Chapter 3: First Marks
The word hung in the air, a tiny detonation in the quiet room. For a second, nothing moved. Then Ant’s hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. It wasn’t gentle. It was possession.
“Good,” he said, a single syllable of dark approval.
In one smooth motion, he bent and hooked an arm behind her knees, lifting her off the ground. Nomi gasped, her arms instinctively flying around his neck. The solid heat of him, the sheer effortless strength, short-circuited her thoughts. Jazzy’s hands fell away from her hips, and she followed with a soft, knowing laugh as Ant carried Nomi out of the living room, down the short hall, and into the sanctuary of her bedroom.
The fairy lights were already on, casting a constellation of warm dots across the ceiling. The vanilla candle on her dresser had burned low, pooling wax and scenting the air. Her laptop, open on her desk, was dark and silent. He placed her in the center of the plush bed, the blankets yielding beneath her. He didn’t join her. He stepped back, a shadow against the doorway, and watched.
Jazzy flowed onto the bed like water. “Let’s get you out of these library clothes,” she murmured, her voice all playful intimacy. She knelt beside Nomi and started with the buttons of Nomi’s blouse. Each one slipped free with a tiny, deliberate pop. The air was cool on Nomi’s exposed skin, raising goosebumps. Jazzy’s fingers were warm as they traced the line of her collarbone, pushing the fabric aside.
Nomi felt dissected. Studied. Ant’s gaze was a physical weight from across the room. Jazzy’s touch was a leisurely exploration. She unbuttoned Nomi’s jeans, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet. She tugged them down, her hands skating over Nomi’s hips, her thighs, helping her lift so the denim could be pulled free and discarded to the floor.
Soon, Nomi was left in only her simple cotton underwear and bra. She was trembling, a fine, constant vibration that started deep in her bones. She wasn’t cold.
Jazzy leaned over her, her dark hair a curtain that brushed Nomi’s shoulder. “So pretty,” she whispered, before kissing her.
It was nothing like the library. Jazzy’s mouth was soft, practiced, and demanding all at once. She tasted of mint and red wine. One of her hands slid up to cradle Nomi’s jaw, angling her head just so. The other hand rested lightly on the center of Nomi’s chest, right over her pounding heart.
Nomi melted into it, a sound escaping her throat—a helpless, wanting little sigh.
That’s when the bed dipped behind her. Ant. He hadn’t made a sound. His body aligned with hers, not touching yet, but she felt the heat of him all along her back. His breath stirred the hair at her temple. Jazzy broke the kiss, smiling down at her, a thumb stroking Nomi’s lower lip.
Ant’s hand finally touched her, a broad palm sliding slowly from her waist, over the curve of her hip. His touch was electric, utterly different from Jazzy’s. It was absolute. It promised no asking.
When his other hand mirrored the path on her other side, when Jazzy’s mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, Nomi whimpered. It was a raw, unfiltered sound, ripped from some deep, untouched place inside her.
Ant’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. His voice was a low vibration she felt in her spine. “There it is,” he murmured. “This is how you should always sound.”
The words liquefied her. All the performative laughter for her subscribers, the polite murmurs on dates, the carefully edited silences—they all felt like a lie. This whimper was the truth.
Jazzy shifted, kissing a path down Nomi’s throat, to her chest. She hooked a finger under the strap of Nomi’s bra, pulling it down. Ant’s hands continued their slow, tormenting exploration, moving inward from her hips, thumbs brushing the very edges of her underwear.
He was everywhere. His scent, clean and male, surrounded her. The scratch of Jazzy’s hair against her skin, the soft pressure of her lips. Nomi’s world narrowed to sensation. Her mind, so loud moments before, went blissfully, terrifyingly quiet.
Then Ant moved. He shifted down the bed, his hands guiding her thighs apart. He looked at her, his eyes black in the low light. He held her gaze as he lowered his head.
The first press of his mouth against the inside of her thigh, just above her knee, made her jump. His lips were soft, the contrast with his rough demeanor shocking. He kissed a slow, deliberate line upward. Jazzy watched, her own breathing slightly uneven, as she continued to map Nomi’s shoulders and chest with her mouth.
Ant reached the crease of her thigh, the sensitive skin there. He paused. Nomi’s whole body was taut, a wire pulled to its limit. She could feel her own heartbeat between her legs, a frantic, pleading rhythm.
He bit her.
Not hard. Not enough to truly hurt. But it was a sharp, sudden claim of teeth on the most tender part of her. A jolt of pure, white-hot sensation tore through her, a lightning strike of pleasure-pain that had her arching off the bed with a choked cry.
He soothed it immediately with his tongue, a slow, languid stroke over the exact spot. The aftershocks rolled through her, wave after wave, leaving her shaking and gasping.
Jazzy hummed in approval, her own eyes dark. “She likes that,” she said, her voice thick.
Ant lifted his head. His lips glistened. He looked at Nomi’s wrecked expression, the tears beading in the corners of her eyes, the way her hands were fisted in the blankets.
“She doesn’t know what she likes,” he corrected, his voice rough. “Yet.”
He moved then, shifting his weight over her. He didn’t kiss her mouth. He just looked down at her, a conqueror surveying new territory. Nomi looked back, utterly exposed, more naked than she’d ever been. The quiet in her head was complete. There was no room for anything but him, and Jazzy beside them, and the echoing, perfect memory of his teeth on her skin.
He saw it. The surrender. The quiet.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his mouth. “Now we start,” he said.