Unfortunately no

“Well, well, well,” Marcus drawled, pushing himself off the goalpost, sauntering towards us with the arrogant swagger of a king surveying his domain. “Look what the cat dragged in. Or rather, what finally crawled out from under its rock. Ethan Riley. Or should I say... Erica?” He let out a harsh, barking laugh, his eyes raking over my transformed figure with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a dawning, predatory hunger that made my blood run cold.

Liam stepped protectively in front of me. “Leave her alone, Thorne,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s not bothering anyone.”

Marcus just sneered, shoving Liam roughly aside. Liam stumbled, but caught his balance, his face hardening with anger. “Stay out of this, pretty boy’s protector,” Marcus spat. “Me and...Ethan... have some unfinished business.” His gaze locked onto mine, hot and possessive. “Heard you’ve been... under the weather, Riley. Looking a little... different. Softer. Prettier.” He took another step closer, close enough that I could smell the stale cigarettes and cheap cologne clinging to him. The urge, a roaring inferno now, slammed into me with the **** of a physical blow. My knees buckled. My breath hitched. My body flushed with a ****, humiliating heat. He was so close. So male. So... dominant.

“What’s wrong, Riley?” Marcus purred, his eyes dropping to my chest, lingering on the undeniable swell beneath my hoodie. “Cat got your tongue? Or did you finally grow a pair... of tits?” He reached out, his hand darting towards my chest. I flinched, trying to back away, but he was too fast. His rough fingers closed around my breast, squeezing hard through the fabric. A choked cry ripped from my throat, a mixture of pain, fear, and a sickening, undeniable jolt of cursed pleasure. The urge was overwhelming now, a tidal wave drowning my resistance, my sanity.

“Marcus, stop it!” Liam yelled, lunging forward, but Marcus, with a contemptuous sneer, simply backhanded him across the face. Liam went down hard, hitting the grass with a sickening thud, momentarily stunned.

Marcus turned back to me, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes blazing with a cruel, possessive light. “Looks like it’s just you and me now, sweetheart,” he growled, grabbing my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh like talons. He started dragging me towards the deserted boys’ locker room at the edge of the field, his strength easily overpowering my own feminized, curse-weakened struggles.

“No... please... Marcus...” I sobbed, tears streaming down my face, but my protests were weak, half-hearted, already undermined by the insidious tendrils of programmed desire snaking through my veins. My body, that treacherous, cursed vessel, was already responding to his rough touch, to his aggressive masculinity, my pussy clenching, slickness flooding between my legs.