Under the Influence: A Psychological Thriller by Layne Deemer

Author:Layne Deemer [Deemer, Layne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Baby? You awake?” Marcus’s breath is hot on my cheek. I felt the bed dip when he crawled in a moment ago, and now he’s perched on all fours, hovering over me. I press one hand to his chest and the other scrubs the sleep from my eyes.

“I am now.” I groan. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.” He leans in and kisses the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s his signature move and with good reason. A few seconds there and I melt faster than a stick of butter in a hot pan.

Despite some residual grogginess, my body responds immediately. My back arches and he slips a hand under my tank top, cupping my breast. His fingers skate over my nipple as his mouth makes a trail up and down the curve of my neck. A soft moan escapes my lips, and it’s a green light for his revving engine. He straddles me and lifts my tank top over my head. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, he slides them down my legs, tossing them onto the floor. Then he works his way back up my body, placing soft kisses along the insides of my legs, my knees, my thighs, and … oh, God.

To all the guys in high school who wondered why I ever gave Marcus a chance, you should’ve made better use of your time. You could’ve been perfecting your game the same way my husband has. He takes direction well and has learned a lot from my verbal and bodily cues. His tongue makes lazy laps around my center before his mouth closes over its target. He takes me to the brink several times before finally sending me over.

I barely have time to recover before he’s slowly pushing inside of me. Tiny tremors reverberate through my body, and I grip his shoulders to steady myself. He leans in close and whispers, “You’re so beautiful. I don’t know how I got so lucky. I love you.” This is my favorite part. Marcus isn’t the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, but when we’re this close, he doesn’t hold back.

His movements are tortuously slow. He presses his forehead to my shoulder, and I tip my head to rest my cheek against him. I inhale, taking in his musky scent mixed with Cool Water. It was the cologne of choice for most guys in high school, and even now, nine years later, it’s still Marcus’s favorite.

My fingers dance along the ridges of his back and up to his neck where they get lost in his hair. Marcus has thick, dark hair the color of burnt umber that falls in unruly waves. He keeps it longer on top and short around his ears and neck. Next to his soulful eyes, it’s my favorite trait of his. But something feels off tonight, as my fingers find more hair around his neck than I’m used to—hair that feels fine and more straight than wavy.

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