Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Marco: Mío, Solo Mío
The minutes crawl by as I sit alone in the living room, two glasses of wine on the table, and a book open on my knee.
One of those history books the Emperor’s so obsessed with, all grand empires of an almost-forgotten past, sketches of the before-times when things weren’t diseased and dying like they are now.
Worlds he’s intent on recreating, no matter who gets caught and crushed along the way.
But I’m not reading it. It’s just something to do with my hands. Something to stop me endlessly drinking and refilling this wine while I wait for Robin to say goodnight to Esme.
I take another sip anyway, scan the doorway again. Take another sip.
Maybe he’ll sleep in there tonight. I could understand it. No doubt he wants to see her safe and happy. See it with his own eyes, after all this time. In his position, I’d probably—
“Marco?”
I jump to my feet, the book falling face down on the floor. “I was… um…”
He comes forward, right in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth of his body. His eyes are so bright. Brighter than I’ve ever seen them. There’s an ease about his shoulders, and that pure Atrean sunshine that makes up so great a part of him burns stronger than I could have imagined.
He’s the most beautiful thing.
I glance down at the table, at the glass of wine waiting for him. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” Fuck, why am I so nervous? “You don’t have to… I mean… for sleeping. If you want, you can sleep here. I didn’t expect you to…”
His little finger wraps around mine, and my hand floats up easily as he pulls it. “Do you want me to sleep out here?”
“No.” The answer falls out, as open as the pages sprawled across my floor. But maybe it’s about time I was open with him. “Robin… I don’t ever want you to sleep anywhere else again. I’ve been so stupid. I have… I have tried…”
His kiss falls gently to the left of my mouth, leaving me grasping for speech.
“I wanted to keep you safe,” I attempt. “That was all. That was all it ever was. Since the first day I saw you.”
His lips move to the other side of my mouth, and the scent of him is driving me crazy.
“I’m sorry for everything. If I could fix it—”
His laugh stops me in my tracks. A sweet laugh that brings a smile to my lips. Lips he kisses gently. “You are everything. Marco…” He kisses me again, his hand running up my neck. “You can’t ever understand what you did for me. And if I doubted how you felt before…”
He kisses me again, harder, sending me stumbling backwards so I have to catch him at the hips for stability. His hand slides down my chest, finds a nipple through the fabric of my shirt, and squeezes.
Fucking hell.
My dick’s already so hard I could come on the spot.
Then he lowers his voice and says, “If you don’t take me to your bedroom right now, your housekeeper’s going to get a very rude shock.”
She knows better than to come in here when I’m entertaining Robin, but that knowledge doesn’t stop me from grasping his hand and pulling him as fast as I can down the hall and to the privacy of my bedchamber.
He kicks the door closed behind us. His back hits it as he wrenches me in for a kiss.
“Fuck, Marco,” he whispers, his hand sliding over my cock. “Fuck, you’re already so hard for me.”
I almost whimper at his words. I’ve wanted him so badly. But I’ve wanted him like this. No stolen moments. No threats, no anger, no ‘last time.’
He moves his hand in a sure rhythm, like he owns me.
And that’s just the thing. He does. I know it now. And he already knew it.
He pushes me back, turns me, kissing me all the while.
My calves hit the bed and I stumble, landing on the mattress.
But not Robin. He stands there, legs wide, lets me run my hands up his torso, his eyes locked on mine.
He rips his shirt over his head. Lets me see one flooring flash of that beautiful body.
Then he drops to his knees and takes my dick in his mouth.
The groan that rips out of me is indecent—too loud, too raw. But I want him. Fuck, I want him.
My cock hits the back of his throat and he growls over it, hungry, sending a too-electric shudder of pleasure all the way through me. I sink my hand into his hair, and his fingers dig sharp into my thigh.
He’s found a bruise, some dark and black injury I can’t even recall getting yesterday. But when his fingers sink in, the pain and the intensity of the pleasure he’s giving me with his mouth drive me wild.
“Fuck, birdie,” I hiss, and some pleased moan ekes out of him. Some sound that makes me take his hair a little tighter, use him a little harder, makes him dig his fingers deeper into that wound. “Ah, fuck.”
He loves it, the feedback, the way he’s pulling me all apart. I’m barely controlling him now. His suction is so tight, his mouth so hot, and fuck, I’m going to come too soon if he keeps doing that.
But I want to. I want to paint his throat white. I want him gagging on my cum, kissing me with a mouth full of it, and—
His lips smash into mine, the taste I’d craved on his tongue. His knee locks over my thigh as he pushes me back, crawling on top of me, the sex and the heat of him intoxicating.
“Mine,” he growls, and plasters his mouth against mine.
“Mine,” he demands, and wraps a hand around my dick.
My hips shock forward into his palm, his thighs pushing mine wide open. “Marco,” he rasps, his other hand landing on my neck, “I want you to say it.”
He licks along my lower lip, and my breath catches, my desperation to taste him, his control of me. “I’m yours. Robin, I’m yours, now and for as long as you want me.”
He strokes my cock, his eyes devouring me. “What can I fuck you with?”
I fling out a hand, pulling open a drawer, almost fumbling the lubricant. He snatches it off me, coats his fingers.
But I catch him at the wrist.
For one stark moment we’re frozen, his gaze darkly curious, on the verge of opening that pretty mouth to argue.
Then I slam a hand into his shoulder and knock him off balance, his back hitting the soft sheets. My lips crash against his, and his legs wrap me. I swipe the moisture from his fingertips, and in half a second I’m fucking him with two fingers, thick and hot and just like he knows I like it.
He gasps out my name, claws at his hair, shoves his wrist against his mouth to try to stifle the gorgeous sounds he’s making. “Is this what you wanted, birdie?”
He whimpers an agreement, his back arching, begging me for more.
I cup his balls, curling my fingers against his sweet spot. “Do you want me to keep going?”
He clenches against my unrelenting touch. “Please, Marco.”
I lean over, kiss him, relishing the sweat above his lip, the way he’s losing control, the way he’s giving himself over to me so completely.
I use him, enjoy him, let him feel what I hope no other man has ever given him until he’s falling apart.
Until I can’t take any more. “Do you want me to fuck you, birdie?”
His eyes flutter open, swimming on a sea of pleasure just for a moment until his focus comes back, until a mischievous sparkle comes into them, and he says, “No. I’m going to fuck you.”
One kick, and it’s me on my back, Robin climbing on top of me.
He snatches up some lubricant, then glides his hand over my dick, coating me, ripping shudders of pleasure through me.
His other hand slams down on my throat, and in a voice that’s pure sex, lip curling, he says, “When you’re out on that field, and all those people are screaming for you, who do you belong to? ”
“Ah, fuck.” His hand moves faster. “You, Robin.”
He lifts a leg over me, straddling me, his enormous cock hard and dripping. “When all the other men in that dungeon eye fuck you, who do you belong to?”
“You, Robin.” I want to scream the words, clamping fingers between my teeth to try to control myself as he works me.
He lines my cock up and presses slowly down. “Until your dying breath, Marco, who do you belong to?”
Rapture takes me. The pure ecstasy of his words, his adoration, the feeling of him taking me, owning me, claiming me. “You, Robin,” I rasp, sliding into him, so hot and tight, and everything I want in this world right now. “Forever and always, it’s you.”
“Mine.” He presses down on me, his body shuddering, his breath broken, his hands clasping my neck and my shoulders like he can never get enough. “Mine, Marco.”
“Yours. My heart, Robin…” A cry of pleasure rips out of me. My fingers twist in the sheets as he rises up, takes me again. I force myself upright, sinking into him. “It all belongs to you.”
“Marco.” My arms wrap him, fingers deep in his flesh. His forehead dips to mine. “Fuck, Marco. I want you too much.”
“Robin…” I trace the shape of his precious cheek with my open palm. “Birdie… I…” I stop short. There’s no place for what I want to say in a world like this.
He kisses me. And he fucks me. And Robin gives me everything. Every piece of him. All his trust. All the vulnerability we both tried to hide from one another for so long.
He comes alive in my arms, a thousand whispered words, secrets that are for us and us alone. This one place in all the world where nothing can reach us, nothing can touch us. Where it feels like nothing can ever tear us apart.
He opens for me, so perfectly, so beautifully.
His head tilts back, and his sweet breaths come hoarse.
My tongue trails up his neck, sweat and salt and Robin.
I bite down, and he cries out, the sound of it making me take his ass, pull him against me, fuck into him until he whimpers, until the only thought in his mind, now or ever again, is me.
He rides me, his gorgeous eyelashes trembling, faster, faster, sending wave after wave of intense pleasure through my whole body so that I want to scream. He lets out a cry, like he’s close, then stills, right on the edge.
Lust-drunk, his pretty eyes focus on me, hazy.
Then he slams that hand around my neck and shoves me down.
He knows I want it. He knows I love his control over me. That I love to lose myself to him. That I need him to take over me.
But I don’t think he’s realized yet, I can do the same for him.
I smack a palm down hard on his ass, buck my hips up, and take his dick in hand. A choked rasp rips out of him, and he slams two hands down on my chest.
He’s so close. I can see him fighting it. “No pares, birdie. Quiero todo. Todo de ti.” Give it to me, birdie. I want you. I want all of you.
He sighs my name, like I’m the very air he breathes.
“Te necesito, Robin,” I whisper. “No te vayas nunca.” I need you, Robin. Never leave me.
“Nunca.” He fixes his eyes on mine, puts his hand on my heart, and promises me, “Nunca. Eres mío ahora. Mío para siempre.” Never. You’re mine now. Mine forever.
His head drops back, and he lets go. Hot cum spills down my hand, shooting onto my stomach, desperate, ravaged rasps tumbling out of him.
And I fuck him. And I work him, and I don’t stop.
His body shudders as I force more and more pleasure into him, obsessed with him, with the sound of my name on his lips.
His fingers dig into the skin of my abdomen. Slick with cum, he splays them wide. “Mío,” he whispers. “Mío.” Shaking, his hands traverse my chest, coating me. “Mío, solo mío.” Mine. My only one.
The scent of him, the feel of him, his possessive words, build and build with the ecstasy of having him, holding him, wrecking him. He swipes two fingers across my chest, presses them to my lips and whispers, “Mío.”
The orgasm takes me hard.
He pushes them in, deep, and I suck him down, fucking into him, full of him, obsessed with him, losing every piece of myself to him. I’ve never once in my entire life felt like this before. He’s all the pleasure there is in this world.
He’s it.
He’s the one.
And from this night on, it will never be enough, not ever again.
I love this man. I love him, and I want him, and every word I whispered in the dark is true. I love him. I belong to him. And I’m never leaving his side again. Not by choice. I will stay with him until this world and this game tear us all apart.