Page 30

I felt it.
And fuck, I liked it.
I slid my hands lower, over the hard plane of his stomach, down to the thick belt at his waist. He was already hard. I could feel the strain of it, the proof of his arousal pressing against me.
“Claire,” he warned.
I ignored him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, I popped the button of his pants.
His whole body tensed.
I flicked my gaze up, holding his. “Something wrong, Dane?”
His jaw clenched, his breath coming rougher now. “You think you’re in control?”
I smirked, slow and deliberate.“I know I am.”
I’d seen it the second I walked into Dominion Hall—Marcus watching me like a predator tracking his prey, barely holding himself back. His eyes had darkened the moment he saw Diego on my arm, his jaw going tight, fists flexing like he was itching to drag me away.
And the best part? He’d already looked Diego up. Done his homework. Knew exactly who he was.
Knew he was gay.
Knew there was nothing between us.
And still,still, it had gotten to him.
But it wasn’t just Diego.
It was when I was in that ballroom, surrounded by Charleston’s most powerful men, working them the way I worked every source—sharp smiles, light touches, well-placed laughter. Marcus had returned from his little tour with Diego to find me right where I wanted him—watching me charm the room, watching me command the attention of men who were used to being the ones in charge.
And he hated it.
I’d seen the muscle in his jaw tick, the way his stance shifted as he cut through the crowd, shoving past men who had been leaning in just a little too closely, speaking a little too softly, their eyes lingering on the silver fabric clinging to my body.
Marcus didn’t have to say a word. His presence alone was enough to scatter them, like a wolf stepping into a pack of strays.
And now, here we were.
I let that knowledge sink in, let it move through me like heat licking up my spine. It wasn’t just aboutpossession for Marcus—it was about me. Who I let close, who I let touch me, who I let inside my world.
And I’d made damn sure he knew Diego was closer than he was.
Marcus was wound tight, barely holding himself together. His hands fisted at his sides, his entire body thrumming with tension. Not just from anger. From want. From the knowledge that I’d made him need me. That I was the one making him unravel.
I dragged a single finger down the front of his shirt.
“Admit it, Dane.” My voice was a slow, taunting whisper. “It got to you.”
His nostrils flared. “You think that little game with your producer did anything?”
I tilted my head, my smile widening. “Then why are you breathing like that?”
Marcus exhaled sharply, like he was on the edge of breaking. His control, his restraint—it was all slipping.
And I was the one making it happen.