Chapter 51
fifty-one
He doesn’t give me time to follow his directions.
The second I’m on my unsteady feet, Marco scoops me off the floor, tossing me over his shoulder. My bare thighs press into the V of exposed skin under his half-buttoned shirt as he turns his face into my hip. Nuzzling there before delivering a sharp nip with his teeth.
I squeak, and he chuckles, the sound dark. His other hand cups my ass. The cool weight of his handcuffs presses between his palm and my naked side. My throat thickens along with my blood.
He’s always so gentle with me. Softening his hard edges to make sure I feel safe.
But this version of Marco excites me just as much.
He storms into his bedroom, his motions rough as he tosses me onto his mattress and flips me toward his headboard.
“Hands up, Miss Moore.”
I don’t think he’s called me that since the first night he showed up at my apartment. I recognize his stern tone, though. It’s the same one he used at the hospital, when I confessed I thought he was pretending to be into me.
I’ve pissed him off.
And turned him on.
My stomach swoops as I balance on my knees and reach for his wrought-iron headboard. The click of his cuffs sends goosebumps sweeping over my spine. He positions himself behind me.
He must have removed his shirt because the warmth of his skin melds into mine as he hooks one open shackle around my left wrist and pauses to murmur in my ear, “Do you trust me?”
The rasped undercurrent in his voice puts a hoarse lump in my throat. After everything I’ve told him, I know he understands why that question pierces me so deeply.
When I give a breathless nod, he exhales, rubbing his nose over my temple. “Good girl. I—” He pauses, his silence as heavy as the solid weight around my wrist. “I trust you, too, Alice.”
For a man like Marco, there is no higher compliment. Unexpected tears spring to my eyes, and I turn toward him, letting him see. He rumbles low in his chest, the sound pure masculine approval, tinged with tenderness.
“How did I get so fucking lucky, baby?” he mutters, shucking his pants. “Such a beautiful, brilliant, naughty, sweet girl.”
The second he’s totally naked, he takes his handcuffs and deftly snaps them into place. Tethering me.
He glides one of his brawny hands down my back, squeezing my ass with a quiet growl. When I glance over my shoulder, I find his dark eyes burning paths over my bared body.
He captures my gaze with his. Intensity freezes the air in my lungs. All the muscles below my waist tighten and gel, molten arousal seeping from my core.
“Who do I belong to, Alice?”
I know what he wants me to say, but God. Look at him. How could he ever—
His palm lands on my backside with a hard smack. The other envelops the slick head of his cock, stroking it roughly. “Tell me. Who does this dick belong to? Who made me come running home this afternoon without saying a word? Who would I get on my fucking knees for every hour if I could?”
I can barely speak, but the blazing entreaty in his eyes demands a reply.
“M-me?”
Another spank, this one less harsh, followed by a soothing caress. His voice softens, but he reaches for my nape, fisting my hair and pulling insistently. “Say it again, baby. Like you mean it. Who do I belong to?”
He tugs and drops his free fingers to my core, swiping through the wetness pooled there. I gasp, unable to resist blurting, “Me. You’re mine.”
He smiles against my shoulder as he stretches over me to leave a line of kisses there. “I am yours,” he assures. “But I want you to show me.”
I don’t know what he means until he suddenly disappears. Dropping from his knees to his back. Positioning himself with his head between my legs.
I start to protest, but he grips my hips with startling desperation. Begging. “Sit on my face, sweet girl. Grind this pretty pussy all over me.”
I can’t help it; my core clenches viciously. A burst of cream slips from my slit. And Marco sees it, groaning, “Fuck me, yes.”
If I had any working brain cells, I might hesitate. But I don’t. The moment he latches on to my clit—with a raw, starved lack of finesse—I forget why I should be embarrassed.
My moan is so loud it echoes off the walls. His handcuffs chafe my wrists when I try to grab his thick hair.
He hums, tracing circles around the swollen bud pulsing for more. Muttering filthy praise against my soaked center as he spears two fingers inside me. He finds the rough patch he calls “our spot,” drawing circles over it until I cry out sharply, more pleasure dripping from my pussy.
It’s so good. I thrash and sob, riding his mouth the way he asked me to.
Unable to feel shame or guilt—unable to feel anything except the building pressure pulling at my core.
When he sucks my clit into his mouth, the tension pops.
Warm, wet release squeezes all of my inner muscles, dousing his face.
He growls, the sound so feral, my nipples tighten to the point of pain. My hands pull at my binds again, but he reads my mind, repositioning us effortlessly, kneeling behind me.
This time, he doesn’t tease. His thick cock surges right into me, impaling the tender muscles still trembling from my climax.
He feels so perfect—hard heat, stretching and rubbing and tugging until it almost hurts.
I cry his name, scrabbling to hold on to the headboard as he balances on his knees and reaches around to knead my breasts.
Pinching the aching tips until I clamp around him all over again.
“Fuck, Alice. Yes. Squeeze me with this perfect pussy. Come for me and I’ll fill you up.” His snarled praise pushes me over the edge.
I moan, and he roars, losing all semblance of control. His rhythm turns frantic. Fucking me harder than ever. His teeth sink into my shoulder as a hot lash of cum warms me from the inside out.
Marco doesn’t collapse on top of me. Instead, he catches me, hooking a bulging arm around my middle and bringing me into the cradle of his big body. “Hold on, love.”
Love.
My heart spasms and flips. He reaches over to his nightstand, extracting a key. The handcuffs rattle when he unlocks them.
He rolls us with ease, tucking me into his side. Settling his steady strength around me as he says, “Move in with me.”