Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(61)
Lavineas Server DMs, Eight Months Ago
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Hey, Ulsie. You didn’t reply to my messages yesterday?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Which is fine, but I wanted to make sure everything was okay. It was the first day I hadn’t heard from you in Book!AeneasWouldNever: Well, months, I guess. Anyway, if you haven’t had time, I completely understand, but I just wanted to check on you.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: oh god i’m sorry broke a glass and cut my leg last night, ended up in the emergency room Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: before the stitches they gave me the good pain meds so i’ve been kinda out of it sorry, still am i guess Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m so sorry you got hurt, Ulsie. Are you okay?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Please, PLEASE tell me you had someone else drive you home, and have someone taking care of you now.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: taxi time, bitches Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: not bothering friends so late, and no way i’d call my parents Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: no worries i’m fine now aeneas’s confused boner week is taking care of me, fanfic ftw Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: turgid tumescent throbbing confused boners ftw really Book!AeneasWouldNever: Ulsie— Book!AeneasWouldNever: Shit. I wish I Book!AeneasWouldNever: Please be careful, and call someone if you need help.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’ll be checking on you whenever I can.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: velvet over steel mofos velvet over fucking steel
17
MEN LIED, TO THEMSELVES AND TO HER.
Cocks didn’t.
Confronted with so much truth—veined, thick, glorious proof—even she couldn’t doubt it anymore. He wanted her. As she was.
April lifted her head and stole a glance at Marcus, currently kneeling between her thighs as she lay sprawled naked on her bed. For privacy, they’d drawn semi-sheer curtains across the windows, but some sunlight was still peeking through. Her room was aglow with it, every inch of her lit and exposed, and his erection had gone from impressive to painful-looking when she’d spread her legs for him.
Which was only fair, because the sight of him had her squirming restlessly.
He was golden in the filtered sunshine, strong and lithe and honed, leashed energy vibrating in every movement. When he hunkered down lower and slid his hands slowly up her thighs, over every dimple and swell, his longer strands of hair in front swung down, shielding his eyes from her.
They couldn’t have made eye contact anyway, though. He was watching the path of his splayed fingers, or rather her flesh as it prickled and burned beneath his deliberate caress. To her disappointment, he didn’t veer inward, toward the juncture of her thighs, but kept moving up, up, up. Past her hips. Over the mound of her belly and the silvery-pink stretch marks there, up her ribs, until he nudged the sides of her heavy breasts. But he didn’t linger there either, instead finding and following the lines of her collarbones with his thumbs, and trailing his knuckles lightly down the lengths of her arms.
She left her palms turned upward and exposed to him. It was probably an unnecessary statement, given the openness of the rest of her body, but she’d wanted them both to know: she was choosing to trust him.
He wasn’t a stranger anymore, and she didn’t intend for this to be a one-night stand. If he walked away now, if he turned a critical eye on her body, he would hurt her.
Still, she lay there, the vulnerable, sensitive cups of her hands pale beneath the stroke of those golden fingers. His body a cage around hers, on hands and knees, he leaned forward and nuzzled into her right palm. Pressed a soft kiss there.
Then he trailed that sharp-edged jaw, ever so slightly rough at this point in the day, back up her arm, and rubbed into her neck until she actually giggled.
She could feel him smile against her skin, and she was done lying still. His shoulders and triceps passed beneath her hands, his skin warm and smooth, every muscle obvious and delineated in a way hers were not and had never been. The light dusting of hair across his upper chest, dark golden and springy, she petted. His nipples she lightly thumbed to peaks, smiling herself as he arched over her and breathed out hard.
Then she was stroking down his belly, solid and flat and bisected by more crisp hair, and suddenly, he wasn’t quite so leisurely anymore.
He sat back on his heels, between her legs. Her exploring hands he nudged aside with a murmur of apology, something about how long it had been, and how little restraint he had left. His own hands swept upward, until he was cupping her breasts for the first time. They spilled out of his gentle hold, too big for containment, and he gave a little pleased-sounding hum.
“So soft.” It was a murmur, as if to himself.
With his thumbs, he was circling her areolae, watching the smooth skin furl in response. Then the pads of those thumbs were feathery on her nipples, brushing back and forth as her legs involuntarily parted further.
Hunkering down again, he rubbed the near-stubble on his jaw over the upper swells of her breasts. She gasped, and then his mouth was hot on her nipple, sucking, teasing, flicking, playing with the faintest hint of a tooth’s edge, as his fingers plucked the other. He switched, and she shifted again. Arched up against his mouth, greedy for more pressure.
Breast play had never much interested her, to be honest, but the sensation was electric now, her lower belly turning heavy and liquid. He didn’t linger, though, maybe because his breath was growing as short as hers.