His Blackmail Bride

CHAPTER 6: UNSPOKEN LINES

His mouth was right there, just close enough she could taste the cedar from his stupid fancy soap and the sharp edge of whatever anger he was swallowing.

Serena’s nails were already biting into his shoulders, probably leaving half-moons on them. His heart was slamming under her hands, matching the frantic thud in her own chest. The desk edge digging into her back like it was trying to remind her this was a bad idea.

His bare skin was burning hot against her, sweatpants barely hanging on, every line of him coiled tight like he might snap.

Say stop Serena. Just say it. Or don’t. See what happens.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Marcus pulled back like he’d been slapped. He stepped away so fast cold air hit her skin and made her shiver. His hands dropped and his jaw locked so hard she could see the muscle jump and his eyes went dark.

He shuttered. “We have rules” he said, flatly like he was reading from a contract. “No intimacy. No f*****g exceptions.”

Serena's lungs were working overtime. She slid off the desk with her legs wobbly as hell and her robe which was already falling open again. She grabbed it shut with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Then why the hell are you still standing here looking at me like that?” The words came out sharper than she meant.

Good. She needed sharp right now.

“Because this is my office. Middle of the night. And you’re lying through your teeth about ‘just looking around.’” He folded his arms over his chest deliberately and defensive. “You wanna play head games? Take them somewhere else Serena.”

“I’m not playing.” She stepped closer closing half the space he’d put between them with her chin up even though her stomach was flipping. “I’m just trying not to drown in a house full of people who’ve been lying to me since day one.”

He let out a short, ugly laugh.

“And I’m the biggest liar, right?”

“You married me to keep your empire from collapsing. Don’t pretend we’re building trust here.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Trust gets earned and guess one thing you've just earned tonight. More of my suspicion.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

She swallowed the sting. “Then maybe lock your damn door next time,” she muttered. He stared at her for long, cold seconds that felt like forever. Then he turned, walked over and yanked the door open.

“Get out.” She didn’t budge at first. When she finally moved, she made sure to brush past him, her shoulder dragging across his chest on purpose. She felt him flinch. Felt that stupid electric jolt snap between them again. She didn’t look back. She headed back to the guest room, locked the door and placed her ack against it, breathing like she’d run a mile.

Her body was still buzzing hot, traitorous, aching in places she didn’t want to name.

God, I hate this. Hate him for doing this to me. Hate myself more for wanting it.

She crossed to the mirror. Stared. Cheeks blotchy red, lips swollen from how hard she’d been biting them to stay quiet, eyes too bright and too wild.

“This changes nothing,” she whispered.

Liar.

Revenge didn’t die tonight. It just got hungrier. Sharper and meaner. She dropped onto the bed. Her mind racing in ugly circles. Need something. Proof. Leverage. Anything. Tonight. Before this… whatever this is… gets worse. Before I let it.

She waited another hour, maybe more until the house felt dead. Then she slipped out again. Straight to the office.

Door locked. Of course. She almost smirked. Fine. Let’s do this the hard way.

She took her hairpin from her bun old law-school trick for when she needed to get into evidence rooms nobody wanted her in. The lock was cheap and opened easily.

Inside were filing cabinets. One drawer still unlocked from before. She yanked it open. Same old financials. Transfers. Nothing new. Nothing useful. Frustration clawed up her throat. Come on. There has to be something. Desk drawers. Rifled. Nothing.

Then footsteps. Heavy. Closer. Her heart stopped.

The door opened and Marcus stood shirtless. Same sweatpants. Face carved from ice.

“You really don’t f*****g learn, do you?”

“I couldn’t sleep” she said. Weak. She knew it was weak.

His voice dropped dangerously. “Try again.”

The air went thick with rising anger, distrust, and that same stupid heat from before, refusing to die. She met his eyes and neither of them moved. The door clicked shut behind him.

Serena stayed braced against the desk, her robe barely hanging on, skin still too hot, lips still tingling like his mouth had actually touched her. Breathing too fast. Every place he’d pressed against her felt raw now.

Marcus turned from the door. Slowly, like he was fighting every step. Eyes dark. Pupils blown. Moonlight slicing across his chest to reveal his locked muscles, that thin scar under his ribs catching the light. Sweatpants low. Bare feet quiet.

She didn’t back up. Didn’t speak. Just watched him close the distance. He stopped inches away and she had to tilt her head to look at him.

“You should’ve told me to stop” he said, voice rough and scraped raw.

“I should’ve” she whispered. She knew that but she didn’t. And you didn’t wait. A beat.

His hand came up slowly, giving her time to slap it away and cupped her face. His thumb dragged over her bottom lip, parting it.

She didn’t stop him. That was it. Control gone.

He kissed her like he was furious, hard, messy with all teeth and hunger. No sweet buildup. Just pissed-off need. She surged up, fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. He groaned low, torn and hauled her back onto the desk, stepping between her thighs so they fell open around him.

Her robe slipped wide. The silk bunched uselessly. His hands were greedy, gripping her hips, sliding up ribs, thumbs rough under her breasts. She arched when he pinched, gasping into his mouth.

“f**k,” he muttered against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “You make me f*****g crazy.”

“Good”. She didn't know when the word escaped her mouth but she didn't really care at the moment.

She hissed yanking his hair so she could bite his lip hard.

“I want you to hate how bad you want this.” Marcus laughed—dark, jagged.

“I don’t hate it.”

Hand between her legs. He found her soaked. Two fingers shoved in with no warning. She jolted, half-moan half-curse, clenching hard.

“Still gonna lie to yourself?” he growled in her ear, curling until her hips bucked.

“Shut up,” she gasped, shoving his waistband down. He sprang free, heavy, hard and slick already. She wrapped her hand around him, stroked rough. He hissed, hips jerking.

No more words. He pulled his fingers out. He lined up. Thrust in deep, brutal with no pause. Her head dropped back on a choked sound. Burned. Stretched. Perfect and punishing.

He didn’t slow, he just f****d her hard, desk creaking and papers sliding everywhere. Nails down his back drawing red lines. He bit her shoulder, sharp and marking then licked it. She clenched on purpose.

He cursed, ragged. “Serena—”

She did it again. Watched his face c***k. The thrusts went harder and desperate, her hips slamming. One hand braced by her head; the other hooked her thigh, spreading her wider.

She came hard—sudden, blinding, vision whiting. She bit his shoulder to keep her from screaming. He followed right after, deep, spilling hot inside her with a broken groan. No condom. No thought. Just release.

They stayed locked together. Panting. Sweaty. Shaking. And reality crashed back almost immediately. He pulled out slowly watching her face. She winced at the empty ache, the wet heat that followed. He stepped back. Breathing hard. Face closing off again. No softness. No sorry.

She slid off the desk, her legs barely holding her. Yanked the robe shut. Looked anywhere but him.

“We shouldn’t have…” Her voice cracked. Hoarse.

He said nothing. Instead he just tugged his sweatpants up, turned and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused.

“This changes nothing,” he said quiet and cold. “Rules still stand. Separate rooms. Separate lives. You’re here because I allow it.” and the door shut behind him.

She stood alone in the wrecked office. Heart still hammering. Body still pulsing. She pressed her hand low on her stomach—nothing there yet, but something felt… shifted. Wrong.

Her eyes burned with hot tears. But she wouldn’t cry. Not here.

She straightened the robe. Picked up papers with numb hands. Stacked them and headed back to the guest room. Locked the door. Sat on the bed and stared at the wall between their rooms.

She hated herself.

Tomorrow she’d dig harder. Tomorrow she’d find something, anything—to make sure he could never touch her like that again without consequences. Because tonight they’d crossed a line. And she wasn’t letting it stay crossed.She lay back, eyes open in the dark.

The house was silent. But inside her chest, something was burning hotter than before. And it wasn’t only hate anymore.

And that scared her.