, his fingers trailing fire along my skin. When I was completely naked before him, he paused, just looking.
"Beautiful," he murmured again. Then he hooked his thumbs in his boxer briefs and pushed them down.
My breath caught. His cock stood fully erect, thick and hard, the head glistening with pre-cum. I reached out, wrapping my hand around him. He was hot and smooth in my palm, and when I stroked experimentally, Marcus groaned.
"If you keep doing that," he said through gritted teeth, "this will be over way too fast."
I smiled, releasing him. "Then you'd better make it count."
Marcus pushed me back onto the mattress, settling between my spread legs. His fingers found my wetness, stroking through my folds. I was soaked, had been since our first kiss in the parking lot.
"So ready for me," he said, circling my clit with gentle pressure.
I whimpered, hips lifting. "Marcus, I don't want to wait. I need you inside me."
He positioned himself at my entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against me. Our eyes locked as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me open.
The sensation was overwhelming. Not just physically—though god, he felt incredible—but emotionally.
"Okay?" he asked, fully seated inside me.
"Yes." I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop."
Marcus began to move, slow at first, careful of his injured ribs. But as my body adjusted to his size, as pleasure built between us, his thrusts became more urgent. He supported himself on his forearms, careful to keep most of his weight off me, and I clung to his shoulders.
Each stroke hit somewhere deep inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. I met him thrust for thrust, our bodies finding a desperate rhythm. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard tapping the wall.
"Claire." My name was a prayer on his lips. "You feel so good. So perfect."
I couldn't form words anymore. Could only feel—the slide of his cock inside me, the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin against mine. When his thumb found my clit again, rubbing in tight circles, I shattered.
The orgasm crashed through me in waves. I cried out, nails digging into Marcus's back, my inner walls clenching around him. Through the haze of pleasure, I felt him thrust harder, faster, chasing his own release.
"Claire, I'm—" He groaned, body going rigid as he came. I felt him pulse inside me, the warmth of his release, and it triggered another smaller climax that left me trembling.
Marcus collapsed beside me, breathing hard. We lay there in the moonlight, our sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. His arm came around me, pulling me close despite the awkwardness with his bandaged ribs.
"That was..." I started.
"Yeah," he agreed softly.
I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were already on me, dark and intense and full of something that made my chest tight.
"I meant what I said," I whispered. "At the bar. About you making me feel real."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You do the same for me, Claire. You make me feel alive again."
We stayed like that, wrapped in each other, until our breathing slowed and exhaustion began to pull at us. But before I could drift off, Marcus spoke again.
"Stay," he said. "Tonight. Tomorrow. As long as you want."
I smiled against his chest. "Okay."