39
Marcus
“I mean it this time. I have to go home. It’s already past four; my cats must be starving, the poor darlings. Plus, it’s laundry day.” Evading my outstretched hand, Emma rolls off the bed and sprints for the pile of clothes on the chair in the corner—her clean, neatly folded clothes that Geoffrey brought upstairs while we were eating. Grabbing them, she disappears into the bathroom, and I sit up in bed, biting back a frustrated curse.
It’s not that I want to f**k her again—well, I do, my d**k having decided I’m fifteen again—it’s that I hate the idea of her leaving. That, along with my incessant hunger for her soft curves, is why I’ve been dragging her back to bed and mercilessly f*****g her each time she’s tried to go home after brunch.
Damn her cats.
I need her more than t
