I’m sure you’ll feel better soon!” or “Have you thought about seeing a therapist?” or any of a thousand different answers that all shared the same bullshit flavor.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” He leaned back from the table. The overhead lighting made strange patterns across his pale blue dress shirt. “Tell me more.”
“Tell you what?” He surprised her. It was something that didn’t happen often. She relaxed the restraint on her true self.
“Where would you go? How would you live? Who would you miss?”
“I just told you. Alone. No one.”
Marguerite’s impatience with vital words and the cultural significance of adding more when only a handful sufficed usually ended badly. She expected him to interpret her abbreviated reply as impatience with him. Scowls, distracted farewells, and clumsy retreats usually came next.
How are you going to extricate yourself from the crazy person, Mr. White?
She took another sip of her vodka, amusingly wrapped up in the name of “Johnny Bravo.” Marguerite didn’t mind this particular excess of words because she enjoyed the cartoon.
“What about a convent?”
Whoa, momma.
Marguerite snorted. “Fuck a convent. I don’t want to serve God nor am I looking to be celibate. I just want to be left alone on my moutain.”
“Solitary yet not celibate. Interesting.”
“Conundrum.”
“Challenge.”
She savored Marcus’ answer. Taking a closer look at him, Marguerite wondered at the odds of finding the most interesting person in the room. She made a mental rundown—average height, slim build, fine-boned features, long lashes, full mouth, brown hair, ridiculously beautiful green eyes—and found she liked what she saw very much.
In fact, the more Marguerite studied Marcus the more she wondered how she had overlooked his unusual male beauty.
How did he appear so normal? So indistinguishable with a face like that?
“So what’s the happy ending for you, Marguerite?”
“A silent place.”
***
Present Day
“Fuck!”
The feminine scream eclipsed the carnal soundtrack of flesh slapping wetly, groans, and the headboard thumping rhythmically against the log wall.
Marcus draped himself over her back. His proud whisper seared the damp flesh across her neck. “That good, huh?”
Marguerite reached up and grabbed the back of his head. Her fingers twisted into his dark brown hair. “Don’t sound so smug. I can’t help coming so much. This is just what happens when you’re gone for this long.”
“Is that a complaint?” He nipped her shoulder while squeezing her breasts.
“As if I’d tell you.” Marguerite left one hand high on the carved headboard and let the other slide between her widespread legs. She traced the edges of her open slit, letting her fingertips tickle the base of his deeply entrenched cock.
He chuckled. Marcus’ merriment was a contagious thing. He kissed her neck one more time before lifting himself off of Marguerite. Grabbing her hips, Marcus drew her back against him. Measured strokes sliced her in a way most divine. Her laughter broke off piece by jagged piece.
“Keep playing with yourself, baby. I like knowing how hungry you are for this.”
Marguerite twisted against him, hand clenched against herself. She snapped her hips hard, trying to get as much of Marcus into her as she could.
I’ll swallow him whole, strip him clean, and fuck him until I can live with myself again.
Looking over her shoulder, Marguerite watched him pound into her, needing to feel this one connection in a big, wide, empty world. Face taut with pleasured concentration, mouth relaxed, and muscles bunched from exertion, Marcus made another pretty picture to frame in the low hum canvas of her mind.
His thumb pressed against the coy rosette just a few inches north. Marguerite bucked. She whimpered, suddenly greedy for more.
Fuck me till I can’t walk. Fuck me till I beg you to stop. Then fuck me some
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” He leaned back from the table. The overhead lighting made strange patterns across his pale blue dress shirt. “Tell me more.”
“Tell you what?” He surprised her. It was something that didn’t happen often. She relaxed the restraint on her true self.
“Where would you go? How would you live? Who would you miss?”
“I just told you. Alone. No one.”
Marguerite’s impatience with vital words and the cultural significance of adding more when only a handful sufficed usually ended badly. She expected him to interpret her abbreviated reply as impatience with him. Scowls, distracted farewells, and clumsy retreats usually came next.
How are you going to extricate yourself from the crazy person, Mr. White?
She took another sip of her vodka, amusingly wrapped up in the name of “Johnny Bravo.” Marguerite didn’t mind this particular excess of words because she enjoyed the cartoon.
“What about a convent?”
Whoa, momma.
Marguerite snorted. “Fuck a convent. I don’t want to serve God nor am I looking to be celibate. I just want to be left alone on my moutain.”
“Solitary yet not celibate. Interesting.”
“Conundrum.”
“Challenge.”
She savored Marcus’ answer. Taking a closer look at him, Marguerite wondered at the odds of finding the most interesting person in the room. She made a mental rundown—average height, slim build, fine-boned features, long lashes, full mouth, brown hair, ridiculously beautiful green eyes—and found she liked what she saw very much.
In fact, the more Marguerite studied Marcus the more she wondered how she had overlooked his unusual male beauty.
How did he appear so normal? So indistinguishable with a face like that?
“So what’s the happy ending for you, Marguerite?”
“A silent place.”
***
Present Day
“Fuck!”
The feminine scream eclipsed the carnal soundtrack of flesh slapping wetly, groans, and the headboard thumping rhythmically against the log wall.
Marcus draped himself over her back. His proud whisper seared the damp flesh across her neck. “That good, huh?”
Marguerite reached up and grabbed the back of his head. Her fingers twisted into his dark brown hair. “Don’t sound so smug. I can’t help coming so much. This is just what happens when you’re gone for this long.”
“Is that a complaint?” He nipped her shoulder while squeezing her breasts.
“As if I’d tell you.” Marguerite left one hand high on the carved headboard and let the other slide between her widespread legs. She traced the edges of her open slit, letting her fingertips tickle the base of his deeply entrenched cock.
He chuckled. Marcus’ merriment was a contagious thing. He kissed her neck one more time before lifting himself off of Marguerite. Grabbing her hips, Marcus drew her back against him. Measured strokes sliced her in a way most divine. Her laughter broke off piece by jagged piece.
“Keep playing with yourself, baby. I like knowing how hungry you are for this.”
Marguerite twisted against him, hand clenched against herself. She snapped her hips hard, trying to get as much of Marcus into her as she could.
I’ll swallow him whole, strip him clean, and fuck him until I can live with myself again.
Looking over her shoulder, Marguerite watched him pound into her, needing to feel this one connection in a big, wide, empty world. Face taut with pleasured concentration, mouth relaxed, and muscles bunched from exertion, Marcus made another pretty picture to frame in the low hum canvas of her mind.
His thumb pressed against the coy rosette just a few inches north. Marguerite bucked. She whimpered, suddenly greedy for more.
Fuck me till I can’t walk. Fuck me till I beg you to stop. Then fuck me some
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