The Morning Appointment With Marcus
# The Morning Appointment The scent of citrus oil hung in the air of the sun-drenched living room, a deliberate oasis Marcus had created from his worn leather kit bag. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles shifting under his simple black t-
Chapter 1
The scent of citrus oil hung in the air of the sun-drenched living room, a deliberate oasis Marcus had created from his worn leather kit bag. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles shifting under his simple black t-shirt, as he waited. His gaze, a startling blue against his sun-warmed skin, drifted over the tasteful, sterile order of the suburban home. A silent testament to a life he understood all too well from the outside looking in.
A soft shuffle of footsteps on the hardwood floor announced her. Juliette paused in the archway, wrapped in a silken robe the color of cream. The morning light caught the gold in her tousled blonde hair and outlined the impossible, lush curve of her hips against the delicate fabric. Her full lips, free of lipstick, parted slightly as her brown eyes met his.
“Marcus?” Her voice was a morning whisper, laced with a curiosity that seemed to vibrate in the quiet space between them.
“*Sí, señora*,” he replied, his accent a warm, rolling wave that filled the room. A slow, confident smile touched his lips, revealing a faint dimple. “Your husband, he said you have… tension.”
She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, the movement causing the robe to gap just enough to hint at the soft, generous swell of her breasts. “Something like that,” she murmured, her playful facade not quite masking the desperate search in her eyes as they traveled over his tall, athletic frame.
He gestured to the padded mat he’d laid out on the floor. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
Juliette lay on her stomach, her face turned away, buried in the cradle of her arms. The robe was pooled at her waist, exposing the elegant line of her spine, the flare of her hips, and the magnificent, round swell of her ass barely contained by a scrap of black lace. Marcus’s hands, broad and capable, warmed the oil between his palms.
The first contact was a shock of heat. His thumbs found the knots at the base of her neck, and a soft, involuntary sigh escaped her. “*Dios mío*,” he breathed out, the words a husky rumble. “So much holding on.”
His touch was firm, possessive in its certainty. He worked down her spine, his fingers learning the map of her body with an intimacy that felt illicit. Each stroke was a question, each knead of her tight muscles a silent promise. When his hands slid lower, tracing the indent of her waist before sweeping over the full, breathtaking hemispheres of her ass, his thumb “slipped” – just once – beneath the lace edge, grazing the hot, soft skin of her inner cheek.
A sharp, gasped inhale. Her entire body tensed, then melted into the mat with a shudder.
“*Perdón*,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. His voice dropped, a confidential whisper meant only for her. “You are built for pleasure, *mi reina*. A body like this… it should not be so quiet.”
Her breath hitched. The obscene truth of his words, spoken in that deliciously foreign cadence, unraveled something deep within her. She turned her head, her brown eyes wide and dark, meeting his intense blue stare. The playful mask was gone, replaced by raw, hungry need.
“It’s… not quiet,” she whispered back, the admission a dangerous thread pulling them together. “It’s screaming.”
Marcus’s smile was all wicked, knowing confidence. He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear, his scent of clean sweat and spice enveloping her. “Then let me,” he said, the command velvet-wrapped steel, “hear it.”
Chapter 2
Marcus’s command hung between them, a tangible thread of heat. Juliette shuddered, her body softening further into the mat. Her “yes” was a breathless exhale, lost in the fabric.
With a low, approving sound, he shifted. One broad, oil-slick hand settled possessively on the lush curve of her ass, while the other tugged gently at the fragile lace of her panties. “This,” he murmured, his voice thick with that intoxicating accent, “is in my way.”
She lifted her hips in silent, desperate compliance, allowing him to peel the scrap of black lace down her thighs and discard it. The morning air kissed her exposed skin, a shocking contrast to the burning trail his eyes left as they raked over her.
“*Dios*,” he swore again, the word reverent and filthy all at once. His thumbs parted her, a firm, deliberate motion that exposed her completely. “So wet for me already. You have been screaming, haven’t you, *mi reina*?”
“Marcus…” His name was a plea.
“Tell me.” His thumb, slick with warm oil, circled her tight, hidden entrance, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Tell me what your quiet little life is missing.”
“This,” she choked out, pushing back against his hand. “*You*. Someone who… who sees me. Who isn’t afraid of all… of all *this*.” Her words dissolved into a moan as his thumb pressed inward, just the tip breaching her.
“He is afraid,” Marcus stated, not asking. He leaned over her, his hard chest brushing her back, his lips at her ear. “A little man with a little mind. He does not know how to worship a goddess.” He withdrew his thumb, tracing a slick path upward through her dripping folds. “But I do.”
His touch was excruciatingly slow, a masterful tease. One finger, then two, glided through her swollen heat, gathering her wetness, painting it over her sensitive clit in slow, maddening circles. Juliette cried out, her hands fisting in the mat beneath her.
“You like my accent, don’t you?” he purred, his fingers never stopping their relentless, circling torture.
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“You like that I am not him. That I am here, in his house, with my hands on his wife.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial growl. “That I have a *cock* so big it would stretch this perfect, tight *pussy* for days.”
The crude, explicit words, spoken in that beautiful, rolling Spanish cadence, shattered her. Her back arched, a broken sound ripped from her throat. “Please…”
“Please what?” He pressed down harder with his circling fingers, the rhythm becoming demanding.
“I don’t know… just… *more*.”
A dark, possessive chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Turn over,” he commanded softly. “Let me see those beautiful eyes when I taste you.”
Trembling, Juliette rolled onto her back, her magnificent breasts swaying with the movement. Her brown eyes were glazed, her full lips parted and swollen. She was utterly exposed, utterly his. Marcus’s blue eyes burned with triumph as he settled between her thighs, his large hands pushing her knees apart without ceremony.
“Now,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. “I listen.” He lowered his head, his full lips finding her core not with a kiss, but with a hungry, open-mouthed lick that dragged from her entrance all the way up to her clit.
Chapter 3
His tongue was a revelation. It was not tentative or polite. It was a bold, wet, hungry invasion that lapped at her dripping heat with a possessive rhythm that made her thighs tremble. Marcus’s hands clamped on her hips, holding her in place as he feasted, his low groans vibrating against her most sensitive flesh.
“*Dios*, you taste like heaven,” he growled, the words muffled against her. He dragged the flat of his tongue through her swollen folds, then zeroed in on her clit, sucking it firmly between his lips. “This little pearl… it’s begging for my cock.”
Juliette cried out, her back arching off the mat. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, not pushing him away, but holding him there, urging him on. “Yes… just like that… *don’t stop*.”
He didn’t. He devoured her, his technique a brutal, exquisite torture. He’d flick his tongue rapidly, then press down with a slow, firm pressure, reading her body’s responses like a book. “You are so loud now, *mi reina*,” he purred, lifting his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with her. “Screaming my name. Let your husband hear it through the walls.”
The dirty talk, the wicked fantasy he painted, sent another violent shiver through her. “He… he’s at the office,” she gasped.
“Good,” Marcus said, his blue eyes blazing up at her. “Then this is just for us.” He lowered his head again, but this time he added his fingers. Two thick digits slid into her tight, clutching warmth with ease, curling inside her as his mouth returned to her clit.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. Juliette’s hips began to piston against his face, a frantic, shameless rhythm. She was close, a coil of pleasure winding unbearably tight in her core.
“Marcus… I’m gonna… I’m so close…”
He pulled back, his fingers still pumping inside her, slow and deep. “Not yet,” he commanded, his voice a rough caress. “You come when I’m inside you. When I fill this perfect, tight *pussy*.” He withdrew his fingers, holding them up, slick and shining in the morning light. “Look at you. So ready for me.”
He rose over her, kneeling between her spread thighs. His cock, thick and impressively hard, sprang free from his jeans. He stroked it slowly, his gaze locked on hers. “See what you do to me, *mi reina*? This is all for you.”
Juliette’s breath caught. He was even bigger than she’d imagined, the broad head already beading with moisture. A fresh wave of desperate need washed over her. “Please,” she whispered, all pretense gone. “I need it. I need you.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. He leaned forward, bracing himself above her, the tip of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. “Then take me,” he said, his accent thick with promise. “Take all of me.”