13. Aria #2
I reach behind to unclasp my bra, letting it fall away. My nipples harden in the cool air—or maybe from his unwavering stare. With one last moment, I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and slide them down my legs, stepping out of them.
I stand straight, shoulders back, and meet his gaze defiantly.
“Does this show you how sorry I am?” I whisper, tracing a slow line from my collarbone down to the apex of my thighs.
“Tell me to stop, Aria. Tell me not to picture you kneeling right in front of me. Tell me not to want you the way I do.”
“Don’t. I want you to want me.”
He groans, a low sound vibrating through him, a slow smile curling across his lips. “Kneel.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. Slowly, I sink to my knees on the hardwood floor, the surface cool against my bare skin.
Marco loosens his tie and then unbuttons his suit jacket, shrugging it off. He carefully drapes it over a nearby chair before turning back to me. His hand goes to his belt, unfastening it with deliberate slowness.
He doesn’t have to tell me what more he wants. I already know.
Hell, the shiver down my spine tells me—I want to render him powerless. He might think he’s controlling me, but I’m going to be the one to bring him to his knees.
I lick my lips nervously, then part them. He frees himself from his boxer briefs, his erection already hard. My stomach flutters with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
He steps closer, one hand resting on the back of my head.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek. The praise shouldn’t affect me, but it does, sending a pulse of heat between my legs. “Take control, Aria. Make me forget how furious I am.”
I lean forward, wrapping my lips around him. He hisses in a breath as I take him deeper, the taste of him filling my mouth. His hand fists in my hair, guiding my movements.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You like this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me?”
I make a slight sound around him. He laughs softly, a dark sound that makes me clench with unexpected need.
“Fuck,” he says, thrusting deeper, making me gag slightly. “I can see how turned on you are. Your nipples are hard. Your cheeks are flushed.” He pulls back slightly, allowing me to breathe. “I bet if I touched you right now, you’d be wet.”
I squeeze my thighs together, embarrassed because he’s right. Despite everything, the threats, the power imbalance, the sheer wrongness of this situation, my body is responding to him with eager surrender.
Marco establishes a rhythm, moving in and out of my mouth, his hand firm on the back of my head. I hollow my cheeks, using my tongue along the underside of his shaft. His breathing grows heavier, his grip on my hair tightening.
I can feel him losing control. His hips jerk forward, a low groan escaping him as he hits the back of my throat.
I can feel the tremor in his fingers digging into my scalp.
He tries to stand still and remain in control, but his body fails him.
The rhythm of his thrusts grows erratic, and his breath comes in ragged gasps.
“Fuck, Aria,” he growls, his eyes locked on mine.
There’s a wildness in them now, a desperation that wasn’t there before.
He’s not the calm, collected Marco anymore.
He’s a man on the edge, and I’m the one pushing him there.
I don’t know when the power shifted—but I feel it now, in the way his control unravels under my mouth.
And I like what I can reduce him to. Without thinking, I smile around his cock as I feel his cock begin to pulsate, thinking he might just finish this way.
He pulls away suddenly, his chest heaving. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, looking up at him with wide eyes. He stares down at me, his expression raw and hungry. “Not yet,” he pants, gripping my arms. “I want to feel all of you.”
My legs are shaky as I rise to my feet. He studies me for a long moment, then turns me around, pressing me face-first against the wall. The cool surface is a shock against my heated skin.
His hand slides around my waist, then lower, fingers finding the slick evidence of my arousal. I bite my lip to hold back a moan.
“Just as I thought,” he says into my ear, his fingers circling my entrance teasingly. “Soaking wet. Tell me, Aria, do you always get this excited when you learn you could be in danger?”
“No,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No?” He pushes one finger inside me, making me gasp. “So it’s just around me then?”
He adds a second finger, curling them in a way that makes my knees buckle. His other arm wraps around my waist, holding me up as he continues his merciless exploration.
“Answer me,” he demands, his thumb finding my clit.
“Yes,” I choke out. “Just you.”
He makes a satisfied sound, increasing the pace of his fingers. “You lied about who you are, but your body can’t lie to me. It knows who it belongs to.”
I should protest this claim, but I can only press back against his hand, craving more friction. All I can do is hold back from screaming that I am his. I won’t say it unless he asks—I can’t, because it feels too close to the truth. His fingers press against me, driving me swiftly toward the edge.
“Not yet,” he says, reading my body. He withdraws his hand, leaving me empty and aching. “I’m not done with you.”
He spins me around again, lifting me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the nearby sofa. He sits, positioning me on his lap, his still-clothed chest against my naked breasts. The fabric of his shirt is rough against my sensitive nipples.
“Come take what you want,” he murmurs, sliding his hands down my ass as I straddle him. “Let me see how badly you need me.”
I sink down on him slowly, adjusting to his size. He fills me completely, stretching me in a way that borders on pain but quickly transforms into pleasure. His hands grip my hips, helping me establish a rhythm.
“This is what happens,” he says through gritted teeth, “when you try to deceive me.” He thrusts up hard, making me cry out. “I find out everything.” Another thrust. “I take what’s mine.” And another. “And I make sure you never forget who’s in control.”
His words send jolts of dark pleasure through my body. I ride him faster, chasing the building pressure inside me. One of his hands slides between us, finding my clit again.
“You’re close,” he observes, his voice strained. “I can feel you tightening around me.”
I nod frantically, beyond words now. My thighs tremble with the effort of maintaining our pace.
“Not until I say,” he warns, slowing his thrusts deliberately. His fingers continue their maddening circles on my clit, keeping me on the edge without letting me fall over. “Look at me.”
I force my heavy eyelids open, meeting his intense gaze.
“Who do you belong to now?” he asks.
Part of me wants to resist, to make him push me harder, but I need to come—or I fear I’ll have to force myself free from this body. That’s how carnal he makes me.
“You,” I gasp. “I belong to you.”
His smile is predatory. “Say my name.”
“Marco,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“Marco!” I cry out as he suddenly increases his pace again, driving into me with renewed force.
“Now you can come,” he permits, his thumb pressing harder against my clit.
The orgasm crashes over me with shocking intensity. I throw my head back, my inner muscles clenching around him as waves of pleasure pulse through my body. Through the haze, I feel him stiffen beneath me, his release following mine as he groans my name against my throat.
We stay like that for several minutes, my body draped over his, both of us breathing heavily. His hands, which had been so demanding, now stroke my back almost tenderly. He strokes my hair. “You okay?”
I nod against his chest. “Better than okay.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me for a beat too long, like there’s something else he wants to ask but can’t.
His jaw tightens, then he looks away.
He should feel triumphant after everything he just made me do. But something about the way he pulls back… makes it feel like a loss.
The contradiction confuses me almost as much as my own response to him.
I don’t know what I expected to feel—shame, maybe. Regret.
But all I feel is the echo of his hands on my skin and how my heart still races like he never let me go.
I should be scared. Maybe I still am. But it’s not fear that makes my knees weak now.
It’s something worse.
It’s the need to go to him if he calls.