Chapter 17 - Marco
“You said not yet.” Her voice cuts through my concentration as she rounds my desk, barefoot and wearing only my shirt. “When, Marco?”
The security reports blur on my desk. Her father's name repeated seventeen times, Irish threats, Russian interest. No matter what we do, the Russians are always interested.
But all I can focus on is how the white cotton clings to her curves, still damp with my cologne from where I held her in the elevator.
Her nipples are hard beneath the thin material, visible peaks that make my mouth water.
"When will you finally take what we both want?" She moves closer, bare feet silent on the marble, but I hear every breath, every shift of fabric against her skin.
I lean back in my chair, watching her approach with the same wariness I'd show a loaded weapon.
Three days since she brought me to my knees, and this woman threatens to destroy it all with a single question.
The way she defended me publicly at that cafe still burns in my chest, a sensation I refuse to examine too closely.
"I'm reviewing threats," I say, voice carefully neutral despite the way my cock stirs at the sight of her. My knuckles go white on the whiskey glass, a tell I thought I'd eliminated years ago.
"From my father?" She stops beside my chair, close enough that I smell my cologne on her skin mixed with something uniquely hers.
That sweet arousal I'm already addicted to.
The scent makes my control fracture, hairline cracks spreading through years of discipline.
"He's been busy since this morning's disruption. "
"Your father, the Irish, every family that smells opportunity." The aged scotch burns, but can't wash away the taste of her pussy, the memory of how she stood between me and her ex-boyfriend, declaring me hers with such fierce conviction. "Your public defense of me today has consequences."
She moves between me and the desk, blocking my view of the reports, forcing me to look at her. I'm reclined in my chair, so the position puts her pussy at my eye level, hidden only by my shirt and whatever she's wearing underneath. If anything.
"Good. I asked you a question," she says. "When will you finally take me?"
"When you're ready to be mine completely," I grip the chair arms hard enough to crack the leather. "Not just in bed. In everything."
"I defended you today." Her voice drops, fingers trailing along the desk's polished surface where men have bled out. "Publicly chose you over freedom. What more do you need?"
My jaw clenches so tight I taste copper. Every instinct screams to grab her, mark her, claim her. I lock my muscles, fighting the need. "I need to know you'll stay. Not because I forced you. Not because of debts. Because you want this."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You think I don't want this? After everything? After what I did to you three days ago? After you made me come on your tongue weeks ago?"
The crude reminder makes my cock twitch. "I think you want the idea of it. The excitement, the danger. But when reality sets in, when you realize what being mine truly means…"
"Stop." She steps closer, her bare thighs brushing my knees. The contact sends electricity through my entire body. "Stop deciding what I want. Stop pretending you know my mind better than I do."
"Then tell me." My voice roughens despite my attempt at control. "Tell me what you want."
"I want my husband." The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning. "I want to stop pretending this is just circumstances. I want to be your wife in every way that matters. I want your cock inside me, marking me, claiming me until I can't remember what it felt like before you owned me."
Something cracks in my chest, violent and irreversible. My hands move without permission, gripping her hips, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin shirt. "You want to be my wife?"
"I am your wife." She frames my face with her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. "I chose that today. Not at gunpoint, not under duress. I chose you, Marco. I choose to stay. Now stop making me wait and fuck me like you mean it."
The words destroy every defense I've built.
My cock is fully hard now, straining against my pants, and I know she can see it.
Every man who looked at her today signed his death warrant.
That college boy who dared suggest she leave me?
He'll disappear by week's end. She doesn't know this yet, how my love comes with a body count.
"Say it again," I demand, pulling her into my lap. She comes willingly, straddling my thighs. She's not wearing panties. Her bare pussy presses against my pants, already wet, already ready.
"I choose to stay." She rolls her hips, grinding against my erection. Her wetness soaks through to my skin, marking me with her arousal. "I choose you."
She slides from my lap before I can stop her, dropping to her knees beside my chair. The sight stops my heart. Valentina Rosetti on her knees by choice, her hands finding my belt, working it open with steady fingers.
"I'm done waiting," she says, freeing my cock from my pants. It springs free, thick and hard, the head already glistening with precum. Her eyes darken at the sight. "Done pretending this isn't what I want."
She leans forward, her tongue darting out to taste the precum beading at my tip. The contact makes me groan, my hands tangling in her hair. She looks up at me through her lashes, then takes me deep, swallowing half my length in one smooth motion.
"Fuck," I growl, fighting the urge to thrust into her throat. "Your mouth…"
She hums around my cock, the vibration making my balls tighten. Her hand wraps around the base, stroking what her mouth can't take, while her tongue works the sensitive underside. She's learned exactly how to destroy me, knows every spot that makes me weak.
I pull her off my cock before I lose control completely. "Bedroom. Now."
"Yes," she breathes, lips swollen and glistening.
I carry her to our bedroom, her legs wrapped around me, her bare pussy grinding against my cock with each step.
The friction is torture and heaven. When I set her on the bed's edge, she immediately spreads her legs, showing me exactly how wet she is.
Her pussy is pink and swollen, glistening with arousal, her clit begging to be touched.
"Take it off," I command, voice rough with need.
She stands, fingers working the buttons slowly, revealing inch after inch of golden skin.
When the shirt falls, she's bare except for the diamonds at her throat.
Her nipples are hard, dark rose against golden skin, begging for my mouth.
The sight makes my cock leak, a drop of precum sliding down my length.
I strip quickly, desperate to feel her skin against mine. When I'm naked, her eyes travel my body with open hunger, lingering on my cock, studying the thick veins, the way it curves slightly, the heavy balls beneath.
"How do you want me?" she asks, but there's power in the question, not submission.
"Every way." I push her back onto the bed, covering her body with mine.
The first contact of skin on skin makes us both gasp.
My cock presses against her stomach, leaving wet trails of precum on her skin.
"I'm going to fuck you in every position until you can't remember a time when you weren't mine. "
She arches beneath me, spreading her legs wider, tilting her hips in invitation. "Then stop talking and prove it."
I slide down her body, needing to taste her first. My tongue finds her clit, circling the swollen bud while she writhes beneath me. She tastes like sex and surrender, sweet and addictive. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that makes her scream.
"Marco, please," she begs, her pussy clenching around my fingers. "I need your cock. I've waited so long."
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her heat. She's so wet that her arousal is dripping onto the sheets. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you for the first time."
She meets my gaze as I push inside, one long thrust that seats me completely.
We both cry out at the sensation. Her pussy gripping me like a hot, wet vise, stretching to accommodate my size.
This is possession on a molecular level.
She's so tight I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming immediately.
"Wife," I growl, beginning to move, slow at first, letting her adjust to my size.
"Husband," she moans, nails raking down my back, leaving marks I'll wear with pride. "God, you're so big. So deep."
I fuck her harder with each thrust, driven by her words, by the way her pussy grips me like it never wants to let go. The headboard slams against the wall, the sound mixing with her cries and the wet, obscene sound of my cock driving into her soaked pussy.
"You feel so fucking good," I growl, angling my hips to hit her g-spot with each thrust. "So tight. So wet. Made for my cock."
She wraps her legs around my waist, heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. "Harder. Please, Marco. I won't break."
I pull out for just long enough to flip her onto her hands and knees, the new position letting me go even deeper. She pushes back against me, taking everything I give, her ass rippling with each impact. I grip her hips hard, knowing she'll wear my fingerprints for days.
"Look at you," I growl, watching my cock disappear into her pussy over and over. "Taking my cock so well. So desperate for it. You're dripping down your thighs, principessa."
"Yes," she screams as her first orgasm hits, pussy clenching around my cock in waves. "Fuck, Marco, yes!"
I don't stop. Can't stop. I pull out just long enough to flip her again, pulling her legs over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half. The angle lets me go impossibly deep, my cock hitting her cervix with each thrust.
"Oh God," she sobs, hands fisting in the sheets. "It's too much. Too deep."