Page 4 of Marked

K endra

This wasn’t how I envisioned tonight going. Not at all.

Alaric took me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder once more.

I didn’t fight this time as he stalked across the alley and started to climb several flights of stairs up above the bar.

With my ass up in the air, I felt incredibly small and entirely too vulnerable.

Almost as if he could read my mind, he placed his palm against my right cheek.

His hand was large, and it covered the entirety of my cheek.

I found myself absentmindedly wondering what it would feel like on my very naked backside.

My pussy pulsed.

He’d threatened to spank me and there was some sick and twisted part of me that wanted him to. I was fantasizing about it at this very moment. The thought of him baring my body and forcing me to submit was making me very, very wet right now.

I was losing control in a pretty major way.

His fingers squeezed my bottom, reminding me how he had smacked me there hard enough to make me cry out and squirm in order to avoid it.

I was so aroused, so fucking wet, and I didn’t understand why. For some reason, I felt like a cat in heat and I just wanted to climb this man like a goddamn tree.

Most of all, I needed to come. If only I could get out of here and go home, I could ride my little bullet vibrator until I wore myself out.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to ride my vibrator.

I wanted to ride his big cock. I needed to feel his thick shaft pumping in and out of my tight little pussy until I screamed his name as I came all over him.

I didn’t even need to see it to know he was big.

A man with confidence like his could only have something like a horse cock dangling between his legs.

Not only that, but he was arrogant enough that it was obvious he knew how to use it, too.

His thumb grazed over my pussy. I was positive he could feel its heat, could tell just how hot his rough treatment was making me.

I hardly noticed when he climbed one more flight of stairs and opened a thick metal door.

He carried me inside, dug a key out of his pocket, and unlocked another door that led into a small studio apartment.

In terms of New York apartments, this one was rather large, probably due to the fact that this building was one of the oldest in the neighborhood.

Once he closed the door behind us, he purred softly before gently placing me back down on the floor. I thought he was going to throw me on the bed and fuck me right away, but he did something unexpected.

He started to undress.

I should have protested. I should have screamed for help.

I should have done something, but I didn’t.

Instead, I just watched him as he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing a chiseled chest of muscles that made my mouth drop open just a little bit.

Next, he kicked off his black boots and unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather from the loops of his jeans before tossing it onto the floor.

Then he unbuttoned his jeans, easing them down around his hips to join the rest of his discarded clothing.

I turned my eyes back to him, swallowing hard as my gaze drifted up and down his body, taking in every perfectly cut line and every bulging muscle.

He could have been carved from marble, his body was so perfect. I could do nothing to tear my eyes away from his naked body. Every inch of him was hard. His chest and arms were chiseled with thick muscle. His stomach was toned and tight. In the dim light, his skin appeared to shine like gold.

And then there was his cock.

It was far larger than any I’d seen before and very, very hard.

My pussy hurt just looking at it, but that did nothing to stop me from wanting to jump on top of it.

I licked my lips and tried to pull my eyes away from it, but I was so deliriously aroused that nothing I could do or think made me want to stop. Not even for a moment.

It was maddening.

He bent down and grabbed his jeans off the floor before fishing into his pocket. He pulled out my knife. He tossed it in the air and caught it by the tip of the blade before holding it out for me to take.

“If I’m going to claim you as mine, it’s going to be after a fair fight. Here, try again,” he said.

I furrowed my brow at him in confusion. Why would he give me back my knife when I’d already tried to kill him with it? It made no sense at all.

He pressed the handle of the knife into my palm, and I hesitantly took it. Then he took several steps back and tensed. His muscles rippled with his strength, and I found myself short of breath just from the sight of him.

“You want me to fight you?” I asked with bewilderment, trying to rein in the raging heat in my body.

I attempted to focus on him, but his naked body and gloriously erect cock were so incredibly distracting.

I shifted back and forth, and my inner thighs slid against one another, reminding me of how very much I needed to come right now.

“Show me what you’re capable of, baby doll,” he dared, his words laced with a challenge that burned in my chest.

Before I could even think to respond, he lunged toward me.

His movements were lightning-quick, almost blurring in the dim light of the room.

Instinct took over. My grip on the blade tightened, and I pivoted on the balls of my feet, narrowly dodging his initial advance.

My breath hitched, my pulse pounding in my ears as I spun and swung the knife in a wide arc aimed for his throat, but he ducked low with uncanny speed, avoiding the blade by inches.

I followed up with another strike, this time aiming for his side.

He twisted out of my reach, and I barely nicked the skin of his muscled stomach.

He grinned, a cocky, infuriating smirk that only fueled my frustration and determination.

I switched tactics, feinting left and cutting right, forcing him to adjust. His steps mirrored mine, and I realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn’t fighting at his full capacity. He was testing me. Playing with me.

That knowledge only made me fight harder.

I faked a retreat, stepping back as if to regroup, then lunged forward with everything I had.

The knife sliced through the air, the blade aimed for his shoulder.

He deflected me with an upward sweep of his arm, but I used the momentum to twist my body and leap into the air, kicking him square in the stomach.

The blow landed, and he grunted, a flash of pain flickering across his face.

Satisfaction bloomed in my chest, but it was short-lived.

His arm snapped out like a whip, his hand closing around my wrist before I could recover.

“Not bad,” he growled, his grip ironclad as he twisted my arm.

The knife trembled in my hand, but I refused to let go.

Using my free hand, I clawed at his forearm, my nails digging into his skin.

He hissed but didn’t relent. Instead, he yanked me forward, throwing me off balance.

I stumbled but refused to fall, using my momentum to headbutt him square in the chest. The impact sent him staggering back a step, and I seized the opportunity, wrenching my wrist free and spinning away to put distance between us.

“Good,” he said, his tone begrudgingly impressed. “But you’re going to have to do better than that.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t waste the energy.

Instead, I gritted my teeth and came at him again, feinting low before slashing upward.

This time, I aimed for his face. He sidestepped, but the blade grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

His expression darkened, and a spark of satisfaction flared in my chest.

But the moment didn’t last either.

Before I could press my advantage, he surged forward, closing the gap between us faster than I thought possible. His hand shot out, grabbing my knife hand again. I twisted my wrist, trying to break free, but his grip was like steel. With a flick of his wrist, the knife clattered to the floor.

I didn’t hesitate. I dropped low and swung my leg out in a sweeping kick, aiming for his ankles. He stumbled but didn’t fall, recovering with the grace of someone far too accustomed to fighting like this.

Before I could rise, he was on me. He grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me to my feet, spinning me around and pinning me against the wall.

His hand pressed against my chest, holding me in place as his other hand snatched the knife from the floor.

He held it up, the blade glinting in the light, and I braced myself for whatever came next.

“You fight like a woman with nothing to lose,” he said, his voice low and even. “But you’re holding back.”

I glared at him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving as I fought against his hold.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough. “That’s the spirit,” he said, leaning in close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath.

With that, he released me and stepped back. My knees wobbled, but I forced myself to stand tall, my heart thundering as I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.

He shook his head.

“I expect more from you than that, Kendra. I’ve only just met you, and I know that you’re better than that little display,” he scolded.

He tossed the knife on the bed, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward him.

Quickly, he sat down, forced me over his thighs, and wound an arm around my waist, locking me into place over his knees.

His palm settled on top of my jean-covered ass.

Fuck. This wasn’t good.

“You’re going to try harder next time, or else I’ll be taking my belt to your very naked little ass,” he warned, and I screeched as his palm crashed against my backside.