10. Marcus
W atching Chloe traipse around my kitchen like she’s lived here her whole life is both a massive turn on and a headache all rolled into one.
This was supposed to be simple—bring her here, use her for the sex I’ve been thinking about since she developed tits, have her help me get Jake back in line, and then send her back to that tool Scott like it never happened.
I was a stupid dick for thinking that I could fuck her out of my system. I’ve not even really touched her yet and I can’t fucking get enough of her. She’s going to be my drug of choice, and that scares the shit out of me.
Even though she’s here with me now, and her family haven’t been able to stop it, that doesn’t mean anything has changed between us. She’s still fucking forbidden, not to mention engaged to be married.
Besides, I don’t do relationships, and that’s exactly what Chloe deserves. She doesn’t need another fucker who just wants to use her for sex, and right now, that’s all I could give her.
Even if I wanted a relationship with her, it could never happen. It would be a direct breach of the peace treaty, and the Santoros would declare war on us, putting Chloe directly in the middle of a battle between me and her family. I’m most definitely not worth that, and she doesn’t need that kind of hassle either.
So, I plan to enjoy her fully while she’s here, whilst holding on to my real motives. I have to remember what’s at stake if my dick decides it wants more from her. We can have sex, but that’s it. No future, no feelings, nothing.
Despite knowing all this, repeating it over and over in my head, the image of Chloe cooking in my kitchen in those ridiculous little shorts she wears, with flour on her face, will stay with me for much longer than it should.
I stand in the doorway, just watching her. She has her headphones in, and she’s dancing around the kitchen with a bright smile on her face as she cooks. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her in a long time, making her pretty face seem younger.
She’s not wearing any make-up, but she doesn’t need any. Her bright silver eyes sparkle, and the heat from the oven has given her cheeks a rosy glow. Then there’s her plump pink lips that look so soft, as she runs her tongue along them, tasting her food.
She’s wearing the most ridiculous black cotton shorts that stop just under the swell of her arse, and her milky thighs and legs are on full display. Even if I tried not to look at her arse—and I’m not sure why the fuck I wouldn’t—I’d be drawn to her by the way her hips sway to the music only she can hear.
Her curves are enough to make a man’s mouth water. Full hips that are enough for me to grab hold of as I pull her into me. And even though she’s wearing an oversized baggy T-shirt, it does very little to hide her amazing tits.
As it’s so loose on her, it hangs off one shoulder, showing off her bra strap and the start of her rather impressive cleavage. It says a lot about the girl that she can look so fucking gorgeous with just one shoulder on display.
I’m having some very inappropriate thoughts about sinking my teeth into her collarbone, marking her to show everyone that she’s mine—even if it is only temporary.
She must catch me standing in the doorway, staring at her, as she stops in the middle of a very sexy hip shimmy, her eyes going wide while she grabs her phone off the counter, no doubt to turn off her music, before pulling the earbuds out.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she mutters, her already flushed cheeks becoming redder.
“That’s because I didn’t tell you I was here. I thought I’d take in the show for a bit first,” I reply, my lips tilting into that smirk I know she loves when the flush over her cheeks spreads down across her chest.
I wonder how far down it will travel, I think to myself, feeling my cock twitch again, having already started to harden at the sight of her gorgeous curves and swaying hips.
“Oh,” she squeaks, her gaze quickly flicking down to the pan on the stove as she picks up a spoon and starts to stir. “I dance when I cook.”
“I can see that.” I try to hold back the smile that’s threatening to overtake me, loving how embarrassed she’s getting.
“Dinner is almost ready. Where would you like to eat?” she asks, clearly trying to change the conversation.
I nod my head towards the small dining table in the corner of the room. “I’ll set the table. What would you like to drink?”
I move towards the drawer where we keep the placemats and then the one with the cutlery, as silence fills the air while Chloe ponders my question.
“Erm, do you have wine?”
She sounds unsure, like she’s worried I might say she can’t have wine with her meal. There’s clearly more to her behaviour that I’m missing, but now’s not the time to unpick everything.
“Of course. Do you prefer red or white?” I ask.
She tilts her head to the side, pondering my question. “Well, I’ve made chicken alfredo pasta with garlic bread and a side salad, so whatever you think would go best, I guess?”
The final words lift in tone, making it into a question, and I realise she’s somehow managed to avoid answering what she likes, and has made it into what I want instead.
“You didn’t answer the question. What type of wine is your favourite?” I ask, stressing that this is about her.
Her face scrunches up, like she’s wincing. “Well, I like either. I will drink whatever you decide to open.”
I shake my head as I stalk over to her, purposefully keeping my strides slow so she can see me coming. She’s frozen to her spot in the kitchen, and I’m thankful she’s already taken the pasta off the stove and placed it onto our plates, as it would be burning right about now.
Her eyes are fixed on my slow deliberate movements, stopping only when I’m right in front of her. I’m so close, I hear the small intake of breath when I stop in front of her, my fierce gaze fixed on hers.
“This is not a difficult question, Mio. I don’t give a shit about what you think the right answer is, or whatever the hell you were saying about trying to please me… All I want to know is what your favourite wine is,” I growl, loving the way she trembles as my breath flutters across her face.
If I take one tiny step forward, she’d be able to feel how hard I am for her, and I’d be able to touch her lips with mine, to see if they’re as soft as they look. But I keep myself frozen to the spot, waiting for her to answer.
“Sorry,” she mutters, her gaze dropping down to the floor, so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with me. “I’m so used to just doing whatever I’m told, or what other people want. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me what I like.”
Her voice is so small, and that murderous rage begins to flare to life under the surface, making me want to go back to her family home, so I can punish every last person who made her feel less than she is.
“Do you even like wine?” I ask through gritted teeth.
She quickly nods, though she still doesn’t lift her head to meet my gaze. So I place my fingers under her chin and lift until she has no choice but to make eye contact with me.
“I do. I actually prefer rosé, but I drink any,” she mumbles, her eyes flicking around slightly before she finally holds my gaze, pulling her shoulders back just a touch, like she has found a little of her confidence.
I can’t help but smile at her honesty. “I like rosé too. I have a nice bottle that I think you’ll like. Sit and I’ll grab it,” I say, pointing to the table before I head to the corner of the kitchen, where I keep a wine rack.
I scan the rows of wine, landing on the bottle I was thinking about. On my way to the table, I grab two wine glasses and the corkscrew before taking my seat opposite Chloe.
She’s already placed the food and has taken her own seat, though she appears to be waiting for me before she starts to eat.
The smells in the kitchen are amazing, and they’ve become even better once all the food is together on the table. My mouth is almost watering, and not just from the gorgeous girl with dark hair and stupidly short shorts.
“This smells delicious,” I tell her with a smile as I uncork the wine.
After doing the bullshit test that you see posh twats like my father do, despite having no clue what the hell I’m looking for, I deem the wine to be fine and hand a glass of the rosé over to Chloe. She doesn’t even bother with the theatrics, and just takes a small sip instead.
A low moan breaks from her lips over the rim of the glass, and it hits me straight in the dick. “You’re right, this is so good.”
“I like hearing you say that I’m right,” I joke, and Chloe rolls her eyes at me, picking up her fork to begin eating her pasta.
I have to drop my gaze. I can’t focus on my own food when I’m watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks a string of pasta into her mouth, or the way her tongue licks the sauce off her lip. My dick throbs painfully, and I have to discreetly use my hand to adjust myself, so I can make it through this meal without blowing my load in my boxers.
“Is now a good time to have the security talk you mentioned this morning?” Chloe asks after taking another sip of her wine.
I wince, hoping I could delay things a little longer before having this particular argument. Jake used to tell me stories about how much she hated her security, and the rebellious phase she went through where she’d lose them at every available opportunity.
“We can…” I start, sounding just as hesitant as I feel. “What are you used to?”
“Back home, we had the main security staff that guarded the house in general, though we were free to move around the house without having anyone follow us. Naturally, my father has significantly more security than the rest of us.
“Whenever I’d go out, I had a couple of guards who were specifically assigned to me, and they’d be with me whenever I left the house. They’d have to stay with me at all times,” she explains, sounding annoyed.
“I think that’s pretty standard for most people in our line of work,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.
“You don’t have guards in your house,” she snaps.
“That’s because I own the whole building. I have guards covering every possible entrance, and you need a fingerprint to get in the garage and the lift, so there’s no way anyone who shouldn’t be in the building is getting in. Plus, I have CCTV that’s constantly monitored, and plenty of security that can be in my flat in seconds, if I need them,” I reply, watching as her eyes grow wider.
“You own the whole building?” she asks incredulously.
I chuckle at her look of bewilderment. “Yes, I do.” I pause as she shakes her head in disbelief, though I’ve no idea how she didn’t know this already. “So you’re used to having guards with you when you go out?”
She nods, though I catch the way her nose wrinkles like she’s just smelled something bad. “As they’re still assigned to me, I can just call them whenever I need to leave.”
I shake my head rapidly. “No, absolutely not. You’ll have to use my guards.”
Her fork is almost in her mouth and she pauses, looking at me in confusion. “What? Why?”
“While you’re here with me, you’re under my protection, which means you have to use my staff.”
“But I know my guards, they’ve been protecting me for years,” she replies, her food now long forgotten as she stares at me with those fierce silver eyes.
“Look, those guards are loyal to your father, and I can’t trust them,” I reply calmly, feeling the tension in the room growing, just the way I thought it would.
She shakes her head, disbelieving. “My father would never let anything happen to me. He needs me, remember?”
I grit my teeth, hating her casual mention of her engagement responsibilities. “We have pissed a lot of people off by doing this, and that puts a target on both our backs. I don’t trust anyone, even your father. Everyone in my world is opportunistic, and if the right scenario presents itself, your safety may not be someone else’s primary concern, but it always will be for me.”
At first, I think her features are starting to soften at the mention of me wanting to keep her safe, but then her gaze hardens once more. “What about who I trust? I don’t know your staff. How am I supposed to just trust them?”
“That’s fair,” I reply, taking a sip of my wine. “I’ve spoken to Miles, and he has a guard who used to be assigned to his sister, but she doesn’t need security right now, and he thinks it’d be a perfect fit for you.”
If the phrase “if looks could kill” was right, I’d be six fucking feet under right now. Her silver eyes are almost molten as she glares at me.
“How do you know that he’d be the perfect fit for me? I have strict rules for who I’ll let guard me, and you’ve not even bothered to fucking ask what they are.”
Her tone both angers and thrills me. Chloe is usually so meek and quiet, obeying every instruction thrown her way by her family, yet I’ve always known there was a feisty girl with a backbone in there. Seeing her use that fire on me is exciting, but fuck does it make me want to punish her for using that tone with me.
“What are your fucking rules?” I snap, my hand curling so tightly around my wine glass, I’m surprised it’s not smashed.
“I refuse to be guarded by a man.” Although she holds her head high as she says it, I don’t miss the way her voice breaks at the end, and my anger quickly dissipates, only to be replaced by confusion.
I’ve known Chloe since I was a kid, and although I’ve made sure to push her away, making it clear I’m Jake’s friend and not hers, I thought I knew her. When you grow up with someone, particularly someone who caught your attention from the first time you met, it’s hard not to notice every little thing about them.
How the fuck did I not know she won’t be guarded by a man? And more importantly, why does she feel the need to have that rule?
I think about her recent wild behaviour, and her desperate need to claw back some control in her life, and I can’t help but wonder if those things are linked. I really hope I’m putting two and two together and making five, because the alternative is fucking soul destroying.
A million things flash through my mind as I think about what to say, struggling to find the right words. It’s not hard…I just have to tell her that it’s a female guard. But that requires logical thinking, which I clearly don’t have right now.
“Who hurt you, Chloe?” I say through gritted teeth.
Her brows fly to her hairline as her eyes widen, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Her whole body becomes rigid, and when she tries to talk, no words come out, but I can hear her loud and clear.
“I-I…I mean… It’s not… No one,” she mumbles, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
I want to lean over, to place my hand on hers in a reassuring way, but her body language is screaming at how tense she is. Besides, if I touch her, I’m sure she’ll be able to feel the barely contained rage that’s making my hands shake.
“Did. Someone. Hurt. You?” I repeat, punctuating each word in a way that lets her know I’m not dropping this.
She takes a shuddered breath and her eyes become glassy with unshed tears. Although she shakes her head, saying no, it’s weak, and we both know she’s lying.
“Can we just leave it?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Is this why you’re trying to take back control? Why you were drinking too much and sleeping around? Is it all linked?” The questions tumble off my lips just as quickly as they enter my brain.
That deer-in-headlights look gets worse with each question, and I know I should be filtering them, rather than just saying the first things that come into my head, but I can’t. I’m barely holding in the rage as it is.
I’m one second away from flipping the table, grabbing my gun and shooting every guy she’s been in contact with over the last eighteen months, just to be sure I’ve got the one who hurt her.
Is that a bit overkill? Yes, but I don’t give a shit. I’ve never been possessive or protective over a girl before, but this doesn’t even feel like a choice to me. It’s like there’s a dragon inside me that’s blasting his way to the surface, determined to protect and claim revenge on what’s his. Dragons hoard treasure, and some part of me sees Chloe as mine—my treasure.
She slowly shakes her head, her silver eyes glistening with tears she’s no doubt forcing not to fall, and I hate how fucking small and broken she looks. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Everything in me is screaming that I need to force her to tell me, that I have to know who it is, so I can wipe the shit-stain from the Earth for good, but I know that she’ll never forgive me if I force her to talk about this before she’s ready. I want her to trust me enough to tell me on her own .
So despite my raging dragon that I’m struggling to control, I let out a huff and try to uncurl my fists.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, before forcing myself to soften just a little. “I want you to be able to talk to me about anything, so I’m willing to wait until you trust me.”
I see the ghost of a smile tip the corner of her lip up, before it quickly turns into a frown, her face looking blanker than I’ve ever seen it. As the words drip from her lips, I’ve never heard her sound colder. “I don’t trust anyone.”
My anger flares once more, but I concentrate on keeping my breathing steady so that she doesn’t notice. “It sounds like you have reasons for that. But, I promise, I’ll prove to you, over time, that you can trust me.”
She looks at me in disbelief, but there’s a small amount of hope shining in her eyes too. This beautiful girl hasn’t had anyone on her side for the longest time, and I’m determined to change that.
Chloe looks like she’s struggling to find the words to respond, so I quickly try to change the subject. “And in response to your earlier assumption, the security guard Miles has assigned you is a female. She’s actually one of the best we have.”
Her eyes narrow, like she’s not sure she believes me. “If she’s the best, why isn’t she guarding you?”
The corner of my lip tips into my signature smirk. “Because I have Miles. Besides, his sister is the most important person in the world to him, and her life was put in danger simply because he works for me. We knew we had to keep her safe, and that meant assigning her the best, which is Kim.”
She leans forward, her eyes boring into me like she’s trying to see deep into my soul. She’s trying to work me out, and I fucking hate it. I’m a closed book for a reason. “Why isn’t she with her now?”
I let out a huff, grimacing as I’m reminding of how fucking much I hate this part of the story.
“She’s safe now. When the threat level became too high, we had no choice but to move her into Morelli Manor, as the security there is safer than anywhere else.”
“Why do I feel like you’re leaving out parts of the story?”
I let out a humourless laugh. “Because I am. I’m not exactly thrilled about it, and neither is Miles, but when Courtney, his sister, moved into Morelli Manor, she grew close to my father.”
“Grew close?” she repeats annoyingly.
“Too close,” I reply cryptically, and just a few seconds later her eyes widen comically as she gets what I was hinting at.
“How old is Courtney?” Her voice has taken on a ridiculously high pitch, and I don’t blame her. There’s a reason we’ve been trying to keep the scandal hidden.
“She’s nineteen.”
Chloe’s laughter fills the air, and I hate how fucking young she looks as she takes pleasure in my misery. “So your dad, who is at least in his fifties, is sleeping with a nineteen-year-old, who he was supposed to be looking after for his son?”
“Yes,” I grind out, which only makes her laugh more.
“It’s like the plot of a dirty romance novel,” she jokes. Then, as if she just realised something, her eyes begin to sparkle as she leans closer to me. “If Maximus marries her, your step-mum will be younger than you.”
I close my eyes to try and block out the mental imagery her suggestion brings up, and I ball my hands into fists as I grind my teeth together.
“That’s not going to happen,” I say, as I take a much needed gulp of my wine.
“Why? Is it just sex for them?”
Before the word sex has even left her mouth, I’m half spitting out my wine, and half choking on it. I quickly bring my other hand up to my mouth to catch the spraying wine, as I carefully put the glass down on the table.
My coughing becomes desperate as I try to clear the liquid out of my lungs, to replace it with some much needed air.
Chloe quickly stands and rushes over to me, slapping me hard on the back. My eyes widen as I look at her, wondering what the fuck she’s doing. As the burning in my throat dies down, and I’m able to pull in a few sharp gasps of air, she continues to hit me.
“Stop. Hitting. Me.”
“Oh, my God. Are you okay?” she asks, gently running her thumb under my eyes to brush away the tears that had escaped while I was choking.
“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” I rasp, my throat burning as I try to speak.
Her brow furrows as she pouts, a very cute mixture of concern and frustration marring her beautiful face. “How am I trying to kill you?”
“First, you bring up my father’s sex life, which we will never speak about again, and then you beat the shit out of my back so hard I’m bound to have bruises,” I growl as she stands there, glaring at me.
“When someone is choking, you’re supposed to slap their back to help,” she replies incredulously, her hand on her popped hip making her look very serious.
“That’s only when there’s something that needs to be dislodged, not because wine went down the wrong fucking way,” I snap, sounding much harsher than I intended .
“You could just say thank you .”
“For what? How would you like it if I started smacking you?” I ask.
If I hadn’t been so focused on her, I may have missed the very subtle changes that occur at the mention of me smacking her. Her eyes widen just slightly, becoming darker at the same time. Her breath hitches before becoming shallower, like she’s struggling to catch her breath. Then there’s the way she very slowly rubs her thighs together, like she’s trying to alleviate an ache between them, and I can’t help but smile.
She looks like she’s trying to think of something to say, but I beat her to it. “Well, it seems you might like the idea of being spanked.”
The deer-in-headlights look is back, but the way she squirms isn’t just from feeling uncomfortable. She’s getting turned on, and my dick twitches at the thought, as does my palm.
“I-I… I mean, I…” She fumbles over her words, not making any sense.
As the grin on my face widens, I stand abruptly, causing her to take a stumbling step back, her eyes wide. She manages to find her balance and freezes in front of me, though it looks like it’s taking every ounce of strength she has not to back away from me.
It takes only a couple of small steps before I’m standing so close that she has to tilt her head back slightly to look up at me. Her pupils are blown, and the blush on her cheeks confirms she’s turned on, but her eyes flick around like she’s nervous too.
I’m reminded once again that someone hurt her enough that she now has to look for danger in the most innocent of gestures, and my murderous dragon flares his ugly head once more.
I have to remind myself that the way I stalked across the room towards her, trapping her with my piercing gaze, can hardly be classed as innocent.
“Have you ever been spanked before?” I ask, my voice deep and raspy.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“But you’d like to try it.” I phrase it as a statement rather than a question, as her body has already answered on her behalf.
Still, she nods her head, the flush on her cheeks reddening further as she drops her gaze to the floor. I reach up and place my finger underneath her chin, tipping her head back until she has no choice but to look at me.
“I would like nothing more than to turn your sexy arse red, marking you with my handprint,” I growl, loving the way her breath hitches at my words. “But that would require me touching you, and I can’t do that yet.”
“I-I… What if I-I said you could?” she mumbles, pulling her lower lip between her teeth .
“You can beg me all you want, but I can’t do it until I know you trust me,” I state.
“I do… I think I do trust you.” The words rush out, though she sounds a little uncertain.
“I’ll know you trust me when you tell me who hurt you.” I don’t want to ruin this moment between us, but I really do have her best interests at heart when I say this.
I don’t just want to know who he is and what he did so that I can rip him to pieces—though I will very much fucking enjoy doing that. I need to know what trauma she’s endured, so I can make sure nothing I do is a trigger for her. I want to help her use sex to heal, not to make things worse.
She may think she trusts me, and she probably trusts me enough for us to have meaningless sex, but I’m not some random stranger she’s picked up in a club that she’ll never see again. I’m not going to fuck her and walk away, leaving her unsatisfied.
If we do this, I want to make it very fucking pleasurable for her, and to do that, I need to know what her limits are—which she’s not ready to discuss yet.
“I may never be able to tell you that. But I still want you to show me how I can take back control. You promised you’d show me,” she pouts, her eyes fixed on mine in a challenge.
I pause for a moment, wondering if there’s a way I can do this and still remain firm. I let out a huff as an idea comes to me like a flashing lightbulb moment.
“I can teach you control… I can even punish you… All without actually touching you. But I promise, by the end, you’ll be craving my touch so much that you’ll want to beg me, but the rules haven’t changed.
“I won’t cave because you’ve begged me, and I won’t give in, no matter how much I might fucking want to. The only way I’ll touch you is if you’ve told me everything.
“This isn’t me sexually blackmailing you into telling me your secrets, it’s for your own safety. I want you to tell me, but I also want it to be your choice. Do you understand?”
She lets out a harsh laugh, looking at me in disbelief. “You think that you’re going to be able to drive me so crazy, I’ll want to tell you all my secrets, just so you’ll fuck me?”
I casually shrug my shoulders as I give her a nod. “Yes, and I won’t have you accusing me of blackmailing you.”
“You do realise that no guy has ever properly given me an orgasm. The fact you think you can make me lose my head, without even touching me, says a lot about you. I knew you were cocky and egotistical, but this is next level.” She laughs, and I roll my eyes.
“Call me whatever you like, but you’ll see for yourself soon enough. I just want to make sure, for the record, that you know my intention is not to force you to tell me anything,” I repeat, wanting to make sure she’s very clear on this.
Although she doesn’t appear to be taking what I have to say seriously, she nods her head. “Fine, I agree that if I do, by some miracle, decide to tell you all of my secrets, it will be because I want you to know them, not because I want you so badly I feel like I have to spill my guts.”
Even though her tone becomes more sarcastic as the statement goes on, I’ll take it. She may not believe it’s possible right now, but I plan to show her just how truthful I am. I’m going to make her fall to her knees, begging for me to finally touch her.