41
Marcus
I glare at the cat on the bed, and he responds with a contemptuous look, the tip of his tail swishing back and forth in a silent threat.
“That’s right,” my eyes tell him. “I f****d her all night long, and I will do it again and again. You better get used to it. She’s mine now.”
“I will destroy you,” the slitted green gaze replies. “You’re going to die a slow and painful death under my paws, just like a mouse. Not that I’ve ever seen a real mouse, but still. If I ever get my paws on one, it’s f****d—and so are you.”
“Puffs, get off the clean laundry,” Emma says, reappearing from the bathroom, and I watch with grim satisfaction as she shoos the furry creature off the clothes she’s folding on the bed—a task I’m helping her with.
She was surprised when I offered, but she should
