Chapter 37 Jess
Jess
Not that I want to make rational decisions right now.
Rational is overrated when you’re being kissed by Marco Fiore in a cabin in the woods after spilling your darkest trauma and having him just... hold you through it.
The fire’s down to embers now. Just that low orange glow that makes shadows dance across the cabin walls in ways that should probably freak me out but somehow don’t.
Maybe because I just spilled my guts about the worst thing that ever happened to me and Marco didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t offer platitudes or empty promises that the woods are perfectly safe.
He just held me. Counted breaths with me. Let me be scared and brave at the same time.
When the man you’re falling for becomes the safest place you know.
My back hits the couch and he follows me down, his weight pressing me into the cushions in the best possible way.
“You okay?” he asks between those amazing kisses.
“Getting there.” I pull back enough to look at him. Those dark eyes catch the firelight and I swear to God this man is always so unfairly beautiful. “Thank you. For listening. For not trying to solve me.”
“Nothing to solve.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “You survived. That’s what matters.”
The words settle somewhere deep in my chest. Because he’s right. I did survive. Seven-year-old me made it out of those woods alive.
And current me is choosing to be here.
Choosing him.
This.
We kiss again, making out like teenagers.
The kisses turn ravenous, all teeth and tongue and surrendered breath. Marco’s hands slide into my hair, holding me still as he deepens the kiss until I’m dizzy with it.
His tongue isn’t asking as it darts into my mouth... it’s claiming. A slow, deliberate invasion that silences every whisper of the woods outside.
He explores the heat of my mouth like a restaurant he’s paid to conquer, mapping the ridges and softness with devastating focus.
The woods aren’t just forgotten, they’re fucking erased. All I know is the velvet stroke of his tongue against the roof of my mouth, the sharp nip of his teeth on my lower lip, the way he moans when I suck gently on his tongue.
He tastes like the aglio e olio we ate earlier, and something else... something decadent. Untamed.
I arch against him, my hands fisted in his shirt, and he responds with a growl that vibrates through my bones.
Distract me, my body begs.Drown the shadows.
He does. His tongue sweeps against mine in slow, drugging circles, then plunges deeper, stealing my breath until I’m trembling.
He licks the inside of my mouth like he’s savoring a rare vintage, finding every hidden corner.
The sensitive spot behind my teeth, the fragile seam where inner cheek meets gum.
When I whimper, he palms my throat, his thumb tracing my pulse as he swallows the sound.
“Still scared?” he murmurs against my lips.
I can’t remember the question. Can’t remember my own name. There’s only the slick, primal slide of his tongue against mine, the primal rhythm of our breathing as it syncs, the way his hips grind mine into the couch until the fabric burns.
He breaks for a moment to study my face like he’s reading a menu he’s trying to perfect. Our cheeks are covered in our own saliva, glistening in the dim firelight.
Then he stands, pulling me up with him.
“Come here,” he says.
I follow him to the center of the room where the rug stretches out in front of the dying fire. He stops. Turns to face me.
He waits.
I’m confused for only a moment.
I nod slowly, and reach for my wrist.
Unclasp my bracelet.
The signal we’ve been using since that first time.
Permission without having to say it out loud.
I walk to the lamp on the side table. Loop the bracelet over the knob where it catches the light.
When I turn back, he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
“Mine,” he says.
Not a question. A statement. A claim.
And God help me, I want to be claimed.
“Yours,” I whisper.
He crosses the space between us in two strides. His hands frame my face. Then he’s kissing me and it’s not the desperate, hungry thing from earlier. It’s slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me.
My hands find his shirt. Tug at the hem. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.
Hello, abs.
When your boss is secretly hiding a six-pack under all those chef whites.
Well, with all the Jiu-Jitsu he does, I’d expect no less...
I let my hands explore. The hard planes of his chest. The ridges of muscle at his sides. The way his breath hitches when my fingers trace the line of his hip bones.
“Jess.” My name sounds wrecked already on his lips. “Let me.”
“Let you what?” I ask breathlessly.
“Worship you.” His hands slide under my sweater. “Properly. The way you deserve.”
Oh.
Oh wow.
He lifts the sweater over my head. Drops it on top of his shirt. Then his hands are at the clasp of my bra and that falls away too.
Cool air hits my skin. I fight the urge to cover myself because body image issues are real and also I ate like three servings of pasta at dinner.
But he’s looking at me like I’m art. Like I’m something precious and perfect instead of a curvy former influencer with insecurities.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”
His hands skim my waist. Thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. Then he’s kneeling in front of me and my brain short-circuits because... well... the view. This gorgeous billionaire on his knees looking up at me like I’m Aphrodite reborn.
A contented sigh reaches my lips.
How is this my life?
He unbuttons my jeans. Slides them down my hips along with my underwear. Helps me step out of them until I’m completely naked and he’s still half-dressed and somehow that makes it hotter.
“Lie down,” he says. Not a command. An invitation.
I lower myself to the rug. The dim fire’s warmth kisses my skin on one side while the rest of me shivers with anticipation.
He settles between my legs. His hands find my thighs, pushing them wider.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says.
“I won’t.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I’ll tell you.” My voice shakes. “Promise.”
“Good girl.”
There it is.
Those two words that turn my brain to mush.
Then his mouth is on me and I forget how to think entirely.
He starts slow. So slow it’s almost torture. His tongue traces patterns that make my hips lift off the rug. His hands hold me steady. Keep me where he wants me.
Oh God.
Oh fuck.
This is...
I can’t even finish the thought because he’s doing this thing with his tongue that makes my toes curl and my hands fist in his hair.
“Marco,” I can barely gasp. “Uhh.. God! Yes!”
He hums against me. The vibration sends sparks straight to my core.
He builds me up. Slow and methodical and devastating. Every tongue stroke perfectly placed. Every touch calculated to drive me out of my mind.
When I’m right on the edge, breath catching, muscles tensing, he pulls back.
“Not yet,” he murmurs against my inner thigh.
Evil.
This man is evil.
He does it again. Takes me right to the brink and then stops. Kisses my hip bone. Traces patterns on my stomach. Lets the tension ebb just enough that I’m not falling over.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, Marco.”
“What do you need?” He taunts, his breath ghosting over where I’m aching for him.
“You. I need you. Please.”
Fuck my pussy!
“Like this?” His tongue flicks once. Twice.
“Yes. God, yes. Don’t stop. Yes!”
He doesn’t stop. This time he stays. Relentless and perfect and exactly what I need.
The orgasm builds. Hot and tight and unstoppable. I’m making sounds I didn’t know I could make. My whole body again arches off the rug.
“That’s it,” he encourages against me. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
I shatter. The pleasure crashes over me in waves that leave me gasping and trembling and completely wrecked.
But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. Just keeps going until I’m climbing again, oversensitive and desperate and so far gone I can’t remember my own name.
“Too much,” I whimper.
“You can take it.” His voice is rough. Wrecked. “You’re so good for me. So perfect.”
The second orgasm hits harder than the first. I bite back a scream.
Don’t wake Ben!
But thought is almost instantly forgotten as my hands fist in his hair, holding him there, riding his face like my life depends on it.
Somewhere in the haze I feel it. The wet heat spreading between my legs. More than just arousal. That gushing sensation that made me mortified the very first time but now just feels like proof of how completely he’s destroyed me.
I’m squirting all over his face and he’s groaning like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
When I finally come down, shaking and languid, he’s still there. Still kissing my inner thighs, licking my sexual juices off my skin. Still worshipping me like I’m sacred.
“One more,” he says.
“I can’t.” My voice is wrecked. “Marco, I can’t.”
“You can.” His thumb finds my soaking wet clit. Circles slowly. “Trust me.”
I do trust him. That’s the terrifying part.
So I let him build me up again. Slower this time. Gentler. His mouth and hands working together to coax another orgasm out of my exhausted body.
This one is softer. Rolls through me like a wave instead of crashing. But it’s no less devastating. I squirt again, less now, but still enough to cover his face in my juices.
Underneath him I’m sheer liquid. Completely and utterly his.
And then I hear it. His breath catching. A low groan that sounds pained.
I force my eyes open. Look down.
He’s still between my legs but his free hand is at his own waistband. Fumbling with his belt. Getting his jeans open.
“Marco?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Can’t.” He sounds wrecked. “Can’t wait. Fuck, Jess.”
He pulls his cock free. Already hard and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum. He reaches for it, as if intending to ebb the flow, but then he’s cumming. Right there between my legs. Hot strings land on my thighs, my stomach, mixing with the wetness already there.
Oh.
Oh fuck that’s hot.