Tell Me When (21 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Amber

The moment Marcus’s lips touch mine, my mind goes blank. I’d almost forgotten how amazing it feels when he kisses me. I scoot closer, so I’m practically on his lap, and run my fingers through his wet hair. I open my mouth to let him in, but as his tongue finds mine, the images of him and Tammara in the photos crash the moment.

I jerk away and glare at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The rain continues hammering against the car in reply.

A heart-stopping smile slides onto his face. “Distracting you. Is it working?”

I shift away from him, so that I’m pressed against the passenger door. “I know about you and Tammara.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw the photos.”

“Again, no idea what you’re talking about.”

I pull the phone out of my purse and locate the photos that for some idiotic reason I haven’t deleted yet. I pass it to him. “These photos.”

He takes the phone and flips through the pictures. With each one, his face grows paler. “Fuck,” he breathes. He doesn’t say anything else. He just gapes at the screen.

“I...” he finally says, still focused on the phone. “I’ve no idea how she did this. All I remember is her coming over, ’cause her sister’s fiancé tried to hurt her. She wanted a beer and a shoulder to cry on, I guess. The next thing I remember is waking up in bed.”

“With Tammara?”

“No, alone.”

He doesn’t beg me to believe him, claiming it’s all a lie, or say anything else I’d expect he would to cover his betrayal. He just continues to stare at the phone, lost and in shock.

“Did you...did you drink anything?” I ask, unable to believe where my thoughts are headed. But something about his reaction tells me he’s genuinely confused. Not at how I got the pictures. But at how he ended up kissing his ex-girlfriend.

This can’t be real. These things don’t happen. Not to guys.

“Yeah, I had a beer.”

“Did you leave it alone with her at any point?”

Still flipping back and forth through the photos, he shrugs. “She’d been crying and asked for a Kleenex. So I got her some from the bathroom.”

No, this is crazy. Why would she drug him?

For the same reason she sent me the photos.
She wanted me to think they were back together, which she couldn’t do without any “evidence.” She wanted me to dump him, not realizing I already had.

I take a breath. “Is it possible she drugged you?”

His head shoots up and a frown forms between his eyes as he contemplates my question. “You mean like the date rape drug?”

“Maybe. It’s the only thing I can think of if you’re telling me the truth. It’s that, or she got you drunk.”

He shakes his head. “I would have remembered that.” He bangs the back of his head against the headrest, as if that will help him remember.

“You need to report this to the cops.”

He turns to look at me. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Do you really think anyone’s gonna believe me? The cops are gonna take one look at Tammara and think I’m making this all up ’cause I was screwing around with her and didn’t want you to know the truth. That’s what I would think if I were them.” He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m not thinking the same thing, like he can’t believe I’m even considering he’s innocent of what the photos suggest.

But when you look at the photos, and I mean really look at them, it’s easy to see how they could be staged. If Marcus was unconscious because of a drug, these pictures would be easy to pull off. His eyes are closed and her lips are pressed against his. In all the photos. Even the ones where her naked breasts are squished against his chest. Nothing in the photos indicates he’s kissing her back.

I was so upset when I first saw them, I didn’t take time to analyze the pictures. Why would I? Which is exactly what Tammara had counted on.

Marcus shifts the car into Drive and pulls away from the gravel shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a week since the photos. If I’m right about his being drugged, the drug is long out of his system by now. He has no proof that he’s the victim. If he says anything to the cops, they probably won’t take him seriously.

He squeezes my hand. “Thank you for believing me.”

I squeeze back. “I just don’t want you blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“You mean like what you’re doing? When are you gonna stop blaming yourself for Paul’s actions?”

I peer out the side window but don’t say anything for a while. “How are your ribs?” I eventually ask.

“Perfect.”

He’s exaggerating. I did research on broken and bruised ribs. It’ll take several more weeks, at least, before he’ll be a hundred percent better.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, eyes on the road.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Good.” The word’s soft, like he’s saying it more to himself than to me. “Do you think we can try this again? You and me?”

My body screams
say yes
. My head is less sure. Seeing him again makes me realize how much I care for him. Really care for him. This goes beyond the things we have in common, such as the love of classic rock and chicken noodle soup and basketball. It goes beyond the way he makes me laugh with his goofy math jokes. And it goes beyond how he’ll do anything for the people who matter to him most. Marcus gets me. Gets me like Trent did as my boyfriend and as my best friend.

I’m not sure I can go through the pain, again, of letting him go. But I know I can’t go through the pain if I lost Marcus because of Paul. Or possibly even because of Carlos.

“Kitten?”

My heart melts at his hopeful expression. I swallow back all my fears...at least for now. “Okay.”

Relieved, he gives a happy sigh, smiles, and returns his attention to the road.

As promised, after we go to a tire store to have the damaged tire replaced, he drives us back to his apartment. I scan the parking lot but don’t see Chase’s car in his usual spot.

“He’s gone somewhere else for tonight.”

I smile, hoping Marcus can’t tell how nervous I am. Although I know he has no expectations, I’m ready to move past what happened with Paul. I have to if I want to feel normal again. If I want to feel like Trent used to make me feel when we fooled around. If I want to feel alive and whole.

Tonight is about Marcus and me, no one else. Where Paul was cruel, Marcus will be gentle. Gentle and patient.

Marcus suggests we watch a movie. I borrow a T-shirt and sweatpants, and change into dry clothes before settling on the couch, my head on his shoulder, his warm muscular arms wrapped around my waist. It’s like we’ve never been apart.

We cuddle for most of the movie, but Marcus’s familiar smell of safety and spice proves too tempting. I glance up, having long since lost interest in the show. I don’t get far beyond his strong jaw, with the light layer of stubble, before Marcus realizes I’m no longer watching the movie, and turns his intense hazel eyes on me. My breath stalls in my chest.

We stay like this for several rapid heartbeats, savoring the sight of each other, before his mouth lowers to mine, and I reach up to meet him halfway.

Our tongues slowly mingle, tease, explore. Remember. Every aching nerve between my legs begs to be taken to the heights I know is possible again. Marcus has shown me that.

My fingers inch along the waistband of his jeans. They creep under the soft fabric of his T-shirt, feeling each defined ridge of his stomach. I continue moving my hand higher and higher, my mouth never leaving his.

Marcus pulls away, hooks the bottom of his T-shirt with his fingers, and yanks it over his head. The spot where Carlos’s man booted Marcus in the ribs is marred by only a faded yellow bruise. My fingers skim over it as I marvel at his perfection. I was wrong. There is such a thing. This sweet and loving man, with all his scars both inside and out, is as perfect as you can get. And he’s mine.

“Do you think you can...? Do you think your ribs are okay to, you know, to go all the way?”

His mouth moves into my favorite one-sided smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” His smile fades. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything. I’m fine just holding you.” He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. “And kissing you.”

“No, I want to,” I say with more determination than I thought possible, given that my body is a battlefield for desire and fear. “I need to do this, to help me move on.”

His hand shifts from my waist and glides under my top until his fingers brush against my bra and nipple. I inhale sharply. Every touch is a mind-numbing caress. Every touch strives to make me forget about my brutal first, second, fifth time. Every touch proves that he doesn’t want to rush me. And each time he touches me, I want him oh so much more.

I move off the couch and hold out my hand. He takes it and lets himself be pulled up. I lead him into the bedroom. Once there, I remove my top so that I’m standing in my jeans and bra. His gaze travels over my body, hungrily taking me in, yet making me feel desirable and strong. Strong enough to make love to Marcus without any fear or regrets.

He envelops me in his arms and walks me backward, until the bed hits the back of my legs. I laugh and Marcus covers my mouth with his, turning the sound into a soft moan. His hands slowly slide up my back, pausing whenever they brush against the thick raised scars. He lovingly strokes each scar with his thumb, as if by doing that, he can erase the memories.

His hands continue up my back and with skilled fingers, he unhooks my bra, slides the straps off my shoulders, and tosses it to the floor. His mouth still on mine, he lowers me to the bed.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he tells me even though they’re open. “Then you’ll know you’re safe. If you want to stop, no matter what, tell me. Okay?”

I nod.

He studies my face one more time before he’s finally satisfied with my reply. His lips glide along my jaw, showering small kisses along the way, then down my neck to my chest. His breath is hot against my nipple, and it tingles in eager anticipation. He brushes his tongue lightly over it and suddenly I can’t keep still.

“So beautiful.” His mouth encircles the nipple and he teases me relentlessly, between the flicking of his tongue and the sucking. God, he’s good. Better than good.

I can’t keep back the moans, even if I tried. He grins at the sound, his mouth still on my breast.

Unsure what else to do, my fingers wrap themselves in his hair.
His
fingers wander down my stomach and pause at the waistband of my sweats. They slip between the fabric and my skin. I tighten my grip on his hair.

He lifts his head from my breast, gauging my reaction. Biting my lip, I nod. The intensity of his eyes leaves me speechless.

“You sure?” he asks, tone husky.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His lips return to mine, raining butterfly kisses on them before he deepens the kiss. His fingers slip down into my underwear, and slide along the slick surface surrounding my entrance. They tease me in a way I’ve never been teased before and drive me closer to the edge. I grip the sheets to keep from tumbling over. I’m not ready for that yet. This time I want to feel like
I’m
in control.

With tentative hands I undo Marcus’s zipper, then tug on the waistband of his jeans. He gets the hint and clumsily removes his jeans and boxers, releasing his erection, which is as beautiful as its owner.

I look up at his face. He’s biting his lip, something I’ve never seen him do. I’m not the only one who’s nervous. That thought fills me with joy. The guy who has a reputation of being a man-whore, who has slept with women more experienced than me, is acting as if this is his first time.

Marcus leans over the bed and my hand drifts to the base of him. I gently grasp it, marveling at his response to my touch. The erotic sounds he makes almost make me come right there.

I take in his expression as I move my hand along the length of him until I reach his tip. Not once does his gaze move away from mine, as if he’s memorizing every one of my reactions.

He slides the sweatpants and my underwear off and tosses them next to his on the floor. He lowers himself back on the bed. With his gaze still on my face, he eases one finger inside me. It caresses and swirls against my inner core, and I gasp at the overwhelming sensation rocking my body.

Another finger joins the first one. An explosion rips through me and I moan. I might have also called out his name along with “Oh, God.”

Marcus pulls away, opens his desk drawer, and removes a foil package. He rips it open and rolls the condom on. All I’m capable of doing, once again, is marveling at his perfection, and at how badly I want that perfection inside me, making me feel things I’ve never felt before.

He gently bites his lip again. “Are you sure?”

I can’t help but smile at his sweet concern. “Absolutely.”

Marcus positions himself so he’s pressed against my entrance, and eases his way in, the entire time watching my reaction. Making sure he’s not moving too fast, too soon.

When he’s positive I’m not going to break, he starts moving in and out, faster and harder until my body shatters around him, in a good way, and I cry out. He cries out seconds later.

Tears slide down the side of my face. I can’t help it. Trent and I had been waiting until the moment was right. I never had that moment, until now.

Marcus removes himself from me and discards the condom before lying down and pulling me into his arms. “Are you okay?” His voice is so gentle and sweet, it sets off another wave of emotions. More tears leak out.

He rolls on to his side and props his head up, bent elbow against the bed. He frowns, concern filling his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

I give him a soft smile. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s just...it never felt like that with Paul.” I hate saying his name after what Marcus and I just did. That was beautiful. What Paul did was cruel.

Marcus brushes his thumb against my cheek. “What he did to you was rape. He didn’t share what we shared. He didn’t make love to you.” He kisses me tenderly on my lips.

“He didn’t rape me.” I swallow, knowing I can’t keep up with the lie any longer. He needs to know the truth if we’re planning for this relationship to work. I don’t want any more lies between us. “I had sex with him. Willingly.” Numerous people have told me it was rape. That I was coerced into having sex to stay alive, but there were times when it didn’t feel like rape. When during those rare tender moments, it felt like part of Paul did care about me. It was the same tenderness I had seen in Paul when we worked at the animal shelter.