An Evening with Marcus

“What’s the word?”

Cat sighed, pausing as she hung her coat up on the rack. “Nothing.”

Ice clinked in Marcus’s glass as he gave the scotch a swirl, the firelight before him making the crystal tumbler glisten. “Hmph,” he grunted. “Really, nothing?”

“No decision, whatsoever.”

“How long did he leave you kneeling there?” The question was asked into the glass, followed by a long pull of scotch. In his voice was a gravelly note, though whether due to anger or the other emotions that tended to rule Marcus when she was around, it was hard to say.

“Four hours. From the time you left to just about an hour ago. Then his brother showed up, insisted he relieve and feed me, and here I am.” Cat held her face as neutral as she could but Marcus still snorted laughter.

“Just like that, huh? You and Jean in the same room, and you’re expecting me to believe you just had a quick bite and bopped off back here?”

She unpinned her braids from the coil on the back of her head as she moved around the couch to sit next to him. Cat studiously avoided his eye, choosing to stare at the remaining finger of scotch in his glass instead. It would burn so good going down, and her throat ached for it. “I never said that was it.”

When he raised the glass he arched it towards her, only to pull it back as soon as her hand came up to take it. Marcus drained it down to the ice. “You haven’t earned a single drop of scotch yet, kitty,” he said, then grinned all the harder when she scowled at him. “What did you do to Jean?”

“Nothing I didn’t have the King’s explicit permission to do. And maybe I’m too tired for your games tonight.”

He ignored her crossed arms, her feigned anger. One hand reached out to trail down a tight braid, tickling the back of her neck pleasantly. When he got to the end he wrapped a fist around her hair and gave a tiny tug, like he wanted her attention. Marcus didn’t pull hard enough to hurt her, but kept his hand on her hair. A threat. One she felt from her nipples down.

“You are, as always, welcome to leave, Cat. I mean, you can stay here at the villa as long as you want and as long as the king will let you. We don’t have to play. But I know you and you’re going to sit there and pretend to be mad and tease me until I take matters into my own hands and then we’ll all have a great time and sleep soundly.” He gave her braid one more tug, harder now, and dropped his hand. “I swear to Christ though, Catherine, I’ll lay nary a finger on you if you don’t tell me what happened to Jean.”

He jumped when she flicked him in the sternum. “You’re such a cock-tease.” Cat let herself fall backwards on the couch, popping her feet into his lap. “Stay boy,” she said when he tried to shove them off and stand.

“I was going to get you a drink, so long as you promise to tell me.”

“Fine, but you’re rubbing my feet when you get back.”

“Hey now, I thought I was the one in charge here.”

She lifted her legs and set him free, rubbing at the soreness in her left knee until he returned. Bless him, he’d also brought a throw pillow and tucked it under her head, setting the scotch delicately on her chest. Though he settled himself back under her legs, he didn’t rub her feet as commanded but she gave up. She had scotch. Scotch was enough.

“So Jean finds me there, kneeling next to His Royal Indecisiveness’s empty chair. He tries to make me get up and I refuse, then brings me a plate of food and I won’t eat it.”

“What?” Marcus said, eyebrow cocked. “Why not?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Because what if the king, who left me there to make a fucking point, took offense to me eating his food in his council chamber without his explicit permission? That’s why not.”

“Fair enough, forget I asked.”

“When Jean finally badgers his brother enough, King Francis comes back, lets Jean haul me to my feet because I sure as shit wasn’t able to get up on my own, and orders a hot plate of food for me. He tells me, vaguely enough for Jean to have no clue what the fuck we’re talking about, that he’s considered all my points and they’re all valid so he has no clue what to do. And until he figures it out…” Cat waved her free hand at the room they sat in. “…I am to remain here, keeping you company.”

“Great,” Marcus said flatly. “But I asked about Jean.”

“True, but you were curious about the other.”

“You’re pretty aggravating.”

“You’re welcome to kick me out.”

“I’m just going to kick you if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

Just to torture him, Cat took a long, slow drink of the scotch, closing her eyes in bliss as the heat moved from her tongue to her gut. His glare when she reopened them hit her in all the right places. “Fine. I put Jean on the ground and knelt on his neck while twisting an arm behind his back.”

The timing was perfect. Marcus sprayed scotch from his mouth out onto the bearskin rug butted up against the couch, coughing it out of his lungs. His brow was furrowed and eyes wide, yet she could still see that twinkle, the slight pull at the corner of his mouth. “You did what?” he asked once he could breathe.

“You heard me.”

“Cat, I swear to god… How did you get there?”

For a heartbeat she toyed with, “You rode with me to the palace this morning,” as an answer but figured she’d pushed him far enough. “He didn’t remember me,” she finally admitted. “He didn’t remember me so much, he hit on me the entire time I ate. From what Francis had said, he puzzled out well enough that I was being sent back here, free to fuck you as I saw fit, and decided he’d be a better partner. Innocent seeming at first and more aggressive the longer I put him off, you know?” She drank again, now less so to savor the alcohol than burn the taste of her encounter with the king’s brother out of her mouth.

“Shit. He pushed pretty hard, didn’t he?” Marcus had a hand on her ankle and was squeezing as she talked, angry, knuckles turning white. What had he expected?

“Of course he did,” Cat grumbled. “But,” she said, forcing a smile devoid of any honesty, “his divine grace hadn’t forgotten about Jean and I’s history.”

“What did you mean when you said, ‘nothing without the king’s permission’?”

“Getting there. Francis had other kingly business to attend to but Jean refuses to go with him, even when asked. So Francis sighs, looks at me, and says, ‘Do what you have to.’ I ask him to be very carefully explicit in this situation and the king whispers in my ear, ‘Just don’t put him in the hospital.’”

Marcus’s hand on her ankle flinched a degree and he hissed though his teeth. “Wow.”

“Yeah, well, nobody’s blind to who Jean is. I don’t have to like Francis but at least he doesn’t like his brother. Probably doubly so since Prince Marcello is trying to figure out how to marry me and here Uncle Jean is, about to cross some lines again.

“So Francis leaves and Jean gets pushier and pushier, apparently unconcerned over the fact that his brother was just whispering in my ear about him. I decline and decline and decline, stand to go once I’m done eating, and…”

“That’s why I love you.”

Cat shook her head, nose crinkled in confusion. “What?”

“That’s why I love you and you should marry me. You sat there with that pig and bothered to finish your dinner.”

“I’m not going to marry you,” she said. “It was good food, fuck off. Not every day paupers such as I get to eat what was served to the king.”

“Fuck that excuse, you just like food.”

She shrugged. “So what? Yeah I like food, and I’d been bending knee for four hours. I deserved a good meal.”

Marcus held up his hands, signaling her to back down. “I just like how much you enjoy food, calm down, kitty.”

Cat continued to give Marcus mad side-eye for a heartbeat before relaxing. “I’ll give you a pass on that one. But yeah, I finished, thanked him, and went to leave. But in true Jean fashion…”

She trailed off, letting Marcus finish quietly with, “…he couldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Bingo. He grabbed my wrist first, pressed himself into me, told me we should have fun.”

“Jesus, he’s a creep.”

“So I shoved him away and told him I was going to leave and not to touch me again.”

“I can’t believe the king just left you with him.”

“I think he wanted this to happen, to be honest. Jean yanked me back by the shoulder and put himself in the doorway, told me it was up to me whether I enjoyed the next couple hours or not.” Marcus had a death-grip on her leg again and she felt his shudder through his hand. “And then he leans in a goes, ‘Your face looks familiar but I’d like to be familiar with the rest of you.’”

Marcus audibly groaned.

“So I put a hand on his cheek and asked if he could remember where we’d met before. And he got that little cocky grin and told me if we’d done this before, I should already know that he wins and that fighting only makes it harder on me.”

“That’s it,” Marcus said, slapping her leg. “Let me up, I need to find him. The world would be better without him.”

Cat pressed her legs down and sat up to put a hand over his mouth. “You can’t kill him, he’s royalty. And I haven’t finished my story you demanded to hear, so shut up and listen.”

Marcus cocked an eyebrow at her and that was all it took to know she’d pay for telling him to shut up. She couldn’t wait.

When he held his hands up she lay back down and continued. “So I told him why he should remember me. I reminded him of being stationed where I was training new cadets, and of the three girls that killed themselves after…well, after he and Jacobs had gotten them alone. I also reminded him that I was the one who paralyzed Jacobs when I caught him attacking one of my recruits and I’d have done the same to him in a heartbeat. That I was the one they failed to convict at trial and got to continue on my merry way while he was quietly sent home.

“And then I warned him against laying another hand on me.”

“Jesus Christ, Catherine.”

She shrugged and finished the scotch. “I wasn’t the aggressor here. I gave him every opportunity to think about how he wanted his evening to end.”

“He chose poorly?” Marcus asked.

“He chose poorly. And that’s how he wound up face down on the marble floor with my knee on his neck.”

“Doesn’t he have guards?”

“Francis had spoken with them before he left.”

Marcus laughed.

“What?” she asked, trying not to grin herself.

“It’s just, I knew Francis disliked his brother, but I also know Francis hates you. I’m mostly impressed he hates Jean more than you, enough to chain the dogs and let you kick Jean’s ass.”

“Probably less that and more of him seeing me as a useful tool for addressing a separate problem. Just good timing, I’d say.”

“Still, I’m impressed. Maybe you just bought yourself favor. That is, so long as Jean didn’t wind up in the hospital.”

“No. I wouldn’t dare cross that line. He’ll hurt, and his face is pretty bruised, but nothing too bad. I’m on the king’s shit list anyway, can you imagine if I broke his brother?”

Marcus trailed one finger up and down her bare foot. “How did this end though? You put him down, tell him to not touch people, hop up and leave?”

“I wish,” she said. Setting her tumbler on the wooden floor, Cat gingerly rolled her shirt up and poked one finger at the developing bruise on her rib, a messy triangle of setting black and purple. “One blue and silver boot, is how it ended. One of his bodyguards had been off, I don’t know, taking a shit or whatever. Or just didn’t like Francis’s order, hard to tell. I didn’t see him coming though and I think he was trying to kick me through the…what the fuck!” Cat tried to jump away, roll off the couch, anything to escape the icy tumbler pressed to her side. Marcus had too tight of a grip on her thigh and managed to pin her in place while she slapped at his hands.

“Come on now, Cat. Ice is good for bruises!” He didn’t fight her grip on his wrist as she shoved the glass off her ribs and hastily pulled her shirt down.

“That’s it,” she announced, sitting up. “I’m leaving. I am tired, I am sore from kneeling on the ground all day, and now I’m fucking cold, too. Good night.” Cat scooted back, trying to pull her feet off his lap, but he pinned them under one arm. She glared, but Marcus took his time finishing his second scotch and sat the glass on a side table.

“No.” Marcus fixed her with a level gaze and waited.

“No, huh? Did the grand parable of Prince Jean teach you nothing about getting handsy with me?”

Marcus shrugged, eyes icy. It sent more chills through her body than the glass on her skin had. “You know what to say if you want to leave.”

And they both knew she wouldn’t. Instead she swallowed hard and tried to be unreadable. Eventually she’d avert her eyes from his face but they weren’t there yet. He hadn’t stepped fully up yet.

His jaw set as she watched him and without warning, he yanked her legs across his lap. Cat fell onto her back, frozen, still watching him like a cornered, feral kitten.

“Tell me, Catherine.” His voice was low, breathy. It made her heart skip a beat and then race as if to make up time. She swallowed again and studied his face.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, hands tightening on her ankles. “Tell me.”

Cat set her own jaw, lifting her chin defiantly. How was this the hardest part? He knew it, too. He knew her pride struggled here and he played it like a fucking piano.

“Fine,” he said and let go of her ankles. He shoved them from his lap and stood.

Cat felt desperate. “Yes!” she shouted, then whispered, “Yes.” Marcus, to her dismay, started walking away. “Please!” she called after him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made her pay for her pride by leaving and it made her ache, made her almost beg as she tried to fetch him back. “Please…sir.”

Marcus stopped and turned around. “What was that?” He sounded annoyed.

She loved it.

“Please stay, sir. My answer is yes. Always yes.” Cat kept her eyes firmly on that hollow at the base of his throat. She’d surrendered the right to hold his eye with the first yes.

Marcus was on her in a flash, straddling her hips, hand entwined in her two braids. Viciously he yanked, pulling her head back until her neck ached and scalp screamed. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and she hissed in pain.

“You think you can control this?” he asked. Marcus was close enough for his lips to brush her ear as he spoke, making her whole left side break out in goosebumps. “You think you can just say pretty please and I’ll come running back? Next time I ask, it’s ‘Yes, sir’ with your first breath. Do you understand me?”

It took Cat a moment to get her head around to answering, overwhelmed as it was with sensation. A moment too long, at that. She felt him rear back but with his hand in her hair, she couldn’t dodge the slap.

“Yes, sir!” she cried out. His arm rose again and she braced, but he brought it down easy, running a finger down her reddened cheek. He sat upright on her hips, pinning her beneath his weight.

“Next time you hesitate,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, “I am going to hog-tie you, haul you to the barn and lock you in a stable overnight. In the morning I’ll round up the stable boys and let them all have a go while you’re tied over a saddle stand.”

Cat pulled a deep breath. “Promises, promises,” she mumbled. She deserved the next slap he delivered, though even he couldn’t help half-smiling himself.

The levity didn’t last. Marcus stood and pulled her along after him by her braids, tossing her belly-down onto the bearskin. Cat gave an involuntary yelp as her sore knee, the one she’d spent the day showing deference on, hit the ground. Marcus didn’t pause and she was thankful. It was sore, but nothing was broken. ‘Sore’ never killed anyone and definitely wasn’t worth ruining their fun over.

He was on her again in a heartbeat. A knee landed on the side of her neck, pressing her face into the thick fur and Cat sputtered to keep it out of her mouth. Though one of her hands managed to grasp the ankle connected to the offending knee, Marcus had her other arm behind her back. Shoulder ligaments protested as he twisted and pulled it up and up and up, butting against its threshold.

“So this is what you did to the prince, huh?” She cried out as he gave her arm another little twist, a little climax of pain to make the point. “You think you have any right to put so much as a hand on him, coming where you come from?” Twist. “He as much as owns you, you fucking piece of gutter trash. Him touching you is the most honor your family will ever get.” Marcus scooted his other knee forwards and knocked her bruised ribs. “You deserve much worse than that and I’m going to make sure you get it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Cat said, raspy, voice constricted by the knee at her throat. Talking put the bear hair in her mouth. Breathing made her suck in the fur. She found the capacity, pinned as she was, to hate the damn thing. It was glorious.

There was a distinct clink of metal, and Cat squeezed her eyes shut. That would be his belt. She knew it, knew the sound intimately. From his crouch he wouldn’t be able to get a full swing in but there’d be enough pain with the leather doubled over.

He didn’t keep her waiting, nor did he ease into the beating. The moment Marcus had a firm grasp of both belt ends he let loose with a fury of blows, quick and endless. Though they didn’t have the bite of a belt end on bare flesh, every impact still had a healthy snap, even through her dress pants. It didn’t take long for Cat to fight dancing under his hold, forcing herself to hold as still as possible and focus on her breathing. There was no way he could miss her flinch with every blow through his grasp on her arm, yet she didn’t jerk away, didn’t dodge. Somewhere deep inside she found the pleasure in the warmth, in the pain, in her power over the pain.

Cat lost track of time, let herself drift through the abuse, through the hair in her mouth, the knee against her bruised ribs, the pressure on her neck. One hand still clung to Marcus’s ankle and she realized being able to touch him was nice. His skin against hers, his pulse, a connection. Through the violence, the play, the control, this was Marcus. And at the moment he was her Marcus, fully.

And just like that, the connection was broken. Cat had hardly been aware he’d stopped beating her until he ripped her hand from his leg, twisting it up to join her other sore and tingling arm behind her back. Marcus rose from her neck just to drop his weight across her backside, making sure to dig his knee back into her ribs. One hand pinned her forearms together while the other wrapped the belt around and around, finally cinching it tight.

There was no way she could get her arms free but she tried anyway. For him. Neither enjoyed playing soft enough that she could really get loose and she’d gotten in the habit of proving it. It was obvious he appreciated it. She could tell by the jump in his pants against her ass.

One of his hands clawed at her hair, pulling strands loose from the braids to bury itself at the back of her head. While it pinned her, the other forced its way under her hips. Try as she might to make space for him, she couldn’t leverage up under his weight. Not that it seemed to matter. Marcus easily yanked her belt free and started popping buttons.

“You think you’re so fucking special?” he asked. When the last button was open Marcus shoved a hand inside, cupping his hand over her sex and squeezing. He lay fully along her body and Cat found it hard to breathe. Still, though, he’d asked a question.

“No, sir.” It was wheezy, short of breath, but it was an answer. Just getting it out left her light headed, though she found the air to mewl pitifully as one long finger trailed along her slit.

“Then why the fuck did you think it was okay to put your hands on the king’s brother?” Marcus’s teeth sank into her neck as the finger plunged inside of her. She tried to wiggle, tried to protest, but it felt as if the bearskin had become a vise shaped to her body. He weighed enough to keep her from getting even the slightest relief.

“It wasn’t, sir,” she said after he taken his teeth away. “I was wrong, sir.”

“God damn right you were wrong,” he said and slipped another finger inside of her. Cat tried desperately to bear down but even that was pointless. She trembled under him and tried not to cry out with every twist of his hand. There was nothing in her world at that moment but pleasure and pain, both delivered by the perfect hands of the man atop her.

“Please,” she said, breathless, though she didn’t know for what she asked.

Marcus seemed to know. Cat was left empty and cold as he pulled his hand free, wiping it on her pants. He sat up, yanked her hips up, and jerked her pants down over her ass.

Yes. That felt right. That was what she wanted.

Marcus was shoving at her legs now, moving them under her. She didn’t understand why until her weight was on her knees and her left kneecap blossomed in pain. Cat twisted, tried to drop off the abused limb, but Marcus had his fingers dug into her hip and delivered a vicious blow to her ass. When she jumped he smacked her again, then a few more just for fun.

With her arms bound behind her back and ass in the air, Cat felt as though she were lying on her face. The bearskin had been obnoxious before but she couldn’t breathe without inhaling it now. Her neck hurt. Her knee hurt. And it was all so delicious.

“Stay up on your knees,” Marcus said behind her. Below the menace he was breathy, nearly lost himself now. “It’s where a low-life bitch like you belongs.”

He was at the entrance of her, his rigid tip barely touching her lips. Cat braced as best she could, lying on her face, knees pinned together by her pants, but Marcus didn’t move. Despite herself Cat gave a whine deep in her throat, a pitiful sound, desperate.

“What?” he said. She heard his knuckles pop, but he still didn’t move. “You expect me to bother fucking you?” Marcus laughed. “Get to work, whore.”

It was good enough for Cat. Permission granted, she pushed her ass back as best she could, wiggling to let him slide through her wetness. He met her push with his own thrust, giving a soft grunt as his hips butted up against her raised ass. Still he didn’t touch her, forcing her to do most of the work. She slid herself along his shaft with as much rhythm as she could manage, face down on the floor. Marcus gave a little thrust every time he was fully inside of her, shoving another fraction deeper and making Cat moan with pleasure.

Everything in her burned. Muscles already tired from a long day ached to move, to contort themselves enough to enable her to fuck Marcus. Lying like this brought protest from her neck and her back, her sore knee. Both shoulders were hot washes of pain and Cat’s hands were going numb. Yet she didn’t dare stop. He’d commanded she fuck him, so that was what she must do until either he told her to stop, or her body gave out.

Whether from pity for her or his own inability to wait, he ended her misery after only a few minutes by grabbing her hips. Cat stopped moving and let him take control of their coupling, relishing the bite of his nails into her sides as he picked up his own rhythm, steady, thrusting deep into her. One hand found its way around her and began massaging her clit in tandem with his pounding.

Her system was overwhelmed. She shut her eyes as it all mixed and built—the pain, the fucking, his gentle teasing fingers between her legs. All her nerves were on fire. Warmth began to race along the lower half of her body, growing out from his fingers and nesting in her lower belly. Cat forced her eyes open and blew out a mouthful of bear hair.

“Sir,” she said. It was too quiet and she was starting to wiggle, to stave off the threatening orgasm. “Sir!” she repeated, louder now. Probably too loud but she didn’t care, so long as he heard her. “Sir, please, I am going to cum. May I cum, sir?”

“Fuck no,” Marcus said. Cat didn’t know if she’d be able to comply. She was too close to the edge, there was too much and she was…

Marcus helped her out. He leaned forward over her body, pulled the hand away from her clit, and viciously slapped her between her legs.

Cat cried out with the pain. Her knees buckled without her permission, without his, but he rode her to the ground, savagely thrusting all the way. The hand that had brought her to the edge now tangled itself back in her hair, pulling her head off the floor towards him. His other found her bound arms and used them to pull himself forward, driving his cock as far inside of her as he could and using her own body as leverage to do it.

Cat rode the pain, focused on it, used it to keep her from getting too close to the edge again. Marcus was unrelenting and brutal, fucking her like his only concern was his own pleasure, like she was hardly there. Slowly his breathing changed, gaining a ragged edge and coming in quick little gasps. Now he walked his own edge, and they were almost done.

He let go of her hair. He let go of her arms. Marcus rolled them onto their sides without missing a thrust and kneed her legs up towards her chest, digging for deeper access inside of her. A hand found a nipple through her shirt. The other, back between her legs.

“Now,” he muttered into her neck, licking and biting and kissing with abandon. “Now you can cum, kitty.”

Matching his rhythm she moved along his shaft, pressed against his kneading fingers, bit her lip. There it was once more, the heat between her hips, and she gasped. Marcus pressed between her legs and pulled at the nipple he’d been worrying and it was enough.

Cat cried out as the first spasm shot through her. She arched back into Marcus but he was losing himself now as well. The hand left her nipple and gripped her shoulder, shoving her down on his cock in time with his thrusts. Waves of her own pleasure coursed through her, pulsing, yet she still tried to flex her muscles around him, tighten around his shaft.

Marcus moaned and picked up the pace, jack-rabbit hammering now, and Cat could do nothing but lay there and take it. Deep in his throat he grunted and gave a final shove inside her. There he gave, little micro thrusts still making his hips dance and his cock jerk.

They lay like that, spooned together on the bearskin, Cat wrapped in his arms while his cock softened inside of her. Their breathing slowed and weariness hit her like a carriage horse. She must have dozed off because she woke as Marcus wiggled her pants back up. Once he’d untied her arms he sat her up, braced her back against his chest and stretched out her shoulders, massaged the life back into her hands.

The sat like that a long while. Marcus absently massaging her sore shoulders while she watched the fire roar in front of them and chewed her thumb nail.

Marcus kissed her neck below the ruin of her braids. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Tired, is all. Takes a lot out of you to not kill royalty some days, you know?”

He laughed softly behind her. “It’s a wonder my staff doesn’t report you for treason.”

“At least that would be a decision.”

“At least that would be a decision,” he agreed. Marcus stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” Without warning he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Cat punched him lightly in the butt, and lay still.

“I hate you and I’m too tired to even make you pay for this.”

“You’ll figure it out later,” he said. Marcus smacked her once crisply on the ass, and hauled her down the long hall to his master suite.