A Marked Man by Stella Cameron Page A

back and he saw a sheen on her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Annie sweated. He had sensed the instant when she passed over the edge of reason and went willingly to a place the timid avoided. She was intoxicated by the moment, by being with him, naked and longing for possession.
    “Let me hold you,” he said. Even while he wanted to throw her down and sink himself inside her, the warning came that they were beyond any caution. He didn’t want to make her loathe him but if he couldn’t slow this down, that’s what could happen.
    “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Fuck me, you fool. I don’t want to be held.” Her laughter shook and he thought she was crying. She had shocked him into silence.
    He didn’t see her raised hand. Annie slapped his face hard. “Come on, hate me. I’m hateful. Repulsive. You don’t want me, so hurt me.” She slapped him again, and caught the corner of his eye. “Knock me down and leave me.”
    Everything she did and said excited him. And it set off warnings. If this was a sexy game, he wanted to play. If someone had wounded her enough to destroy her confidence, he had to know that.
    “Max!”
    What he did was catch her wrist and hold it while he grabbed for the other. She eluded him each time and landed closed-knuckled punches wherever she found a part of him. After driving a fist into his diaphragm, she reached between his legs again, took hold of his shaft and pumped. She strained downward until he was afraid he’d dislocate the arm he held, and let go. On her knees, Annie drew him into her mouth, reached around to pinch his buttocks and almost released him from her lips before she drove along him again, her mouth hot and wet.
    If he wanted to stop her, he could, in a moment.
    No way would he do that.
    Annie sprang to her feet again. What she felt now approached nothing she had experienced before. The few times she’d been with a man, her role had been that of the victim, debased, hurt—once almost killed. But she had never guessed at her own hunger for sex.
    She shivered. Painted only by a faint glow, the strong lines of his face became terrifying. His features were twisted and he had tensed. He waited as if ready to attack her. Annie heard small sobs from her own throat and started to scuff away from him.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” Max said. “You want it. You asked for it and you’re going to get it because you made sure I don’t have a choice anymore.”
    He squeezed her waist, pushed a thigh between hers and ground into the flesh that already wept for release.
    She lifted her arms as if in surrender.
    “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “How can you be two women in one?” Holding her breasts, he used the tips of his thumbs to draw circles around her nipples, coming closer and closer but never quite touching them.
    “Please.” Annie bucked toward him. “Do it.” And she meant she wanted him to play with her nipples, to ignite the white hot prickling.
    With no warning, he dipped, caught her behind her knees and landed her on the carpet.
    Horror engulfed her. “Max—”
    His mouth cut off whatever she might have said, and he kissed her repeatedly, and while he did, he positioned himself and thrust inside. She felt his body give a great shudder and opened her mouth to scream, but his bellow drowned her out.
    Once, twice, three times he battered into her, testing her, finding his rhythm, and with each thrust, Annie bit down on her bottom lip to stop him from hearing her moan.
    She let her hands flop above her head. Tears streamed. He fell to pumping steadily, groaning, but with satisfaction, with pleasure.
    On and on he went until a sensation both unbearable and thrilling, speared her and shot exquisite burning into her labia and down her legs. A heavy pulsing began, just as Max shouted her name, gave a last upward lunge and slumped with his body half on and half off hers. He slid off her but kept her in his arms.
    “Annie, Annie,” he