A Marked Man by Stella Cameron

“Yes, about you.” His belly felt like fire. “In my mind I’ve made love to you in every way I could come up with. And I got one thing right—you want sex as much as I do. We’re not playing around here anymore.” With his hands around her waist, he lifted her, pulled her higher until her breasts hovered inches from his face. They swayed and he fought for some restraint.
    He was losing the battle faster with every second.
    Annie pushed her hands beneath his head and brought his mouth to a breast. He opened wide and sucked, used his tongue to flick her nipple until she writhed.
    She collapsed on him and he shrugged his shoulders from the shirt. Annie pushed up and reached behind her. She lifted his penis, squeezed it again and again. He unzipped her jeans and pushed a hand inside.
    Annie would make sure they remembered this night. But it had to be on her own terms. She pulled his hand out of her pants and shifted until she knelt over his thighs. He was so hard that unzipping his pants took determination.
    Each time he tried to intervene, she slapped his hands away and worked his pants down. Not looking at him was impossible. He made a formidable bulge inside white undershorts. Annie rested her cheek there and her heart pounded, at the feel of him, and at the way he was helpless to stop the pulsing against her face.
    Tentative at first, she settled a hand on one muscular thigh and inched her fingers inside a leg of the shorts until she met hair, and taut flesh. Holding him in her hand came naturally, even if she’d never done it before, never taken any initiative with a man.
    She laughed, then kissed him through the shorts, made the fabric wet—with a lot of help from Max. Between her own legs, she was slick and hot. Annie wanted him to touch her there, but she was afraid to give him control.
    He twisted beneath her and his much stronger hands took hold of hers and pulled them away.
    Annie sprang to her feet. She backed slowly from him.
    “Come here,” he said, getting to his haunches. His voice wasn’t uncertain anymore, and it wasn’t gentle.
    Annie rushed into the dining room and faced his direction again. In here the drapes were closed and almost no hint of jolly lights punctured the darkness.
    Max remained where he was, but only for moments, then he was on his feet and closing on her. The white shorts were gone.
    She shivered, but her face pulsed with heat. I’m mad. Being mad was exactly what she wanted. Mad in his company.
    He reached her and she flattened herself to the wall, spread her arms wide as if she could force herself through. “I’m going to make love to you,” he said. “Any objections?” He sounded strange. Whatever she said he intended to follow through.
    With his legs braced apart, he anchored her hips, covered her. He tweaked at her and nipped. Her mouth, her earlobes, her shoulders. The sucking bites he landed on her shoulders would leave bruises.
    Behind Annie’s eyelids she saw black, then blinding red. Sweat sprang out on her skin. Nothing was clear, or quiet. Singing, whining sounds invaded her brain.
    All over her body, nerves quivered. She beat at Max, screamed at him but couldn’t hear her own words.
    His mouth stole hers, worked hers until she forced her face aside. With one foot on the wall, she shoved at him and he moved off a few inches.
    “Now it’s what I want,” Annie yelled. “Do what I want.”
    Sinking her nails into his side, she swung around until his was the back that faced the wall. And she shoved him until he threw his arms wide as she had.
    “Annie,” he said. “Do your thing. You’re angry and I don’t blame you. Beat it out on me.”
    “Shut up, ” she cried. “You don’t know anything.”
    With the living room window at a distance, and behind her, he wouldn’t be able to see her as anything but light and shadow. Quickly, she pushed her jeans and panties down together and stepped out of them.
    Her eyes flashed. Repeatedly, she tossed her hair