Marcus awaits Claudia in the high rise

Chapter 1

The old fashioned sat heavy in Marcus's hand, ice melting slow as the football game flickered across the floor-to-ceiling windows of his high-rise. Twenty-three floors up, the city sprawled beneath him like a circuit board of neon and exhaust, but his attention kept drifting to the phone resting face-down on the marble counter.

When it buzzed, he didn't rush.

He let it vibrate twice, three times, savoring the anticipation like the burn of bourbon at the back of his throat. Then he turned it over.

**Claudia:** *WYA*

Two words. He could read the rest between the lines—the way she'd typed it fast, the period she hadn't bothered with, the heat behind a question that wasn't really about location.

Marcus's thumb moved lazily across the screen.

**Marcus:** *Crib. Door's open.*

He set the phone down and returned his gaze to the game, but his mind had already left the room. He knew exactly where she was coming from—that little dance studio on downtown with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and the smell of sweat and determination. She'd told him the end of class would probably have her feeling untethered, her body humming with a rhythm the outside world couldn't match.

Fifteen minutes later, the elevator chimed.

Marcus didn't turn around. He heard the soft pad of her sneakers across the polished concrete, the subtle shift in air pressure as she entered the room. The television cast blue shadows across the leather sectional, and he could see her reflection in the dark glass—a figure in pink workout clothes, long black hair pulled high, the sheen of exertion still glistening on her collarbone.

"You gonna stand there," he said, finally lifting his glass to his lips, "or you gonna tell me why you're really here?"

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Claudia shifted her weight. She was still catching her breath, not from the elevator ride but from whatever had been chasing her since that last song ended. Her curves filled out the pink leggings in a way that made the city lights seem dimmer by comparison, and she crossed the room with that particular sway that meant her body was already making decisions her mind hadn't caught up to.

"I asked where you were," she said, her voice carrying a playful edge as she stopped just behind the couch. "Didn't say I needed a reason."

Marcus turned then, finally granting her the full weight of his attention. His dark skin caught the amber glow of the whiskey, and the tattoos winding up his forearms shifted as he set the glass down with deliberate care. The beard couldn't hide the way his mouth curved into something knowing, something that suggested he'd already mapped out every inch of the evening before she'd even walked through the door.

"You came straight from class."

It wasn't a question.

Claudia's full lips parted slightly, and she let out a small laugh—the kind that didn't quite mask the flutter in her chest. "Maybe I just missed you."

"Maybe," Marcus echoed, rising from the couch in one fluid motion. He was tall, lean muscle beneath a fitted t-shirt, and when he closed the distance between them, he did it slowly. Deliberately. The kind of movement that made her tattooed skin prickle with awareness. "Or maybe you spent the last hour watching yourself in those mirrors, moving in ways that have nothing to do with choreography, and now you can't sit still."

Claudia's breath caught.

He stopped close enough that she could smell the bourbon on his breath, the clean soap and something darker beneath it. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin pink fabric, and she could feel the heat rolling off her own skin, trapped between her thighs where the leggings clung tight.

"Tell me I'm wrong baby," he murmured, his voice low and rough, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tell me you didn't text me because your body was already two steps ahead of your brain."

She didn't tell him he was wrong.

Instead, she reached out and let her fingertips brush the hem of his shirt, feeling the hard plane of his stomach beneath. The touch was barely there, a question without words, and the way Marcus's jaw tightened told her he was already calculating exactly what it would take to make her forget every step she'd learned tonight.

The television droned on in the background, the announcer's voice a distant buzz against the electric silence that stretched between them. The city glittered beyond the glass, oblivious and indifferent.

Neither of them moved to turn it off.

They just stood there, suspended in that razor-thin moment where wanting became doing, where the ache of anticipation sharpened into something almost unbearable. Marcus's eyes dropped to her full lips, then lower, following the curve of her neck to where her sports bra was soaked through with sweat and desire.

"Go take a shower," he said finally, and the command in his voice wrapped around her like a velvet chain. "Then come back. We have all night, and I plan to appreciate every single thing that dance class did to your body."

Claudia's stomach tightened.

She turned toward the bathroom, feeling his gaze on her back like a brand, and she knew—with the kind of certainty that made her thighs clench as she walked—that the shower would be the last cool thing she felt for a very, very long time.

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Chapter 2

The bathroom door clicked open and a curl of steam escaped into the hallway, carrying the scent of eucalyptus body wash and something warmer beneath it. Claudia padded barefoot across the polished concrete, water still beading at her collarbone, her long black hair slicked back and dripping. The towel barely reached mid-thigh, clinging to the generous swell of her hips, and Marcus watched her through the glass reflection with the stillness of a man who had nowhere else to be.

"Come here baby."

His voice cut through the quiet, low and certain. The television still murmured behind him, the game forgotten.

Claudia crossed the room on bare feet, her skin still flushed from the heat of the shower, and when she reached him, Marcus turned the full force of his body toward her. He stood close enough that the fabric of his t-shirt almost brushed the terrycloth. The smell of his cologne mixed with bourbon, and she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

"Sit down. On your knees."

She didn't hesitate. Her knees met the floor with a soft, eager weight, the towel pulling taut across her thick thighs. The position parted her legs just enough that she could feel the cool air against the heat she'd been nursing since the dance studio.

Marcus's fingers found her jaw, tilting her face toward him with a deliberate, claiming grip. His thumb traced the line of her bottom lip, slow, testing.

"Look at you. Fresh out the shower, probably dripping for me already, and I haven't even touched you yet." He tilted her head a little further, making her look up. "Now I need you to show me how badly you want this. Let me hear that pretty mouth beg for what's coming."

Claudia whimpered before she could stop it, her full lips parting against the pressure of his thumb.

"Marcus..."

"That's a start." His thumb pressed softly into the heat of her mouth, and she took it, sucking gently, her tongue circling the rough pad. "But I said beg, Claudia. Tell me what you want. Tell me exactly what that pole dancing class left you needing."

He withdrew his thumb, wet, and dragged it slowly down her chin, leaving a warm trail.

"I want it in my mouth," she whispered, her voice cracked and thick with want. "Please. I—I've been thinking about it all night. Your dick. Filling my fucking throat like I’m a greedy fucking slut."

The words came out raw, filthier than she intended, and she watched his nostrils flare. His hand slid back into her damp hair, gathering it into a firm fist.

"Again." he said quietly. "Louder."

"I've been thinking about it all night." Her voice trembled. "How you taste. How hard you get when I beg like this. Please, Marcus, let me show you how bad I want to suck that dick. Let me show you how sorry I am for making you wait for this wet pussy all night."

"The towel." He nodded once, eyes locked on hers. "Lose it."

Claudia's hands moved to the front where the towel was tucked, and she pulled it free without breaking his gaze. The terry cloth fell away, revealing the full curves of her breasts, her nipples beading instantly in the open air, the soft expanse of her stomach, the freshly shaved skin between her thighs already glistening.

"Fuck baby," Marcus murmured, his grip in her hair tightening. "You always show up like this. So fucking ready for me."

He dropped his free hand to his belt, unhooking it slowly, letting the leather hiss through the loops. The sound alone made Claudia's hips shift on the floor.

"Come here," he said, and moved his hips forward until she was breathing right against the zipper. "Beg one more time baby. Right there. Then I might let you have it."

Claudia leaned in, her cheek grazing the hard length of him beneath the denim, and she looked up at him with tears of want gleaming in her dark eyes.

"Please fuck my mouth, Marcus." Her lips brushed the fabric, hot and shameless. "Please. Use me. I know you want to. I know you've been thinking about it since I walked in."

The words unfurled between them like smoke, and the city lights beyond the glass offered no absolution—only witnesses to the ruin building between her parted lips and his unzipping fly.

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Chapter 3

Marcus's patience snapped like a bowstring.

His hands found Claudia's hips before she could draw another breath, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hauled her up from the floor and steered her toward the bedroom. The city threw its lights across the dark hallway, but neither of them noticed. She stumbled once, caught herself against his chest, and he used the momentum to spin her around and push her forward onto the edge of the mattress.

"On all fours," he commanded, his voice dropping into something guttural and absolute. "Face the window. I want you to see what the whole city can't have."

Claudia scrambled onto the bed, her slick thighs parting as she arched her back and pressed her cheek against the cool sheets. Her ass rose high, round and glistening, and Marcus took one long, brutal second to admire the view before reaching for the nightstand.

The drawer slid open with a metallic rasp.

He grabbed the lube first, then a sleek black vibrating plug, and finally a small collection of silicone and glass that clinked together like a promise. Claudia's breathing had gone ragged, her fingers twisting in the duvet as she listened to him set each item on the mattress beside her hip.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his warm palm smoothing over the curve of her ass, spreading her open. "That little tremble running down your thighs? That's your body already knowing what's coming."

She whimpered, arching deeper.

He uncapped the lube and let it drip directly onto her, cold against the scorching heat of her skin. His fingers worked it down, circling, teasing, pressing just enough at the tight ring of muscle to make her gasp and rock back.

"Marcus—"

"Take it like my good little slut baby." His voice was soft, almost tender, and all the more devastating for it. "You came here because you needed and wanted to be wrecked. I'm going to fill this pretty ass with that plug, then I'm going to fuck this pussy from behind until you're screaming loud enough for the people down on the street to hear."

The plug slid in with a slow, unrelenting pressure, and Claudia let out a broken moan as her body stretched around it. The moment it seated fully inside her, Marcus thumbed the base and the vibrations started—low and merciless, humming through her from the inside out.

She bucked wildly, a sob catching in her chest.

"There it is," Marcus growled, already reaching for the lube again, already positioning himself behind her, already lining up his cock. "There's my good girl. Now hold that arch. Don't you fucking move until I tell you."

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