Dark Desires: Sold (2 page)

No dire issues, huh? Shows how smart you are.

“You found this out how?”

Marcus grinned with the joy of a brilliant child. “I used my time while you were asleep constructively.”

“I have a job.”

“Yes. Retail.” He shook his head in pity. “You’re far too bright to be a drudge, Marguerite. No wonder you’re so fed up with people. Consumerism can be the very devil. Trust me—I know. Leaving your position will only require a letter of resignation and turning in your keys. They’ll fit very nicely in this FedEx envelope.” He waved it in air, making her wonder how she missed seeing it before.

“I have an apartment.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not empty, Marcus.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” He studied her from beneath incredibly long lashes. “You’re not fond of colors, are you? Beige couches, beige carpet, and no knick-knacks. How can you not have at least a little rooster in the kitchen?”

Marguerite pressed her lips together. Her level stare forced the teasing grin off his face.

“Fine. No more criticism on your décor. How we’ll take care of your apartment is this wonderful thing called self-storage. Easy to arrange.”

“You’ve given this much thought while I was passed out.”

“It’s what I do.” His shoulders lifted in a self-deprecating shrug. “The paper trail will say you went on a spiritual pilgrimage to India—all on a credit card, of course, since you don’t have the kind of cash to fund this. You’ll have the occasional post card sent, noting international calls would be too expensive and impractical, and no one will be any the wiser. They’ll see what they want to see and you’ll be safe with me.”

Marguerite resisted the impulse to shake her head and roll her eyes. “Me on a spiritual pilgrimage? Really?”

Her skepticism inspired another one of his boyish grins. “Why not? You’re obviously disconnected from your fellow man and lost on this grand journey we call ‘Life.’ You’re unmarried, no boyfriend, no children, and no career. You’re free to do something this drastic.”

Marguerite mulled over his words. A strange world unfolded in her mind’s clouded eye.

“Now I’ve packed up all the mundane details of your life. Are you ready to move onto the important questions?”

“Where will we go?”

“That I can’t tell you until we’re in the air.”

Marguerite laughed in disbelief. “You can’t really expect me to agree to this, can you?”

“I can. Whether you do or not is entirely up to you.”

“If I say ‘no’ to your proposition?”

“You walk out of here. No strings attached. If you say ‘yes’ we leave now. So what will it be? Yes or no?”

“Wait.” This time she held her hand up. “You said you’re buying my time. How much would that be?”

“Six weeks out of the year sprinkled with a few days in between.”

“Where are you for the rest of that time?”

“Making my living.”

“Which is?” Given his access to chloral hydrate, she guessed him to be a pharmaceutical representative of some sort, traveling overseas for Big Pharma. The bastard.

Marcus stood up and walked over to her. He crouched down and rested both hands on her knees. Looking up into her face with a beatific expression, he answered, “I kill people for money. Lots of it.”

***

Present day

Marguerite held onto his naked shoulders with slippery fingers. Fragrant oil stained the bed sheets. He had slathered her ass with it before having her coat his stiff cock with more. Marcus sucked and licked her nipples while she rose up to help angle him into her.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Marguerite sank down slowly, trying to relax in spite of the sharp pain and near-unbearable fullness.

Marcus cupped her face and murmured lovely sounds of comfort. “Suffer for me just a little bit, baby, and I’ll make it worth it. I promise.”

“I’ll be okay. I just need to get used to it again.” She captured his lips in a lusty, open-mouthed kiss. Her breath stuttered in time with Marcus’ slow, controlled thrusts. She whimpered and groaned, temporarily aroused more by the idea of him in her ass than the present sensations themselves.

Marcus sat higher up against the headboard. He cupped Marguerite’s backside to bring her closer. “Rub your pussy against me.” He followed his wet whisper with another drugging melding of lips and tongue.

She rocked her hips against his muscled stomach. The hard ridges quickly teased her into frenzy. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nibbled on his bottom lip before plunging her tongue deep into his mouth. “You make me so damned hot for you! How do you do this to me?”

Marcus grinned in satisfaction. “Like and like.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Is it feeling better?”

Marguerite bounced faster in reply. The burning pain faded. An intolerable itch replaced it. The only way to satisfy it was to keep moving. She fell faster and faster down his rabbit hole, entering a bizarre world where nothing and everything made sense all at once.

“I love being in your ass, baby. It’s so tight. . .swallowing up my big cock like this. . .I just want to fuck you forever, baby.”

Marguerite babbled her agreement. She kissed his neck. Sweat pooled sweetly on her tongue. She gave into desire and bit down. Marcus responded by jerking his hips up and moaning her name.

Violent thoughts rushed across mind like a thousand scuttling insects, disgusting and forcing her to acknowledge them in stomach-churning fascination.

Does putting a bullet in a man’s head make him hard? Does he feel like God? Does he see us at all? Are we ants at his feet? Does life matter to him when money is the point of transaction?

Marguerite planted her feet on the bed, giving herself more leverage, and letting her thighs become their own gateway to bliss. She begged Marcus to touch her, to make her cry and scream his name. His fingers tunneled true. His thumb flicked across her throbbing clit, returning back to circle it, before tapping away in merriment.

Her arms trembled. Her stomach clenched. She chased her orgasm as hard as she chased the muted colors in her mind.

I should care about what he does when he’s not here. But I still don’t. What does that say about me? Does it say something I don’t already know?

***

Two years prior

“Surprise!”

Marguerite looked about. She imagined herself a tiny blot of ink in a colorless landscape.

“Do you like it?” Marcus grabbed her shoulders and turned her one way and then the other.

Snow spread out as far as she could see. The sky hung over them like a blue sheet of plate glass. There were no farm animals roaming the vast property. No people to stumble across them. There was nothing but snow, isolation, and more isolation.

“Well?” he prompted.

I actually did it. I left the States with this strange man—one who admits to be a killer—left my boring life, and now I’m here in the middle of nowhere. Whoa, momma!

Marguerite focused on his giddy expression. The lines in her face rearranged themselves spontaneously.

“Yes!” She pulled away and threw herself in the snow. Rolling onto her back, she flapped her arms and legs and screamed, “Holy shit, yes! This is perfect!”

Marcus joined her. His limbs kicked out madly as he hooted in joy. “I knew you’d love it! I just knew it! Aren’t you glad you agreed?”

“Yes.” Marguerite inhaled a lung-bursting breath and let it out with a happy giggle. “I’m going to love living here, Marcus. No responsibilities, no façade to keep up, nobody expecting anything out of me—this is heaven.”

He rolled over to face her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If someone told you five days ago you’d be in the middle of Siberia would you have believed them?”

Marguerite mirrored his position. Propped up on her elbow, she snorted. “Never.” She looked over his shoulder. “You know this could be anywhere really. Canada, Montana, or any of those other cold, snowy places. Or at least I think it could be.”

“Once you see the house you won’t think that.”

“Why? Is it a mansion?”

“You greedy thing. Why would I have a mansion all the way out here?”

“Because you’re good at what you do.”

Marcus reached out and gently brushed her windblown hair away from her face. “How come it didn’t bother you when I told you? Do you care that little for people?”

She considered her answer, habitually editing messy words, when Marguerite realized she didn’t have to anymore.

Who’s he going to judge? Not me.

“It’s not that. Look, it goes without saying I’m a little off or I wouldn’t be here with you, right?”

“No arguments here. No complaints either.”

“I guess I see it as either all killing is wrong or it’s not. I
don’t
think all killing is wrong but that’s when it gets messy. What’s justified? Is it better to kill in anger or not? Should it be personal? If I’m on the end of someone choking me to death, will I really care if it’s personal?”

Green glass eyes reflected Marguerite back to herself. She spoke faster and faster just to watch her miniscule twin mouth move.

“So reason stands impersonality is the better choice but is it? Does it really matter? World leaders routinely send their citizens off for one war or another. Are their hands any less clean? Aren’t they doing it for financial gain? War is big business, right? How are they any different from you?”

Marcus cleared his throat and lifted a dark, well-groomed brow in disdain. “They get to go on press tours and write boring books and demand hefty fees for public appearances.”

“What do you get?”

“Anonymity and an interesting companion like you.”

Marguerite found the snowy ground to be as conducive to sharing confidences as a bar table. “Marcus, would you really have let me go if I said ‘no’ to you?”

“Yep. I would’ve just kept with my original plan.”

Curiosity cocked her head. “Which was?”

“Buy a girl in Moscow.”

***

Present day

“Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”

Marguerite’s legs trembled from the effort. She gripped his biceps, enjoying the power hiding beneath her fingers. Marcus plundered her. His body slammed against Marguerite over and over again. He opened her completely, every entrance wanting his possession and imprint.

“Please fuck me. . .don’t stop yet. . .oh god. . .”

Marcus slid his arms beneath her shoulders. He whispered naughty things into her gasping mouth. He described how hard it made him to hear her beg him. He confided how the scent of her pussy, the feel of her soft lips, and the tightness of her beautiful asshole made him want to fuck her until he died.

Marguerite’s thighs squeezed his waist. His vulgar poetry razed her twisted thoughts to the ground. They fed her hungry soul. In the dark, Marcus became her god. And like a good, selfish disciple, Marguerite wanted to take his divinity for her own. She yearned to come yet again, to be a wanton, shameless thing in his bed.

No, not now. I wanna draw this out.

She pushed on his chest. Once he reluctantly stopped moving, Marguerite wiggled out from beneath him. She groaned in regret as his thick cock slipped out. It beckoned her touch. She couldn’t help but slide her fingers over him and sigh in appreciation.

“You’re so beautiful, Marcus.”

“Moi?” His lighthearted tone dissolved into a lush groan when she closed her fist over him and pumped.

Marguerite reached out for the discarded bottle of oil. Still keeping one hand busy, she opened the lid with impatient fingers and drizzled the delightful liquid all over his hard length.

“Baby, you’re killing me!” Marcus swore when she used both hands on him like a corkscrew.

“Does it feel good?” Marguerite crawled closer to him, mouth hovering over his engorged crown. Her tongue ached to jab the weeping slit and taste him.

“Fuck yes!” He reached out for her full breasts, palming and squeezing them. His fingers pinched, tugged, and pulled her hard nipples until she moaned as loudly as he had.

Marguerite rested her cheek against his muscled thigh. She kissed his tight sack, enjoying the light hairs tickling her lips, before laving it with the broad side of her tongue. Marguerite’s clenched hands sped up. “I missed you, Marcus. I didn’t want to but I did. I’m sorry.”

Marcus cupped her chin. He forced her to look up at him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

***

Two years prior

“I’ll get you better ones. Different kinds from those. Just let me know what you’d like and I’ll get them before I leave.”

Marguerite turned away from the closet. She noted a light flush pinked his cheeks. Up until this moment, embarrassment didn’t seem to be an emotion he was capable of. It surprised her.

Marcus gestured to the rack of clothes. “As I told you earlier, I purchased those for a different kind of woman. A flashy, short-skirted kind. Oh, um, but they’re new and have never been worn. Just so you know. I’m not so tacky as to make you wear something another woman has worn.”

Marguerite ducked her head to try and hide her smile. She plucked a silver, sparkly dress by the hem. “So the Russian girl was going to wear this out here? It doesn’t seem to work well in the countryside.”

“Yes, well, she wasn’t going to actually
live
here. A small apartment in Moscow was the plan for that one. I had those clothes sent here just so you’d have something to wear until I made different arrangements.”

“I see.” Marguerite circled the room, hand reaching out to occasionally touch a piece of furniture or the wall.

“Perhaps it would’ve been better to not have anything at all, right?”

She made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat while examining the plush white comforter.

Marcus watched her while keeping his position by the open door. “You think me a pig, don’t you?”

“I think you odd.” Marguerite sat on the edge of the bed. She met his troubled gaze evenly. “I think you considerate as well.”

“I try to be as much as I can.” His shoulders liquefied beneath his thick sweater. “I really am sorry I’m not better prepared for your arrival.”

“How?”

“How did I miss that set of details?” Marcus scratched his head in chagrin. “You were an impulse. I didn’t have much time to work with once I decided to change tactics.”