Marcus Law Cock Novels & Stories

I was back at my desk, halfway through a spreadsheet of tile quotes, when Priya knocked and leaned into the doorway. "Mr. Marcus is here," she said. "He's got coffee." "Send him in." Marcus came in a minute later, with two cups balanced in a cardboard tray, his coat still damp from what I guessed was a light rain drizzling outside. "I come bearing caffeine," he said smoothly, setting one cup on my desk. "You looked like you needed one, the last time I saw you." "I always need caffeine." "Then I'm glad I came right in time." He said, then dropped into the chair across from me, loosening his scarf, glancing around at the stacks of samples and swatches without really seeing them. "How's the Cob

"You've written the law of the market. The world is simply repeating the lines you gave it." I leaned my head back against his shoulder, looking up into his rugged, handsome face, tracing the sharp, unyielding lines of his jaw and the profound, eternal devotion burning in his gaze. "And what about the man who held the iron walls while I wrote the law? What does the great Marcus Luther do when there are no more rival empires left to dismantle?" Marcus let out a low, dark chuckle, a gravelly sound of pure, unadulterated satisfaction that vibrated directly into my chest. He reached up, his long fingers cupping my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip with a slow, burning possessivenes

The Man With Three Cocks 1 Marcus The studio was still buzzing from Maeve’s audition. I could hear the whispers backstage as I stood waiting for my turn. Some of the other performers looked at me with a mix of curiosity and fear. One girl even crossed her legs tighter when our eyes met. They already knew what I was. Marcus “Trip” Kane. 28 years old. The man with three cocks.

This small, protected circle of people. "I got accepted," Marcus said suddenly, setting his fork down flat against the ceramic plate. The table went completely quiet. Even Marco stopped his pencil mid-equation. "Accepted to what, Marcus?" I asked. "Graduate school," he stated, a faint, almost self-conscious warmth touching the corners of his eyes. "A specialized program in criminal justice reform and human rights law. I want to formalize the knowledge, Axel. Get the actual academic credentials behind my name. Maybe teach the strategy to the next generation of field agents eventually."

Marcus kicked Ethan's feet apart, spreading his legs wide, and flipped the remnants of his shirt up over his back. "You want my cock, boy?" Marcus asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick bottle of expensive lubricant. He popped the cap and poured a generous amount directly onto Ethan's exposed crack. The cold liquid made Ethan gasp, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of Marcus's thick fingers.

Marcus says as I go inside his dimly lit office. "I am. Cole got arrested last night," I say and I see Marcus tense and look a bit angry. "It's all been sorted, he was drunk and fought a police officer so nothing too bad," I cringe at how bad it sounds when I say it out loud. Marcus sighs and continues typing on his computer. He nods his head to the couch next to the desk so I sit down and wait for him to finish what he is doing. Finally, he turns to me on his swivel chair and crosses his muscular arms across his chest.

"Excellent. I'll see you then, Mrs. Cox." He hung up. I stood in the hospital lobby, people moving around me like I was a stone in a river, and trying to breathe. Immediate family. The lawyer. The will. ‘Are you?’ What the hell was happening? --- Mr. Marcus's office was in one of those old buildings downtown that smelled like wood polish and old money. I sat across from him in a leather chair, watching him arrange documents with methodical precision. He was older, maybe late fifties, with silver hair and reading glasses. Everything about him screamed competence and discretion.

“Ethan views a defenseless human. So reveal a fighter to him. I can guide you.” I gaped at him, my thoughts spinning. The proposal came out of nowhere but strangely captivating. This man—or wolf—was worlds apart from others I’d met here. It lacked Lucas’s playful charm or Ethan’s savage dismissal. It was a dare. A tough rope, not a soft one. “Who are you?” I eventually got out. A faint grin brushed his lips. “Marcus. I drill the pack’s fighters.” A coach. A battler. He was handing me what Ethan insisted I’d never possess. The tools to strike back.

Don’t worry girl, I am here. Marcus took out a packet from what I concluded in his right pocket of the gray coat. His Rolex reflected the lights above his head over the bar counter. Marcus forwarded the packet to Emma. Cocaine! Yes, it looked like. Emma didn’t take it. I was relieved. She was sober. Yet.

"Explain yourself. What do you mean it wasn't your intention?" Marcus took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I was influenced, Ned. Influenced by someone who held a grudge against you," he revealed, his voice shaky but resolute. Ned's eyes widened, his mind racing to identify the person behind the scenes. "Who? Who influenced you, Marcus? Tell me." Marcus hesitated, his gaze fixed on the floor. "It was Mark. Mark Stevens, one of your former clients," he admitted, his voice laced with remorse.