Clasping his face between her palms, she watched him, eyes open, lips parted, expelling breath after breath of ecstasy.

“You,” she said. “You.” Before he became flattered, she looked almost angry when she growled, “Come. I’m dying.”

He was buried in her to the hilt, and he’d been moving at a fast clip, but he could feel her pulsing.

Her anger faded from her face, and again she requested, “Please.”

He uttered a small laugh and kissed her lips. “Okay, but only because you asked nice.” Then he started again, torturing her—and himself. A few minutes in, and damned if she didn’t go off again, milking his orgasm from him.

After a few more involuntary thrusts, he collapsed on top of her, smashing her into the covers with half his body. He was still inside her, balls pounding, head swimming, as her hands stroked his back.

“Black,” she whispered, kissing his face.

“Mmm,” he said, eyes still shut.

“Thank you.” She sounded so grateful, he couldn’t stop himself.

He laughed.

…

Marcus’s wide shoulders shook and Lily felt her smile widen.

Had she ever had this much fun in bed? Then she thought of the half-dozen orgasms she’d had under this man’s ministrations and decided that no, she had not ever, ever had this much fun in bed.

Refreshing, really. He looked refreshed, too. She liked that she’d made him feel as good as she did.

“You always this responsive?” he asked, jolting her out of her bliss.

“Meaning?” she asked.

His hand found her breast. “Meaning, are you always this easy to please?”

She slapped his arm halfheartedly. He chuckled again.

“I’m not answering that question,” she said. “You just want to know if I’m reacting this way only with you.”

Something serious crossed his face as his thumb stroked over her nipple. “Was it me?”

Yes.

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. He grinned and nuzzled her nose with his. “Yeah. It was me.”

“You know, you do not have ego problems.”

“I have another problem.” He shifted his hips. “Don’t want to leave.”

She froze, wondering if he meant her body or her bed.

A second later, he disconnected from her so slowly, he took her next breath with him.

“Damn,” he said, pegging her with a sexy smile. Then he was up, standing at the side of her bed. “I assume your bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

“The room with the toilet in it,” she called as he walked away from her. She watched his athletic butt and bit her lip.

“Ha-ha,” came his response, just before the door shut behind him.

Now what?

Should she ask him to stay? True, she’d slept over at his house last weekend, but then, she’d been thoroughly exhausted from an evening of spent adrenaline. She sensed tonight would be different. There wasn’t anything otherworldly between them. And maybe that was the problem. There was no distraction here in her safe, quiet little townhome, and that meant if she asked him to stay and he did…they’d be bare.

She tugged the sheet over her body, thinking they’d been pretty bare all-around a few minutes ago. Why did she care? She’d like to spin herself a tale of her ex and the way she’d been betrayed, but she and Marcus were beyond that, and she knew it. Plus, after they’d tumbled out of the Cameron pantry looking so guilty, she was pretty sure her friends could guess what was up. That left the only other reason she didn’t want Marcus to stay.

Because she was scared to try again and get burned. Especially to go all in with a guy she worked with, because if they broke up and she still had to see him forty hours a week, that would be…ugly.

Unless… things worked out?

That thought sent a blaze of hope into her bloodstream, made her fast forward her future and see the epic possibilities of family, of children, of…everything. And she didn’t want everything. She couldn’t handle everything. She could handle the sex. She could even handle fudging their story for the sake of keeping Joanie and Clive’s reputation on level. But she wasn’t sure she could handle commitment after her last commitment ended so very badly.

Still. It’d be nice to have him here. Maybe for another round of sex. Some snacks and television. A shower.

A smile curved her lips as Marcus, bare-assed naked, and ridiculously gorgeous, swaggered into her bedroom. She allowed her eyes to browse the expanse of his chest, the chest hair spreading over firm pecs and tapering down to the six-pack of abs. And lower. To the impressive member of his anatomy hanging temptingly between two thick, muscular thighs. Raising her gaze to his face, she found his mouth hitched into a sideways smile, his hair mussed, and his stubble prominent.

She stared, smiling.

He just stood there and let her stare, smiling back.

“Did you want to—”

“I should get going,” he said at the same time.

“Oh, of course.” So he didn’t want to stay. She tried not to be hurt by that, and really, she wasn’t. She did feel exposed, however, and tugged the sheet higher, tucking it under her armpits.

“I, uh… Thanks.” His smile was less easy, and his sentiment was…strange.

“You’re welcome.” Her sentiment, she found, was equally strange.

He gathered his clothes, pulling on his boxers and snapping the waistband against his flat stomach, pulling on his slacks, and buttoning up his shirt. By the time he ran his hands through his hair, she was full-on regretting that he was leaving so soon. She wanted to ask what he was doing this weekend, but bit back the urge.

“You gonna be okay here, recovering by yourself?” he asked, and it sounded like good-bye.

“Somehow I’ll manage.” Cupping a pillow, she curled into it and wished for a moment she had the courage to ask him to stay. Regardless of her fears, of what lingered between them, he’d feel better than this stupid pillow. And the pillow would not wake her and want morning sex.

Sigh.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, squeezing one butt cheek as he did. “See you, McIntire.”

Asking when would be needy so she didn’t. Instead she said, “See you” and closed her eyes, refusing to watch him go. “Lock up before you go.”

It was what he’d told her after their night together, and he didn’t argue. Instead, he took the stairs, called out a low, rumbling “good night”, and closed the door behind him.

Then the house was quiet.

And Lily was alone.

Chapter Sixteen

He’d wanted to stay Friday night. Wanted to tuck Lily beneath her blankets, pull her against his body, and fall asleep with her wrapped in his arms. Then he realized he needed to man the hell up before he sent her running for the hills. She was twitchy and this was new. As grateful as he was to have her in bed again, he didn’t want to spook away the opportunity for it to happen again.

Never in his life had he been this careful. Then again, never before had he worried about spooking a woman. Before, if they got spooked, then hip-hip-hooray. After his failed relationship with Annie, girls could come, just so long as coming was followed by going. With Lily it was different. He was different. In a good way. Or at least, he thought it was a good way. Leaving her in bed alone Friday night made him feel nothing but shitty.

Reginald London was not wrong about Marcus being good at poker. He had a great poker face. Usually he smiled the entire time. Laughed his way through a bluff. Kind of like life. But where Lily was concerned, he was beginning to fear he’d shown too many of his cards way too soon.

She’d seen his hand all right. Actually, she’d seen every last inch of him, and he’d seen every last inch of her. It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. She wasn’t a conquest. This wasn’t about getting laid, getting the girl temporarily.