Authors: Danielle Zeta
“No, of course not.”
Her fingers slid under the denim, felt pubic hair. “It’s okay, you can say it.” She pushed him against the wall of the subway station, his arousal growing under her attentions, and shot him a sultry glance under her eyelashes. “Say it.”
“Ashley—” he choked out.
She wriggled her hand down and grabbed the shaft of his erection. “Say it.”
Lips parting, he nodded furiously. “Yes, like a whore. You looked like a whore.”
“And you wanted me.”
“Yes. God. I wanted you so bad I wanted to die.”
“Like now?”
He looked down at her and grabbed one of her breasts in his hand. “Oh, yeah. You’re so fucking hot. My little whore.”
She dropped the smile, withdrew her hand, and kneed him in the balls. “Go to hell,” she said. While he doubled over, coughing and moaning, Ashley wiped her hand on her sweater and strode away, wanting that bath hotter and longer than ever.
That had almost felt as good as the fucking on the train.
She’d never been so happy in her life.
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MARCUS WATCHED HER go, smiling to himself. Oliver and the two men were already forgetting her—a courtesy to Ashley he felt was necessary, given how often they might see her again on this same train—but he wouldn’t. He could still taste her on his tongue.
Distracted by the happy ending he’d orchestrated, Marcus didn’t notice his brother lounging in the seat across the aisle of the subway car until he began speaking in the low, disapproving tone Marcus knew only too well.
“Still wasting your life, I see,” Brand said.
Refusing to show his brother that, as always, his judgment cut him deeply, Marcus flashed him a cocky grin. “Still like to watch the show, I see,” he replied.
Brand shook his head. “I can’t believe, after all these years, you still play with mortals.”
“And I can’t believe, after all these years, you never play with anyone.”
“Some of us seek wisdom in our old age,” Brand said.
Annoyed his brother was trying to ruin his afterglow, Marcus turned his back on him and faced the train doors. He loved the subway, but he wouldn’t mind a little fresh air. Immediately. “Fuck off, Brand.”
“Father wants to see you.”
Marcus would
not
show his priggish pain-in-the-ass brother the anxiety that struck him with those words. It was always this way; every time Marcus had a little fun, he had to put up with a lecture from their father. “Thanks for the message, not that I needed it. You can go back to your slimy dirt now.”
Brand shrugged off the insult about his odd obsession with the human arts and got to his feet, joining him at the door of the car as it rattled into the next station. “It’s called clay, Marcito,” he said calmly, “and Father is expecting you before sunrise.”
A bell rang and the doors slid open. “Maybe I’m busy,” Marcus said, striding out onto the platform.
Finally smiling, Brand followed him off the train, slapped him on the back. “You were a minute ago, but I think you’re done now.”
Marcus caught his eye and grinned. The old stick
had
watched the whole thing. “She was lovely, wasn’t she?”
His brother glanced away, looking thoughtful. “She was. Quite.”
“I’m sure she’d love to meet you,” Marcus said.
Brand stiffened. “You’d better hurry. Father won’t put up with this sort of behavior from you forever. No sense aggravating him further.”
“He’s let me aggravate him for hundreds of years, Brand. You should try it sometime.” With another grin, Marcus waved and strode up the stairs to the world above.
He thought about the shy woman on the train and smiled. She was worth a lecture or two.
As his next playmate would be.