Page 88 of Marcus

His laughter coated her with something sinful and wicked. God, that sound alone could turn her into a woman she didn’t recognize, but one that she loved nonetheless. She could never be this woman with someone else. No one allowed her to be wild and free and loved like she could be when she was alone with Marcus.

“After what, the second round?” he asked, still chuckling.

“Hey, what matters is we made it here.”

“Right, that’s what matters. Not that you’ve still got my cum across your back.”

She was quite sticky.

Cella didn’t really mind.

It felt like another mark he’d added to her, really. Another piece of him that she would take with her, even if she washed it away, and would feel long after he was gone.

Their silence stretched on while his arms circled tightly around her. On top of him, with her face tucked against his chest, she watched the light from the sun dance through the slat between the pulled curtains. She couldn’t remember the last time she spent an afternoon in bed with a man—that’s how long it had been.

Tiff would wake up soon.

They’d have to get out of this bed.

Cella enjoyed it while she could.

“I needed you today more than you know,” Marcus murmured.

Tipping her head up, she reveled in the warmth of his hard lines molded along her softer curves. She met his gaze, the gold flecks in his eyes more noticeable this close. She could get lost in that swirling brown and gold as he watched her. Every single time.

“Why?” she asked.

“Too much shit on my mind. And then there you were … ripped me right out of it, and let me breathe for five seconds. I needed it. People get me in my head, and then I second-guess everything I do. It makes me think I should be doing things more like they would, maybe, or just different from how I want to do them.”

“Seems … not like you.”

At all.

The Marcus she knew always seemed to be in control of everything. The people around him, even himself, and whatever else he could extend his hand to, he did. At times, he almost came off as cold because he only really showed emotion with those that he cared about and more often than not, she knew he was put in situations where he couldn’t be himself.

He had to be a version of it.

She wished that didn’t have to be.

“Business is always tricky for me,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “I walk a fine line between the boss I would like to be, and the one others expect me to be because of where I come from. There’s a balance I haven’t found yet, and I feel like it shows when I hit a wall.”

Oh.

That made Cella stiffen a bit.

Marcus didn’t miss it. “What?”

“I just … didn’t realize that’s what you meant.”

“Business?”

“The mafia,” she replied quietly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s easy for me to put a distance between me and that, I think. I’ve done it for most of my life, and spent the last five years blaming the mafia for taking my daughter’s father from her, and my husband from me. I thought, if I kept a distance between me and it, then it wouldn’t affect me again like it had before.”

“Cella, that’s impossible. You are who you are.”

Yeah, she knew.

That didn’t make it easier, though.