Page 97 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

He leans in and puts his mouth against the bruise, so gently I barely feel it, and he stays there.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

My bottom lip quivers, and I press my teeth into it to make it stop.

He kisses it again, then the corner of my mouth.

He shoves his own shorts off, kicking them away, and his cock springs free. Then he picks me up again. I lock my legs high around his waist while he lines himself up, and he drives in every inch of himself with one stroke.

A long, broken moan tears out of my throat while my walls stretch around his girth. The fullness burns. My toes curl, and my vision sparks white at the edges. I feel every vein dragging along my inner walls as he settles inside me, his cock throbbing. The stretch borders on too much, and my head falls back anyway.

“Feel that?” His forehead presses to mine, his breathing wrecked. “Every night this week. This is all I’ve thought about, having you stretched around my cock.”

Everything else drowns under the pleasure, and my protests go with it. He holds me against him, my arms looped around his neck, my legs locked high on his hips. Then he starts walking toward his bathroom, bouncing me on his cock with every step.

Each movement drives him deeper. The hard slap of my body meeting his fills the room. I bury my face in his neck and moan into his skin as pleasure jolts through me with every bounce. The drag of him against my sensitive walls is too much. My nails dig into his shoulders while my breath comes in short gasps.

By the time he shoulders the bathroom door open, I’m trembling. He steps under the running water without setting me down, hot spray cascading over both of us. Steam climbs the glass while he presses my back into the cool tile.

Then he moves with long, dragging strokes that pull almost all the way out before he slides back to the hilt, and he holds me up through every one. Skin slaps on slick skin under the rush of the water. Each thrust hits deep enough to spark white behind my eyes. My nails rake down his shoulders and leave red trails.

He keeps his eyes on my face, drinking in every gasp. The sounds between us turn filthier, the slick glide of his cock plunging into my soaked pussy, my moans climbing higher with each thrust.

“There she is.” He snaps his hips once, hard, then returns to that slow grind that drives me out of my mind.

It winds tighter until I shatter around him with a keening cry, my pussy clenching, milking his length. He groans against my throat and buries himself as deep as he can go while my orgasm pulses around him.

Even then he doesn’t stop, riding me through every wave until I’m shaking and oversensitive in his arms. Then he lowers my feet to the floor, turns me around, and bends me forward. I grip the shower railing. He kicks my legs wider and drives back into me from behind.

The angle is devastating. He hits deeper, his hips slapping against my ass. One hand fists my soaked hair. The other grips my hip and pulls me back onto his cock with every thrust.

“Fuck, listen to the sounds you make.” His voice is thick. “You’re so fucking wanton for me. You can’t get enough of my cock.”

He keeps it deep, working against my ass on every stroke, letting me feel every inch of him stretching me. The filthy sounds of him fucking me echo off the tiles. The pleasure builds again, slower and deeper this time. My breasts sway with each thrust, my nipples tight from the hot water. I push back to meet him.

Marcus leans over me, chest to my back, his teeth grazing my shoulder while he holds that torturous rhythm. “That’s it, baby. Take every inch.”

I come again on a long, broken moan, my whole body seizing. He follows, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, pulsing hot inside me while the water rains down over us.

We stay locked together, breathing hard, his arms wrapped around me until the aftershocks fade. His lips brush my shoulder.

“So much for washing my back.” His laughter vibrates through my skin, and I close my eyes.

“If I had the strength to move, I’d kick you in the balls.”

He kisses me sweetly on the cheek, an act that undoes me. “Lucky me then, I guess.”

At lunch I can’t look at him. My eyes stay on my plate and on the girls, and when I glance up, he’s already watching me, a sly smile on his face.

Now I’m sitting here in his shirt, and I can’t hold a fork straight.

“Jessa.” Bella tips her head, frowning. “Why do you smell like Uncle Marcus?”

I go completely still. “What?”

Marcus chokes on his water. “She doesn’t.”

“She does.” Mia nods at her plate, unbothered, sawing at her chicken. “She smells like you a lot.”