Chapter 2 – A Taste of Control

You're trouble, Dana."

"So are you."

She replayed those words all night.

Dana had tried to focus on her book, a glass of wine in hand, but Marcus's voice echoed in her mind—deep, unfiltered, confident. She wasn't used to being wanted like this anymore. Desired, yes. Objectified, sometimes. But seen? Craved? It felt dangerous. Addictive.

At 9:23 p.m., her phone buzzed.

Marcus: Still thinking about those yoga pants.

Dana: Still thinking about your mouth.

Marcus: I could bring it over.

Dana: You that bold?

Marcus: I don't bluff, Dana.

Her heart jumped. She hesitated… then typed:

Dana: "Gate code is 2425". Door's unlocked.

---

The Visit

She opened another bottle of wine. Changed out of her lounge robe and into something that said, "I didn't plan this," but was very much planned: a deep V-neck black satin top and matching shorts, no bra. Her cleavage was intentional. So were the candles.

When the knock came, she didn't even pretend to be surprised. She opened the door—and there he was.

Marcus wore a dark gray hoodie and joggers that hung low on his hips, clinging in all the right places. His eyes dipped instantly.

"Damn," he murmured. "This what you wear when company drops by?"

Dana leaned on the frame, one hip out. "Just felt like being comfortable."

He stepped in without waiting for an invite, brushing past her with a smirk. "You got me uncomfortable."

She laughed, closing the door. "Wine?"

"Only if you're pouring."

She handed him a glass, their fingers brushing. He held her gaze a beat too long—then sat down, legs spread, gaze lazy and heavy.

---

The Couch

They sat close. Not touching. But everything in the air screamed touch me. He watched her lips as she sipped. She watched the way his throat moved when he drank. Music played low in the background—something slow and dirty.

"You always this chill with strangers in your house?" he asked, voice low.

"You're not a stranger," she said, resting one arm on the back of the couch. "You're temptation."

He laughed—deep and smooth. "Temptation? I like that."

"Good," she murmured, leaning in. "Now tempt me."

Marcus didn't hesitate. His fingers found her knee, slow and sure. Her skin burned under his touch. He didn't rush. Just slid his palm higher, inch by inch, until his hand was resting mid-thigh.

"You soft," he whispered, voice dipped in honey and sin. "Like velvet."

She placed her wine glass down, turning toward him. Her legs opened, ever so slightly.

"You talk a lot," she teased. "But do you know how to listen?"

His smile turned wicked. "Why don't you teach me?"

---

The Dry Heat

They didn't kiss—not yet. Just leaned into each other, close enough to feel breath, but not quite touch lips. Marcus's hands explored her waist, sliding under her top, up her back. No bra. He smiled.

"Damn. You came to play."

"I came to win," she whispered.

He pulled her into his lap—effortless. Dana let out a soft gasp as her thighs straddled him, her core pressed right against something solid. He was already half-hard, and she hadn't even kissed him.

"I bet you like control," he murmured, hands gripping her hips.

"I bet you think I'll give it to you," she shot back.

And then, she moved.

Slow, teasing grind. Her soft shorts sliding against the fabric of his joggers. His breath caught. His fingers dug in.

She leaned in close to his ear. "You're lucky these shorts are thick."

He chuckled. "You're lucky I'm patient."

"You sure about that?"

She rocked again, firmer this time. His jaw clenched.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, voice darker now.

Her hand found the hem of his hoodie, slipping underneath. Skin. Heat. Abs that made her fingers twitch. She traced them slowly.

"This game has no rules," she said. "Only punishment."

His hands slid up, cupping her breasts through the thin satin. No bra. Just warm, full skin under his palms.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

She didn't.

---

The Bedroom Shift

They eventually stumbled toward the bedroom—half laughing, half breathless. The tension was fire now, thick enough to choke on. Dana backed into the bed as Marcus followed, his body towering, his stare locked on hers.

"I ever tell you how insane your body is?" he asked.

"Say it again," she whispered, pulling her top over her head slowly.

"Insane," he repeated, eyes devouring her bare chest.

He didn't lunge. He dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them as he leaned in, kissing up one, then the other. Her fingers tangled in his curls.

"Marcus…"

He looked up. "You want my mouth?"

"I want you everywhere."

He stood and pressed her to the bed. Then paused. "Not tonight," he said softly.

She blinked, surprised.

"I want you begging for it. And you're close, Dana. But not there yet."

It was almost cruel. But god… it made her wetter.

---

The Tease That Lingered

He climbed over her, shirt off, muscles flexing as he held himself above her. She traced his chest, slow and greedy, fingers brushing the top of his waistband.

He grabbed her wrist, moved her hand lower.

"I want you to feel what you're doing to me."

She did. Hard. Thick. Pulsing.

Dana exhaled, lips parting. "Jesus…"

He laughed. "Close."

She pressed her hips up into him. Their bodies rocked—dry, but needy. Her nipples brushed his chest. His lips grazed her neck, her collarbone, the curve of one breast.

When he kissed her finally—really kissed her—it was deep. Wet. Like he'd been holding it in for days.

And then he slid down her body, lips trailing fire.

Fade to black.