Little Fury: Book 1 of The deadly Little Thing Trilogy
Little Fury: Chapter 21

Marcus walks into my room while I’m getting ready for dinner. “Seriously, how aren’t you ready?” He asks as he falls onto my bed.

“Cause my entire personality is to make your life more difficult.”

“Ha! The shit part, Ava, is that you’re only partially joking.”

I look at him and laugh. “Go have a drink. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”

I finish doing my hair, leaving it wavy down my back. My makeup is minimal. The tan I’ve acquired over the last few weeks has me glowing, so I add a shimmer to the inner corner of my eyes, highlight above my cheekbones and apply a light gloss. Satisfied with my face and hair, I grab my body lotion and remove my oversized t-shirt. In only my thong, I apply the lotion all over, my skin drinking in the moisture. I’m doing my best to reach my back when I hear Marcus.

“I can do that for you,” He says from the door. I hesitate for the briefest moment, then toss him the lotion. I grab my top off the counter, hold it in front of me, and turn my back to him.

He steps closer, s breath fans over my neck and it sends a shiver over my body. He puts the lotion in his hands, warming it up a bit before placing them on my shoulders. He applies gentle pressure as he smooths the lotion over my shoulders and back. A small moan slips out at the feel of his hands on me. He stops moving for a moment, before his hands resume making their way down my back. He continues to smooth the lotion into my skin, working his hands lower and lower.

I feel his fingers dip under the waistband of my thong, his thumbs digging into the muscles there. I look at us in the mirror, his hands on my hips, his thumbs pressing into my skin. His head is down, staring at his hands on my ass.

But this. This feels different.

Marcus’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, his piercing green eyes framed with dark lashes. His blonde hair is even lighter from the sun, and his tan makes his eyes more striking. He’s wearing a white short-sleeved light-knit V-neck with a soft collar and navy shorts that perfectly hug his thighs. Marcus has grown into a beautiful man just as I knew he would. But now he has an air about him that’s darker than when he was younger, and power radiates from him.

He holds my gaze in the mirror, I see his jaw clench. His fingers dig into me harder, hard enough that I shudder at the thought of him leaving his marks on me. That thought snaps me out of it.

“Shit, we should go. Let me throw on my dress and shoes.”

He clears his throat, still looking at me in the mirror. “Yeah, I’m starving, let’s go.” We look at each other for another moment, and I see the hunger there, and I’m positive it’s not for food. Marcus leaves the bathroom, and I close the door to get my dress from behind it. I slip the silk over my head and shiver at its cool touch on my warm skin.

It’s a deep emerald green that falls to just above my knee with a slit up one side. I’m happy that Marcus removed my stitches a couple days ago. The neckline sits straight across my collarbone, with the thinnest straps crisscrossing in the back around my shoulder blades. The rest of the back is bare.

I open the bathroom door and see Marcus with my shoes hanging off his finger. He looks me up and down, saying nothing. I turn to grab my handbag off the dresser, giving him a view of the back of the dress. “Fuuuck.” I hear him mutter low. A small smile crosses my lips, I smother it quickly.

I grab my gold cuffs, place them on my wrists, take my shoes from Marcus, and hold onto his shoulder as I try to put them on. They’re black with a thin strap across the toes, a 3-inch heel and an ankle strap that is not cooperating. “Jesus,” he says, dropping to his knee to do up my shoe, his fingers grazing the inside of my ankle. He takes the other shoe from me. “Keep your hands on my shoulders, Ava.” His voice is low and rough, sending a flare of heat straight to my core.

He lifts my other foot and places the shoe on it, running a finger under my arch. He does up the buckle and runs his fingers up my calf. His touch is feather soft, sending another rush of heat through my body.

Seeing him on his knees before me is intoxicating. Him looking up at me from his knees in front of me.

Well, that’s… um.

“Ready?” He asks, still kneeling in front of me.

“Uh, yeah, yes.” I stumble over my words. He gets to his feet, hands me my purse and gives me a lazy smile.

“Let’s go.” He takes my hand, entwining our fingers, pulling me out of my bedroom.

Once outside, he opens the car door for me, waiting until I’m in before going to the driver’s side. As we head to the restaurant, Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games” plays over the speakers, filling the silence in the car. We pull up to the restaurant, and the valet opens my door. Marcus takes my hand, handing the valet the keys and a $50 bill.

The restaurant is on the beach and divided into different areas. There’s a dining area situated at the top of the beach, and the open-air bar area with its dance floor and stage are down close to the water.

We’re seated immediately, and Marcus orders a bottle of 2017 Chateau Montelena Estate Cabernet. The waiter returns with the wine and offers it to Marcus first, ensuring he approves of it. Marcus nods, and the waiter moves to fill my glass before going back to fill Marcus’s. We sit quietly for a bit, enjoying the wine.

“Any idea what you want to have?” I ask Marcus as I look over the menu.

“I think I want the steak. You?”

“The same,” I say with a grin.

“Not sure why I asked. No burger on the menu, I should have known steak.”

“You know me so well, do you?”

He looks at me over the rim of his wine glass as he takes a sip. “I’m sure I could know you better.” I feel my cheeks flame. I take a sip of my wine and notice a drop running down the side of my glass. I collect it on my fingertip and bring it to my mouth, placing my finger on my lips. I lick the drop off. He’s watching me; his green eyes darken and his hand squeezes into a fist on the table. He starts to say something, but the waiter interrupts him.

“We will both have the steak medium-rare; I’ll have the oven-roasted potatoes, and she’ll have the 12-hour crispy potatoes.”

“Thank you, sir,” the waiter says as he moves away to put our order in. My phone buzzes in my purse, and I retrieve it to see who it is. It’s Beth asking how we’re doing. She tells me that Harry is still mopey since we left, and that Parker and Wes won’t spar with him until he lightens up. I read the text to Marcus, and we both chuckle at the thought of Harry beating them up because he’s in a bad mood. The laughter lightens our mood, and we sink into a normal rhythm—a familiar cadence to our conversation.

Our food arrives, and we dig in.

The conversation flows easily, all the earlier tension seeming to have dissipated. We discuss a couple of books we’ve read and what movie we want to watch later. My vote is for “Blade Runner 2049”. Marcus hates science fiction. It’s one of the few things we disagree on. Marcus usually gives in when it comes to the movies we watch or the music we listen to. I’m grateful he does because I’m unyielding in those areas. I am fully aware it’s a crappy personality trait of mine, but it’s one I have no desire to change.

I’ve been taught and trained to be yielding and accommodating to the situations and people my work puts in front of me. If a client wants a death to look like a suicide, or I need to get close enough to drug someone, I have to be whatever they want me to be. I have to emulate whatever fantasy or impression of me gets me close to them.

My body is both a tool and a weapon. My face, my voice, my slight stature- all of it has been carefully crafted and meticulously trained to be pliable and compliant. It makes none of it mine; none of it is me. But what I watch and listen to when I’m supposed to be at home relaxing? When I’m supposed to be the real Ava? Those are mine. Those are me. And I won’t give them to anyone for anything. I will unapologetically keep that part of me for myself.

“Do you want dessert?’ Marcus asks me.

“No, let’s go to the bar and dance. We can order dessert later if we want.”

Marcus nods, and he places money on the table; grabbing my hand, we head to the big open-air side of the restaurant. We walk down the cobblestone path towards the ocean and the already busy bar. The music is full of bass, and the dance floor is packed with people. Marcus leads us through the crowd to a table in the back corner. He leaves me there and goes to get us a couple of drinks. He’s back a few minutes later with a beer for himself and a fruity drink for me. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He asks innocently. “I distinctly remember Miss Bennett telling you not to drink beer or scotch when out. She said wine, champagne or something on the fruitier spectrum.”

I shake my head at him. “Really?” I grab his beer and take a big sip. He shakes his head and smiles at me, picking up the fruity drink and taking a sip.

“How is it?’ I ask.

“It’s horrible. How do people drink these things? “

“No clue. The beer is good, though. Thanks”

Marcus returns to the bar and comes back with a pitcher and another glass, pouring himself a beer.

We people watch for a bit—it’s more of a habit trained into us than entertainment. Harry and Sebastian drilled in the importance of knowing your surroundings at all times. Take note of people and exits. Even when there is no threat or danger, you should always be able to get out. I look at Marcus. “Game?”

“Loser stops drinking to drive home?” He challenges.

“Yup,” I reply.

“You go first, Little Fury.”

“Alright, let’s see….” I zone in on a woman with brown hair wearing a pink dress. “Pink dress,” I say, nodding in her direction. I see Marcus clock her. “Just found out her husband had an affair. She booked this trip last minute, planning on fucking her way through every man she can replace.”

“Okay.” And he heads over to the woman in question, turning on the charm instantly. He’s gone for nine minutes. I see her touch his arm and make her way out of the bar.

“So?”

“How?” He asks.

I smile. “Easy. She clearly has money. You don’t come here if you can’t afford it. But her hair and clothes aren’t vacation ready. The dress is a little ill-fitting. But it’s designer, so it would have been tailored to fit her better. It’s loose in places like her breasts and ass, so it’s easy to guess she’s had some recent weight loss. Her hair, while well-kept, needs a dye refresh. Her fingernails are gorgeous, but again, not vacation nails. You don’t do a set that long for vacation. You go a bit shorter and no jewels. And her toes are not any color a woman gets before vacation to show off her newly acquired tan. She keeps moving to adjust a ring on her left ring finger, but it’s not there anymore, and every time she goes to touch it, its absence startles her before she remembers she took it off.”

“Your turn,” I tell him sweetly while I refill my beer.

Marcus scans the bar and stops at a group of women around a high-top table. “Blonde in the t-shirt and jean shorts.”

“Oh, she’s cute,” I tell him.

He rolls his eyes at me. “She just flunked out of school and hasn’t told anyone yet because they are here for her older brother’s wedding.”

I look at him and then back at her. I take a sip of my beer and make my way over to her.

“I love your t-shirt,” I tell her because I genuinely do.

“Thanks, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I’m Ava.”

“Hi, I’m Cam.”

“Hi, Cam. So, what brings you to the Caymans?”

“My brother is getting married.” She tells me.

“Not happy about it?” I ask her.

“No, I am! I love his fiancée. She’s amazing. She is a freaking pediatric orthopedic surgeon. She literally fixes little kids and babies’ bones. And she’s funny.” I’m not getting any hint of a lie from her.

“So why are you sad?”

She looks at me and then at her family and lets out a breath that deflates her shoulders. “I just flunked out of law school and haven’t told my family yet.”

How the fuck did he clock that? She looks like a bored little sister wishing she was anywhere but here.

“Oh, I’m sorry that must be complicated. Have you always wanted to be a lawyer? “

She doesn’t answer me immediately; her pause hangs heavy on her. “No, it was never what I wanted, but my parents are lawyers, so when my brother became a doctor, I had no choice but to follow in their footsteps.”

“I see,” I say, nodding at the information. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Tattoo artist,” she says instantly.

I look at her, seeing the spark of life in her eyes now.

“Cam, life is too unexpected and short to live it for others. You should follow your dream. Unless you don’t have any actual artistic ability, then don’t become a tattoo artist.”

She looks at me and laughs, then lifts her t-shirt showing me her ribs and the most beautiful tree tattooed there. Its bark has images of birds and flowers, and it’s stunning.

“Wow!” I say.

“I drew this; a friend tattooed it for me.”

“Okay! So yes, you should follow your dreams, Cam. I lost my parents at a young age, so I know how fast things can change, and the thought of living my life doing something I hate makes my heart hurt.”

She smiles at me. “Thanks, Ava.”

“You’re welcome. But don’t tell your family until you get home. People are crazy at weddings and experience so many emotions and all those emotions and reactions will be bigger than they probably want them to be.”

“I thought the same; I’m glad to hear someone else think it.” She smiles at me. “Is that your boyfriend? Because he is beautiful.”

I look over at him. “No, he’s my best friend. We grew up together.”

“Really? He sure doesn’t look at you like you’re just a friend. He looks at you like he wants to devour you.”

“I don’t know about that, Cam. we’ve never been anything but friends.” But that doesn’t feel exactly true anymore.

“It may have been nothing but friends for you but not for him. The guys at the bar were checking you out as you walked over here, and your bestie there was having no part of it. He glared at the guys, took half a step towards them, and the three of them raised their hands in defeat and turned around.”

I look over at him again. Before we arrived weeks ago, I would have laughed hysterically at anyone who said there was something other than friendship between Marcus and me. Right now? I want to say I feel nothing I haven’t always felt, but that isn’t the case. New feelings could complicate so much for us. We have so much to do over the next little while. Changing the parameters of our relationship could be the worst idea ever.

Or it could be the best idea ever.

I realize I’ve been standing there, looking at Marcus, not saying a word to Cam. “I’m sorry. I got lost in my thoughts there for a moment,” I tell her sheepishly.

“No worries. I’d also get lost in those same thoughts if he were my best friend,” she giggles.

“Well, Cam, it’s been a pleasure! I hope I see you again. Hopefully, with a tattoo gun.” I smile at her. She wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me, and I realize I’ve never had a girlfriend hug me before.

“Here, give me your phone. I’ll put my number in, and you can text me sometime if you ever need to talk.”

She hands me her phone, and I enter my number into it and then text myself, so I have hers as well. She smiles at me again, and we say goodbye.

I return to my table, where another pitcher of beer awaits. I slide into my seat beside him, and Marcus instantly puts his arm over the back of my chair and leans into me to speak in my ear. His breath against my ear sends goosebumps down my arms. His thumb replaces my open back and rubs along my spine.

“So? Was I right?’ He purrs into my ear.

“My only question is,” I turn my body to face him, my left leg slipping between his to get closer. I know what I’m doing. I see the invitation I’m starting to offer. Will he take it or stop it? The slit in my dress rides up my thigh as I move closer. “How did you know? Hmm?” I purr back at him, leaning across to speak into his ear. “Did you overhear Cam confess to someone?” My left-hand draws small circles on the back of his hand as it grips my chair.

“I’ll never tell Ava. What would be the fun of that?” he says as he leans in more, his leg pushing in between my thighs more, forcing my legs wider to allow him closer. The slit in my dress rides higher.

“Ava.” He says my name not in question but in permission.

“Marcus,” I say his name, my voice sounding breathy and needy.

He leans in that last little bit. My breath stutters at the feel of his skin between my thighs. Remembering that he’s wearing shorts. I let my thighs fall apart, giving him the access he wants. He slides forward in his chair, his other hand replaceing my chin and making me look up at him. I feel his thigh as he slides me forward ever so slightly, pressing against my core, and it’s just enough to drag a breath from me.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me to stop, tell me to fuck off, tell me something. Because right now, all I want to do is take your mouth with mine while I make you come on my hand.” A whimper escapes me, and then I feel his thumb sliding under the hem of my dress, moving higher. My eyes drop to his hand.

“Look at me,” he demands, and I comply instantly. There is desire in his eyes, but also uncertainty.

“Let’s go home, Marcus.” That uncertainty in his eyes disappears with my words.

He nods at me, stands and takes my hand, leading me out of the bar. We make our way back up to the central part of the restaurant, heading to the front. He gives the valet our ticket, and we wait for the car. He keeps my hand in his while we wait, his thumb making circles in the palm of my hand. I step into him when a gust of wind comes off the ocean. His other hand goes to the small of my back, slipping slightly lower. His hands are large, and they grab my dress in a fist, pulling me closer to him. My hands rest on his chest.

The car arrives, and we’re forced to separate. Marcus gets in the driver’s seat and waits for me to fasten my belt before he pulls out onto the street. “Wicked Game” By Chris Issac invades the space, the song adding to the intensity inside the small space. I drop my head back against the headrest. Marcus’s hand rests on my thigh, his fingers making small designs on the soft skin. I relax my legs slightly, giving his fingers more room.

He digs them into my skin more firmly as they inch higher toward my core. I gasp quietly when his fingers graze my skin, a whisper of a touch slides over my underwear. My legs shift open wider without any real intention on my part. My body wants his touch, even if my mind hesitates. We pull into the driveway of our house, and Marcus removes his hand from my leg, putting the car in park.