Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,58

dazedly, I pump my fist up and down, letting my eyes roam over her curvy body.

It takes just a few quick strokes for me to come, marking her pale thigh with thick white ropes of my seed.

30

Emma

My mind is still filled with wool, my thoughts tangled from post-sex endorphins as I stare at my legs, where Marcus’s semen is slowly sliding down the front of my left thigh, mixing with the water streaming over me. I feel like I’ve somehow landed in a porn flick—a particularly long, involved one, with the hottest actor I’ve ever seen.

Marcus came on me.

On my leg.

While I watched him.

It was so dirty—and so unbelievably hot. Just like the sex dreams I’ve been having, only better, because this was my fourth orgasm. Fourth. I’ve never come four times in a row, not even with my vibrator. And I was right about his tongue being crazy skilled. God, is it skilled. The way he attacked my clit—

“You okay?” he murmurs, and I blink, flushing as I look up.

“What?”

“You okay?” he repeats, thick eyebrows arching, and I realize I completely zoned out, standing there like I’m the only one in the shower.

Like this is one of those dirty dreams of mine, instead of a real-life sexual encounter with the man I was going to send packing as soon as he turned up on my doorstep.

“The books,” I blurt out, my mind finally latching on to something other than the fact that I have his seed on me.

That he’d just been in me, so deep inside that I still feel tender from his hard possession.

“What about them?” He sounds amused as he picks up the body wash again and pours some on his palm, then proceeds to lather himself all over, his movements as casual as a jock’s in a locker room.

“I can’t…” I swallow, my eyes falling to the softening column of his sex as he washes it thoroughly. Even like this, he’s impressively sized, bigger than either of my two exes. With effort, I force myself to look up. “I can’t accept them.”

His expression darkens. “Why not? You like books, don’t you?”

“Of course. But those are first editions. They must cost more than my apartment. And the scarf—I can’t accept it either. It’s too much.”

There, I’ve said it. I feel bizarrely proud of myself—at least until he steps closer, getting under the spray with me, and I recall that I was going to tell him that before something like this happened.

The whole point was to chase him away so I wouldn’t give in to this dangerous attraction.

He must be thinking the same thing because one corner of his mouth curves up sardonically as he angles the showerhead to have the water hit him more directly. “They’re gifts, kitten. You’re familiar with the concept, right?”

He’s so close now that my nipples are grazing his hair-roughened chest, and my breath catches as he reaches down with that unsettling casualness and wipes the remnants of his seed off my thigh, lightly brushing over my sex in the process.

“There,” he says huskily. “All clean now.”

Turning, he swiftly rinses the remaining lather off his body and steps out of the shower, leaving me to stand under the spray and gather the tattered shreds of my composure.

I half-expect Marcus to be gone when I come out of the bathroom—after all, he got what he wanted—but he’s there, sitting on my bed in his business attire, looking as if nothing’s happened.

That is, if one ignores the possessive heat in his cool blue eyes as they travel over my short pink robe and the bare legs underneath it.

Holy fuck. Does he want more sex?

With me?

Is this going to be a thing now?

I stop by my closet, eyeing him uncertainly as Mr. Puffs meows from his perch on the top shelf. “So,” I start, ignoring the cat, “about the—”

“I told Wilson to move our reservation by an hour.” Marcus stands up, his tall, large figure making my studio look even smaller. “We’ll make it on time if you don’t take too long to get dressed.”

I gape at him. “You still want to go out to dinner?”

He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because you just fucked me ten ways to Sunday without needing to take me anywhere, I want to say, but I choke back the words in time. “No reason,” I mumble instead, grabbing a clean pair of panties from the closet before making my way over to the desk, where the jeans, sweater, and bra I’d been