His left hand slid into my hair, cupping my head. He pulled me down and kissed me again, hungrily. Urgently. He seemed desperate to touch every part of me, to claim my body with his hands, my heart with his eyes, my soul with his need.

He walked us across the room. My back slammed into the wal . I grunted in surprise, but his mouth was there again, cutting off my insincere protest with another ravenous kiss.

Marc’s now-free right hand shoved up the black lace hem of my stretchy tank. My fingers traced his scars. His hand cradled my left breast, squeezing. My fingers skimmed down his chest to his stomach, trailing the thin, dark line of hair below his navel. He lifted my breast, lowering his head. His teeth brushed my nipple.

Gasping now, I arched my back, thrusting up for him. He shoved me harder into the wall, and his mouth closed over my breast. His lips were hot on my skin, his tongue hotter still. My head fel against the wall, my mouth open. My fingers combed through his curls, tangling in a mass of short, glossy ringlets. Soft, silken wisps tickled my chin. Damn, I loved his hair.

I drew my tongue along his neck, wrapping my legs tighter around his hips. Desperate for more, I ground myself into him, through both layers of clothing.

Marc groaned around my nipple, thrusting up to meet me. “Marc…” I moaned, my voice hoarse with need. His mouth left my breast, and he raised his head to look at me. Not smiling—just watching. Waiting, his hands on my hips.

“Please…” My hands fumbled at the waistband of his jeans. My fingers brushed the flap of material around the button, tugging. The button pulled free of its hole.

Marc growled again, impatience clear in the low, rolling rumble. He found the waistband of my boyshorts. His fingers curled around handfuls of stretchy black lace.

He tugged once. Hard.

Material cut into my skin. Seams ripped. Elastic popped. I gasped.

“Hey…!”

Marc stepped back and dropped me on my feet. I stumbled backward into the wall, thrown off by the sudden movement. Lace slid down my legs to puddle on the carpet. He shoved down on his waistband, and his pants hit the floor, black silk boxers still inside.

He stepped out of his jeans, already bending to cup my ass. His gaze never left my face as he lifted me in both hands, supporting me easily.

My back slid up the wall. My arms snaked around his neck. His lips found mine again, his tongue plunging into my mouth. He lowered me slowly, sliding inside inch by exquisite inch.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. He pul ed away from my mouth and leaned back to look at me. To watch me, as I watched him, knowing we were joined, as close as two people could possibly be. In that moment, that horrifyingly short, perfect moment, nothing else mattered.

There was no Andrew, no rogue tabby, and no council. There was only Marc, throbbing deep inside me.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

And just like that, the moment was over, the desperation back. His eyes met mine, and need crashed over both of us. He pinned me to the wall with his chest, his hands sliding quickly out of me. Then he shoved his way back in, thrusting me into the wall over and over again. I could do nothing but cling to him, ride him, hoping it would never end.

Marc’s fingers trailed along my sides, chills chasing them in a cold, tingling trail. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, molding me, his fingers digging into my flesh.

I moaned and gripped his shoulders, urging him on out of irresistible, undeniable craving.

Leaning down, he nipped the ridge of my collarbone, then dipped lower. He nibbled the upper curve of my breast. I gasped, pushing him deeper with my legs. He moaned, and shoved into me faster. His thrusts were frantic now. Uncontrol able.

He drove into me again and again, slamming my spine into the wall.

His grip on my hips tightened. His nails broke through my skin as he lifted me and shoved me down, grinding me into him over and over.

I gasped, tightening around him as pleasure built, driven by mutual need.

His eyes closed, and he plunged harder, deeper, drawing whimpers of simultaneous pain and pleasure from me. “Marc…” It was too much. I couldn’t take it.

He ignored my inarticulate protest. Thankful y.

He trembled, and release came crashing over me, pointing my toes and driving away all thought. My vision darkened. My fingers curled around his biceps. My legs clenched his back. I shuddered around him.

I clasped my jaws shut to keep from screaming and waking the whole house.

Marc’s eyes flew open. He grabbed my upper arms and pinned them to the wall, still pumping into me. “Why, Faythe?” he demanded, his eyes swimming with fear and anger. “Why?”

I shook my head, quivering in the aftermath of violent bliss. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know why. As usual.

Marc shuddered one last time, and collapsed against me, crushing me between his chest and the wall. He was still inside me. I still clung to him, terrified for no reason I could name. Something was wrong. Something other than our nightmare of a day.

I inhaled, breathing in the scent of summer rain, fresh sweat, sex, and all things Marc.

He stepped away, lifting me from him to set me gently on the ground.

My legs wobbled. I felt empty.

Hollow.

Lost.

Marc turned from me and, to my surprise and confusion, stepped into his pants. He pulled them up and zipped them, and I’d never in my life heard such a horrible, terrifyingly final sound. Because he had dressed, I followed suit. I tugged my tank top down over my breasts and looked to find him sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall where he’d had me pinned less than a minute earlier.