Chapter 39 #2
Marco’s tongue traces the length of me, base to tip, and my back bows off the mattress. A sound rips from my throat—shredded, desperate. He takes his time, mapping every ridge and vein with his mouth until tremors run through my legs.
“Easy,” he murmurs, positioning me carefully with my head on a pillow, treating me like I’m made of spun glass. “Just let me—”
“Marco,” I snap, “I have to beat a man to death in just over a week.”
His hands still on my skin. “So you need to save your energy, birdie.”
But he’s already moving over me, our bodies aligning perfectly. Skin on skin, the friction of his cock sliding against mine—I need more, need to be inside him, need to move. I twist beneath him, trying to flip us, get him under me where I can take what I want, but his weight pins me flat.
We wrestle for position, a tangle of limbs and harsh breathing. Marco is stronger, but I’m quicker, and for a heartbeat I think I have him. Then he reaches toward the bedside table, fingers finding the drawer handle.
“What are you doing?” The words come out breathless as I try again to reverse our positions.
He produces two lengths of white silk—ties from his expensive robes, the fabric soft as water between his fingers. “Forcing you into submission.”
A groan escapes me, mostly for show.
“Sorry.” His grin is wicked, unrepentant. “Doctor’s orders.”
Before I can protest, he catches my wrists, drawing them up toward the ornate metal headboard. The silk whispers against my skin as he secures me to the frame, cinching the fabric into knots firm enough I can’t break free.
“Yes,” I drawl, testing the bonds. They hold. “This is exactly what Evander had in mind when he said I needed rest.”
Marco sits back on his heels, gaze dragging over every inch of me spread beneath him. Bound. Helpless. His. “There. Look at you, all laid out for me.” His voice drops low, rough. “Like a feast I get to devour, one perfect bite at a time.”
Fire assaults my cheeks, but I can’t look away from the hunger in his eyes. The way he’s studying every inch of my body like he’s memorizing it, like he wants to map each freckle with his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, fingers trailing gently down my ribs. “So fucking beautiful it makes me crazy.”
The silk restraints suddenly feel less like play and more like necessity. Because the way he’s looking at me, the reverence in his touch—it’s unbearable. Makes me want to grab him, claim him, mark him as mine until there’s no question who he belongs to.
But I can’t move. Can only lie here and let him worship me with hands and mouth, let him take me apart piece by careful piece.
Marco’s mouth trails fire down my chest, tongue flicking against my nipples until I’m gasping.
He takes his time, painting hot, wet lines across my ribs where the bruising has finally started to fade.
Each kiss sends sparks through me, makes my breath catch, my hips shift restlessly against the sheets.
When he reaches my navel, his tongue dips inside, and I buck against the restraints. The silk pulls taut around my wrists, biting just enough to remind me how completely I’m at his mercy.
“Easy,” he murmurs against my skin, breath hot against the trail of moisture he’s left behind.
My cock throbs between us, aching, demanding. When Marco finally reaches it, when his breath ghosts over the sensitive head, my vision tunnels. Everything narrows to that single point of almost-contact.
But his mouth doesn’t close over me. Instead, his tongue goes lower.
“Marco—”
Strong hands lift my legs like I weigh nothing, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position leaves me completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes my pulse hammer against my ribs.
“Don’t you trust me by now?” he whispers, and then his mouth is on the inside of my uninjured thigh, sucking bruises into the tender skin there.
His tongue traces lower, circling my entrance with maddening precision. The first touch is fire—unexpected—and I cry out before I can stop myself, praying Maria and Esme are too far away to hear.
“Shh,” Marco soothes, but there’s dark satisfaction in his voice. Then his tongue is back, circling again with deliberate slowness. Building pressure that has me straining against the silk bonds, desperate to bury my fingers in his hair and force him closer.
All I can do is writhe against the restraints as he works me open with his tongue, each stroke making me looser, more pliant. Wet heat and pressure in places that shouldn’t feel this good, that make my breath come in ragged gasps, that turn my bones to liquid.
My fingers itch to touch him, to anchor myself to something real as he buries his tongue deeper inside me. But the silk holds firm, leaves me helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore.
As if he can read my mind, anticipate my every need, his finger slides home easily alongside his tongue. White floods my vision, especially when he finds that spot inside me that shorts out every thought in my head.
“Fuck, yes—” The words tear from my throat.
“That’s it, birdie,” Marco murmurs against my thigh, adding another finger. His pace quickens, fucking into me with sure strokes that nail my prostate every time. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
The combination of his fingers and tongue reduces me to a moaning mess. Every nerve ending feels alive. The pain I’ve carried for months, the constant fear—it all melts away under Marco’s touch.
“Please,” I beg again, the word spilling from my lips without permission.
Marco reaches for the oil on the nightstand, never removing his fingers from inside me. Like he knows I can’t bear even a heartbeat without him filling me. His cock glistens in the lamplight as he slicks himself with one hand, the other still buried deep.
When he positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against his fingers still inside me, I laugh—a broken sound caught between relief and desperation.
“Birdie?” he breathes.
“Nothing.” I meet his eyes, drinking in the sight of him above me—hair disheveled, pupils blown wide with want.
I don’t quite want to voice the thoughts burning through my mind—that this pain is good pain. The arena, Jason’s beating, months of violence and fear have taught me the difference. This burn, this stretch as he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, this is chosen pain. Welcome pain.
Marco pushes himself inside, gentle but steady, and we both groan—raw, desperate sounds that bounce off the bedroom walls.
He stills. Fully seated, buried deep, and the world narrows to this single point of connection.
His cock throbs inside me, each pulse matching the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat.
The silk around my wrists pulls tight as I strain against the bindings, desperate to touch him, to anchor myself to something real. To him.
His forehead drops to mine, breath uneven against my lips.
Then he lifts his head to gaze into my eyes, fingers stroking the remnants of my hair with infinite tenderness.
“Te amo, birdie.” I love you, birdie. He kisses me, soft lips against mine.
“Eres mi razón para vivir.” You are my reason for living.
Another kiss, deeper this time. “Eres mi sol, mi mundo, mi todo.” You are my sun, my world, my everything.
“Marco…” I start, but a small thrust inside me silences whatever I was going to say, steals it and replaces it with a raspy gasp.
Then, with me trembling beneath him, already unraveling from his whispered words alone, he says, “Y ahora, voy a hacerte mío tan completamente, que seré lo único con lo que suenes el resto de tu vida.” And now, I'm going to claim you so thoroughly, I will be all you dream about for the rest of your life.
He moves. Not softly. Not gently. Exactly how I need—strong, powerful thrusts that drive the breath from my lungs and set every inch of me ablaze. His hips snap forward with controlled violence, each stroke nailing that spot inside me until I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Yes,” I choke out, back arching. “Fucking hell, yes— Marco—”
His hand, slick with oil, closes around my cock, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips. The dual sensation threatens to shatter me completely. The silk restraints cut into my wrists as I pull against them, desperate for something to hold on to as he takes me apart.
Marco’s pace increases, relentless now. His cock fills me completely with each thrust, stretching me open, claiming every inch. The hand on my cock moves faster, thumb swiping over the head with glorious pressure.
My world is only this—his weight above me, the burn of his cock inside me, the silk holding me helpless. Nothing exists beyond this room, this bed, the feeling of being utterly possessed. Everything else fades away, unimportant.
There’s only Marco, only this, only the exquisite torture of being fucked within an inch of my life while bound and helpless beneath him.
His breathing becomes ragged, movements more erratic. He’s close. His hand on my cock becomes merciless, stroking with punishing intensity that has me writhing beneath him.
“Come for me,” he growls against my ear. “Let me feel you—”
His pace on my cock increases to levels that blur the line between pleasure and pain, and I’m drowning in sensation, lost somewhere between ecstasy and oblivion.
“Please,” I gasp, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. “Please, Marco, I can’t— I can’t bear it like this. Untie me.”
My wrists burn where the silk bites into them, but that’s not the agony I’m talking about. It’s the desperate need to touch him, to hold him while he destroys me so completely.
“Please,” I beg again, voice breaking. “It’s all I want. Don’t deny me this. You said you’d never deny me anything.”