Marco
MARCO
I opened the door to their room, the same drill for the past fuckin' week. She was sprawled on the bed, a picture of misery etched into her fine features, dark eyes drowning in some deep, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the soul. Hunter asked me to stay and fix it. As long as it took, and now I understood why. This was… this was something else.
" ," she breathed out, voice quivering. " Need you. I need it rough to feel something... anything. Hurt me. Please ."
" Should get Hunter . That’s more this thing." I grunted.
" Want you. Your light... it sears away the darkness," she whispered, desperation laced through her words .
My muscles tensed, every fiber of me screaming against the idea, but the raw need in her gaze was a look no man could ignore. Her skin called to me, begging to be painted with bruises and bites. She needed this – needed me – to wrench her out of the void she'd been sucked into.
" Fine ," the word came out like gravel, and I approached, looming over her like the predator I was born to be. My heart hammered a brutal rhythm; each beat was a reminder of the line I was about to cross. With myself. With the woman under my shadow who looked at me like I was the fuckin' sun.
She rose from the bed, a slow peel of clothes from skin, fabric falling to the floor, revealing the pale of her flesh. Vulnerable . Fucking beautiful. A shiver racked her body, but those eyes never left mine, holding me captive now.
A glint caught my eye—cold steel. She held a knife, chrome catching the dim light, her grip shaky as hell. " ... Please ," she begged, the blade quivering in her trembling hand. “ Make me feel something. Paint me like the sun and fuck me like the dark.”
" Jesus , Rosalind ." My voice was a low growl. Has this woman gone mad? Hunter will kill me if I so much as harm a hair on her head. That was reserved for him. But looking at her, seeing that need etched into every line of her body, I couldn't deny her. Couldn't deny myself. I’d been fightin’ demons of my own. Being gentle with her when this entire week I wanted to fuck the devil out of her.
I reached out, fingers wrapping around her wrist with care I didn't know I had, guiding the knife away. " You sure 'bout this?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.
" Yes ," she breathed, and fuck if it didn't sound like the sweetest goddamn sound.
My other hand took the knife, and grabbing it, I pressed just enough to break the skin. A single bead of crimson welled up. The scent of iron filled the air, a primal part of me roaring to life at the sight. There was something sexy in violence. A dance with death from which you didn’t know if you’d survive. But this? This was blinding.
" More ," she whispered.
" Rosalind , I —" I couldn't finish. Words were useless when her body spoke volumes when every fiber of her being screamed for release. I could smell it. I drew it across her flesh, shallow but enough to paint her in streaks of red, each swipe a release valve for the agony coiling inside her. If I didn’t do it, I was afraid of what she would do alone.
" Fuck ," I cursed under my breath, watching red trail down her arm and splatter onto her skin, feeling my control splinter.
Her fingers, steady now, wrapped around the hilt of the knife, yanking it from my grasp. She dug the steel in deeper, carving into her wrist with a reckless abandon that made my guts twist. Blood welled up, a red river breaking free from its banks, spilling over her skin in warm, wet rivulets. It was too much and entirely not enough. I knew enough that she hadn’t done real damage, but my god, if it wasn’t going to look like a crime scene here. Hunter was gonna kill me.
" Fuck ," I muttered, the word scraped raw from my throat, watching her smear the blood across her body. She painted herself in pain, each stroke releasing something inside her, the life she wanted to feel pulsing within her veins.
Her hands moved with a frenzied grace, trailing blood over her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts. She was a vision of violence, a goddess of destruction, and I was caught in it, unable to look away, unable to stop the surge of raw desire that roiled through me.
Blood and lust mingled in the charged air. And I knew, right then, I'd burn in hell for the thoughts racing through my head, for the ache in my bones that only she could soothe. But damn it, if this wasn't the closest thing to heaven I'd ever find. I watched her—the woman I wasn't supposed to want but craved like a goddamn fiend. Rosalind , with her darkness-dipped eyes and painted skin .
My hands shook, tremors vibrating through every sinew as I fumbled with my belt, metal clinking in the hush of the room. Pants undone, I freed myself, my cock hard and aching.
Her gaze locked on mine, dark orbs glazed with that same lust that clawed at my gut. She leaned forward, breath hot against my flesh before her mouth—fuck, her mouth—enveloped me whole. Warmth and wetness, teeth grazing just enough to make me hiss, pleasure laced with an edge of pain.
" Shit ," I growled. There was no finesse here, no sweet caresses or tender words. Just need, savage and consuming.
I wrapped a hand in those black curls, guiding her and setting the pace. Slow , deliberate thrusts. Each pull of her lips, each suckle, and choke, stripped away reason and humanity, leaving only the carnal beast beneath.
" Take it," I rasped, voice raw as gravel. My grip tightened as I fucked her mouth, each movement a battle between holding back and succumbing to the maelstrom of sensation she unleashed.
The room echoed with the sounds of our desperation—the slick noises of her mouth at work, the ragged cadence of our breathing. Every muscle in my body tensed, strung taut as I teetered on the brink of oblivion, losing myself in the heat of her mouth, the vice of her throat .
I shoved her onto the bed, the weight of my body pinning her down as I gripped her hips and pulled her ass up, burying her head in the sheets. Her moans spiked my blood with a feral need.
" Fuckin ’ hell, sunshine," I grunted. My cock, hard as steel, found her pussy, slick and warm, begging for me. I didn't hesitate, didn't ease in. I rammed into her, my eyes glued to the sight of my dick disappearing into her tightness.
Her cries filled the room, bouncing off the walls, echoing the dark rhythm of our bodies colliding. Each thrust was a brutal claim, each withdrawal a torturous tease. The slap of flesh against flesh was intoxicating, the feeling even more so. I drew back, loving how wet my cock was before driving back in, holding onto her as she’d disappear at any moment.
" Shit ." My grip on her hips turned bruising, fingers imprinting on her skin. She took it, took all of me, her body arching back, pushing against me like she couldn't get enough. Such a perfect little pussy.
I watched myself fuck her, watched how my cock stretched her, slid in and out, coated in her wetness. And goddamn, if it wasn't the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen .
" …" She breathed my name like it was a fucking lifeline, the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
I reached around, pinching a hardened nipple between my calloused fingers, twisting until her back bowed, and she screamed, a raw sound that clawed at my chest. I kept rolling it around as I slapped into her, forcing more of those delicious noises from her.
" Harder ," she gasped, and I obliged, driving into her with a force that had everything shaking – the bed, our bodies, the goddamn earth itself. The bed creaked with the force as her head just about slammed into the headboard.
" Fuck , Rosalind …" I could feel every inch of her wrapped around me, hot and impossibly tight. Every stroke was a battle, every push a conquest. Pleasure spiraled, tightening in my gut, climbing up my spine.
" Fucking perfect. My sunshine. Mine ," I hissed, and it was more than sex, more than dominance.
She whimpered, and it was all the permission I needed to lose myself, to let the beast take over completely. My thrusts grew erratic, desperate. I was close, so fucking close, chasing the edge with a single-minded determination.
" Come for me," I growled, pounding into her with a ferocity that bordered on violence. Pinching her clit, she lost control. Her body shuddered beneath me, her pussy clenching around my cock like a vise, milking me for all I was worth.
With a roar, I came, my vision whiting out as I spilled into her, every muscle in my body seizing. I tried not to fall on top of her, both of us slick with sweat, breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex and sin.
I didn't pull out, didn't move. Just stayed buried inside her, the echo of our climax humming through the silence like the aftermath of a storm. This was darkness, this was desire – raw and unapologetic.
Panting , I hovered over her, my heart hammering against my chest like a goddamn sledgehammer. The heat was still scorching through my veins, but the sight of her cut wrist cooled the fire within me. Carefully , I slipped out of her, my movements deliberate and controlled.
" Fuck ," I murmured under my breath, not for the intensity of what had happened but for what needed to be done now. My hands, once instruments of raw pleasure, shifted into tools of care. I grabbed a clean cloth from the bedside table, dampened it with water, and pressed it gently to the thin crimson lines marring her skin.
Rosalind's breath hitched a small sound that might've been pain or maybe relief. Her eyes fluttered closed as I cleaned the wound, my touch as tender as I could make it. This shit, this tenderness, was foreign territory for me. But watching her there, vulnerable and trusting, cracked something open in me. She brought it out in me.
" Stay still," I murmured, not sure if I was talking to her or giving myself an order. Once the blood was wiped away, I took the first aid kit, found the antiseptic and bandages, and dressed the cut with steady, if not slightly shaking hands. Gotta avoid infection; I can't have her more fucked up than she already is.
With her wound taken care of, I scooped her up in my arms—she felt so damn light, like she was made of the same stuff as those dreams I didn't dare to have—and tucked her into bed. She curled into herself, a slight frown creasing her brow even in sleep, like she could sense the trouble brewing just beyond these walls.
" Sleep tight, sunshine," I whispered, brushing a lock of her curly black hair away from her face. For a moment, I allowed myself the luxury of watching her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest almost hypnotic. There was peace here, a brief respite from the chaos of our world outside.
I knew what awaited me— Hunter , his questions, his fucking temper. A part of me wanted to say fuck it, to crawl into that bed and shield her with my body from everything that was coming. But I couldn't. Not yet, anyway. So I stood up, my joints protesting, and made my way to the door. He deserved to know I marked up his girl. And why I did it.
One last glance back at Rosalind , and I stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Whatever shitstorm was about to hit, I'd weather it. For her. Because whether I liked it or not, she'd become my fucking responsibility. And hell, if I wasn't going to protect that with everything I had.
Even if it meant facing down Satan himself.