Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,79

relationships, but there have been some one-night stands as well. My most serious relationship to date was in college, where I dated the same girl for two and a half years. We parted ways upon graduation, as I was moving back to New York and she wanted to live in LA. After that, I was too focused on my career to devote much time to dating, so my subsequent relationships were superficial and short-lived, ranging from a couple of weeks to a couple of months.” He takes a sip of coffee, then adds, eyes glittering, “And yes, in most cases, the sex was good, though it couldn’t have held a candle to this.”

My arms drop to my sides, and my heart—which had shrunk into a tiny pincushion from picturing him with other women—lurches into a startled gallop. “It couldn’t have?”

“No.” He sets his coffee down, his eyes burning into me. “Believe it or not, I don’t normally want to fuck five times a day.”

“Oh.” My throat goes dry as he steps toward me. “I… I see.”

“What about you?” He places his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me with his large body. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Tell me about your sexcapades, kitten.”

I swallow, feeling uncomfortably like captured prey. “Um… there haven’t been all that many, really. Just a couple. One boyfriend in college, one in high school. And a bunch more dates that led nowhere. I’ve never been all that popular.”

I cringe internally at how pathetic that sounds, but Marcus’s eyes narrow again, his nostrils flaring as he leans in. “And they were good in bed, those two boyfriends of yours?” There’s something dark and dangerous in his voice, almost menacing.

If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought him jealous.

Regardless, I’m tempted to keep up the lie, so I come across as less of a loser. But when I open my mouth, the truth comes out instead. “No, they weren’t,” I admit, holding his gaze. “Arthur was seventeen and didn’t know what he was doing, and Jim… well, Jim was okay, I guess. But it wasn’t like this with him. Not like it is with you and me.”

Contrary to my expectations, the confession doesn’t appease Marcus. If anything, his face darkens further. Dipping his head so that his lips brush my ear, he says in a low, rough voice, “I’m glad you weren’t popular, kitten… because if you were, I’d have a lot of fucking Jims and Arthurs to destroy.”

And as I’m processing that bizarre declaration, he hoists me up onto the counter and takes my mouth in a deep, darkly possessive kiss.

44

Marcus

“No, no more. I’m so sore,” Emma groans, rolling off the bed when I cup her breast, and I reluctantly let her go, though I could gladly go for round two. Or three—depending on whether coming on her ass this morning counts.

Fuck, no wonder she’s begging for mercy. I have zero control around her. And hearing about her ex-boyfriends didn’t help. I all but lost it, picturing her with those pimply-faced idiots—which is how we ended up back in bed despite my best intentions.

I was going to be a gentleman and keep my hands off her until tonight.

I really was.

She’s wisely decided to remove the temptation by disappearing into the bathroom, so I get up and get dressed, ignoring the contemptuous stares from the cats. Well, two of the cats; Cottonball seems to have warmed up to me a bit, and his green gaze is merely chiding.

Like his siblings, he thinks I’m a sex-crazed beast.

“Come here, buddy,” I mutter, sitting down on the one and only chair and patting my knee when Emma takes her sweet time in the bathroom. “I need a distraction so I don’t attack your pretty owner again.”

The cat eyes me dubiously, then saunters over and jumps onto my lap. I shake my head and start petting him, still amazed that he trusts me to hold him. Aren’t animals supposed to be able to tell when people like them? Not that I dislike this particular cat; he seems to be nicer than most.

By the time Emma comes out of the bathroom dressed in her short pink robe, Cottonball is purring loud enough to wake the neighborhood, and I can’t deny that I’m enjoying myself. In theory, I should be hating all of this—the cats, the dingy apartment, the lumpy bed that’s half a foot too short for me—but instead, I feel good, much too good considering how little