13. Chloe
“ G et plenty of sleep tonight, Mio. You’ll need all your energy for your punishment tomorrow.”
Those damn words were on repeat in my head the whole fucking night. Every time I closed my eyes, just to get a little bit of sleep, I was consumed with thoughts of what that might mean.
I may not be the most sexually experienced person in the world, and my past sexual history has all been distinctly vanilla, but that doesn’t mean I don’t read the odd spicy book, or watch porn.
But the problem with doing either of those things is that it doesn’t exactly help me narrow down what the word ‘punishment’ means to Marcus.
According to some people on the internet, it may be a much worse version of the edging he taught me the other day, with a bit of spanking thrown in—which I can honestly admit I’m intrigued about.
However, that does seem to be a somewhat mild form of punishment, and there are a million different forms on the punishment scale. I saw one video where the woman was completely tied up, dangling from the ceiling wearing nothing but rope.
Her tits were roped together, she had a ball gag in her mouth, and her hands were tied behind her back. Her hair had been tied back, but not in a normal way.
The tie seemed to be connected to something, and as I followed it, my eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw it connected to the hook in her arse. So, every time she moved her head, it jostled the hook that was deep in her arsehole.
While the guy was swinging her around, flogging and whipping different parts of her, he’d be teasing her pussy. I have to admit, when he started hitting her clit with a riding crop, I was cringing and rubbing my thighs together in sympathy, while she cried and shook with what looked to be an earth-shattering orgasm.
I quickly realised that watching porn was only going to terrorise me. And that’s how I found myself struggling to sleep, wondering how to tell Marcus that I don’t like the idea of having a hook in my arsehole, or being suspended from the ceiling while he tortures my clit.
It may do it for some women, and I’m not above experimenting, but there are just some things I’m already certain I won’t enjoy.
Aren’t people in BDSM relationships supposed to have contracts or something? I think to myself, before chuckling as I remind myself that the only experience I have of BDSM relationships is through books and the internet, which can be vastly inaccurate.
The problem with staying up all night, looking at porn while panicking, is that eventually my mind drifts away from worrying, and that’s when I started thinking about all the things I might enjoy trying with him.
I should have known watching porn was a bad idea. Now I’m horny as fuck, and I daren’t touch myself. I’m already being punished, I don’t want to make it worse.
So, naturally, when I wake up in the morning, having only got a couple of hours of interrupted sleep, I’m tired, cranky, and unbelievably fucking horny.
I have a couple of hours before we’re scheduled to leave for my parents’ house, and I should probably get a little more sleep, but now that I’m awake, the nerves are back.
I’m a little surprised when I stomp into the kitchen to get my morning coffee to find that Marcus isn’t there, though my usual mug is next to the coffee machine waiting for me. Next to it is a note explaining he went for a run and will be back soon.
While I’m waiting for the coffee to brew, I pop some bread into the toaster. My parents will have had the chef go all out with a big Sunday lunch, so I don’t eat much.
Once I have my coffee and toast, I take a seat on one of the stools at the island and begin reading a cake decorating book I bought the other day. It has some interesting techniques I want to try for creating more realistic sugarpaste flowers.
I’m so lost in reading the instructions, I don’t hear the door to the apartment click open. It’s not until one of the stools opposite me scrapes on the floor that I flick my gaze up to see what made the noise.
My mouth drops open at the sight of a very sweaty, topless Marcus who has his head thrown back as he gulps from his water bottle. I watch the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and I find myself swallowing hard too. His hair is wet with sweat, making it look darker, but it still flops around in the most unbelievably sexy way.
I watch as sweat droplets make their way down his face, along the curve of his throat, down to his very naked chest. I’m sure my eyes look like something out of a fucking cartoon as they pop out of my head at the sight of the drops trailing over his ripped abs.
Don’t even get me started on his Adonis-like V that disappears below his running shorts. The guy is literally a god walking amongst us mere humans here on Earth, and given the way his lips curve into that fucking smirk of his when he catches me staring, he knows exactly the effect he has on women—me specifically.
“See something you like?” he drawls, winking at me when I finally drag my gaze up to his face.
What I bloody hate the most is that whilst his body is a work of art that I’d happily stare at for all eternity, it pales in comparison to his face.
Those bright blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes you get lost in them. His long eyelashes are the type that women pay good money to replicate, and make his eyes look hooded and sexy.
Then there’s that smirk of his that I’m sure he only pulls out because it makes him look smug and arrogant, and he knows it melts women’s knickers. But for me, his smirk is nothing compared to when he shows me a genuine smile.
His cheeks plump up until the cutest dimple appears, and it not only makes him look his age, as opposed to the older image he tries to portray, it also makes him seem so much more relaxed. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t use it all that much.
I blink rapidly a few times, trying to pull my dirty mind out of the gutter— and the very sexy images it is currently producing—to bring me back into the room.
What did he just ask me?
Marcus clears his throat again, although it sounds an awful lot like he’s coughing to hide a laugh, and that helps to sober me up. I glare at him as he lifts his brow in a challenge.
“What?” I snap eventually when I can’t remember what the hell he just said.
I was aware of his mouth moving, but I was so lost staring at him that I didn’t pay enough attention to what he was actually saying.
“I said…do you like what you see?” There’s an arrogant edge to his voice that makes me prickle.
Of course, I like what I see. A fucking blind person could see I’m attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to admit it. Particularly, when he’s looking at me with that cocky, knowing stare.
“Sorry, I was reading my book and got lost in my own head for a moment,” I say, pointing to the book in front of me that I had very obviously stopped reading in favour of ogling him. But it’s the best cover up I could come up with on the spot.
Marcus chuckles, rolling his eyes as he moves towards the coffee machine, pulling out his usual mug.
“Of course, you were. You definitely hadn’t forgotten all about whatever you were reading so that you could stare at me instead,” he jokes, sarcasm dripping from every word.
I grind my teeth at his smugness. “Wow, you certainly think a lot of yourself. I’m surprised you managed to get in the kitchen with that big head of yours.”
I’ll admit, it’s not my best comeback, but it’s all I’ve got. I blame his body still being on display, it’s clearly messing up my brain.
Marcus stops just behind me, making me jump, as I hadn’t realised he was so close. He leans over, his chest crowding my back as he places his head beside mine. His stubble rubs along my cheek as he edges closer to my ear.
As his breath fans over my face, a shiver ripples down my spine, and my breath catches. He’s so close, the heat from his almost naked body warms me up, my core burning from his closeness.
At first he just hovers over me, his breath fluttering against my skin, and I wait for whatever he’s about to do.
My eyes drift closed as I take in his deep, woodsy smell with a hint of mint, and I question how the hell he still smells amazing even though he’s dripping in sweat .
He drags a breath in and I freeze when his lips gently brush against my ear, my heart racing so fast I can barely keep up. “My head is getting bigger the longer I look at you in those sexy sleep shorts. Wanna feel?”
His voice is deep and husky, and as he asks his question, he presses his body against my side until I feel the unmistakable outline of his hard length pushing against my hip. I have to bite my lip to stop the all-consuming groan I can feel building from escaping.
Would I sound completely desperate if I said hell yes?
Get it together, Chloe, I mentally chastise myself. He already knows you like him, don’t make it any easier on the arsehole.
After mentally berating myself, I take a deep breath to help steady my nerves before opening my eyes again. I turn my head just slightly, so his lips are almost against mine. The urge to taste him grows, but I push it away, needing to stay strong, just for another moment or two.
His eyes are locked on mine, and I can see he’s just as affected by this as I am, and that brings me even more joy for what I’m about to do.
With as much confidence as I can muster, praying that my voice doesn’t break and betray me, I reply, “Sorry, I’m busy. You’ll have to feel yourself.”
While Marcus stands there blinking, clearly not sure he heard me correctly, I place my hand on his naked chest—fucking hell, he’s rock hard—and push him away from me.
As soon as there’s enough of a gap, I jump down from my stool and practically run from the kitchen. Just as I reach my room, I hear Marcus let out a string of curse words and I chuckle to myself.
I’m not sure if I just made the situation worse, particularly if he plans on going forward with the punishment he’s been teasing me with, but it feels quite good to have taken back a little bit of the power, even if it won’t last.
I spend the next couple of hours trying to relax, before getting ready for dinner with my family. Since I’m going back home, all the expectations that are usually placed on me will be back, and I have to keep that in mind as my mother will be extra observant, I’m sure.
Which is why I spend far too long making sure my make-up is just perfect, and the outfit I’ve chosen is one she’d approve of, instead of being my own preference. I stare at myself in the mirror, ignoring how deflated I look, but giving a nod of approval.
I make my way into the living room to wait for Marcus, only to find he’s already there. I expected to see him in the suit he normally wears around my family, so imagine my surprise to see he’s wearing black faded jeans that hug his arse and thighs in just the right way.
The tight black T-shirt clings to his body, but the leather jacket he’s wearing over the top is what makes me drool. Well, that and the biker boots.
He looks like danger and sin personified, and my stomach flips the more I look at him. His all dark attire compliments his floppy black hair, but it makes his bright blue eyes and plump pink lips stand out even more.
Fuck, he’s far too gorgeous for his own good.
While I’m unabashedly checking him out, he appears to be doing the same to me. Only, while I’m openly drooling over him, he looks to be a little confused. There’s no heat in his eyes, and it makes me squirm in a completely different way.
I want to break the weird tension, but I have no idea what to say. There’s no way to ask him if he likes what he sees without coming across as needy. Besides, it’s clear he doesn’t like what he sees, and that makes my heart sink.
“What are you wearing?” he asks. There’s no malice or disgust in his voice, just curiosity.
I look down, taking in the knee length black skirt that I’ve paired with matching black Mary Jane’s, nude-coloured tights underneath to give my pale legs a bit more colour, and the off-white blouse that has a soft floral pattern decorating it.
Everything is crisp and well pressed, fitting to my body in a way that shows off my figure without emphasising my curves—just the way I’ve always been told to dress when in the company of others.
“It’s one of the outfits my mother selected for me to wear when I meet with Scott. It’s supposed to show I’m feminine without clinging to me in a way that makes it obvious I’m too curvy,” I state, practically repeating my mother’s words back to him.
Marcus’ eyes darken, and an angry expression crosses his face as he begins stalking over to me. I stand still like a deer-in-headlights, and I really do feel like I’m being trapped by a predator.
I take a step back until I hit the wall behind me, giving me nowhere to go, and Marcus just keeps coming.
He stops mere inches from me, his body crowding mine, making me feel so fucking small, but I’m not even remotely scared. My heart is beating so loud, it’s a miracle he can’t hear it, but it’s not through fear.
“I’m only going to say this once, Chloe, so I want you to listen very fucking carefully. You are perfect. Don’t listen to a word your mother says. She’s just jealous that her daughter has such a fucking killer body and she doesn’t.
“Your curves are one of the best things about you, and when I finally am allowed to touch you, I plan to mark every one, holding on to them as I claim you as mine. Do I make myself clear?” he growls, and I can’t keep the shit-eating grin from lighting up my face.
Did he really just say I’m perfect? Every girl wants to hear that, but for Marcus Morelli to be the one who says it, to little old me, I genuinely feel like I might faint from shock.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not really sure what else to say to him. There really are no words to adequately show this man just how grateful I am for what he just did.
“Don’t mention it. Now, what’s with the make-up?” he asks, and I can’t help my brow furrowing in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Before I’ve even got the sentence out, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me into the main apartment corridor, stopping in front of the large floor-length mirror that’s hanging on the wall in between two doors.
He places both hands on my shoulders and turns me until I’m standing in front of the mirror, and he’s behind me, his head towering over mine as we both stare at our reflections.
I take a moment to look, wondering what he means. My make-up looks flawless, and that confuses me further. The way he voiced the question made me think I had mascara smudges everywhere, or lipstick on my teeth, but there’s nothing I can see.
“What’s wrong with my make-up?”
He takes a moment, and it almost looks like he’s trying to find the right words, which makes me even more nervous. Marcus isn’t exactly known for his tact. He’s blunt and honest, so I’m not sure why he’s holding back.
“The last few days here, you’ve barely worn any make-up,” he starts, and I nod in agreement. I’m about to explain but he cuts me off and continues.
“Whenever I’ve seen you out and about, or at the club, your make-up always looks so different to how you’re wearing it now. I’m not really sure how to explain it, as make-up definitely isn’t my thing, but with the exception of your dark eyes and red lips, you barely look like you’re wearing anything.
“Whereas, right now, it’s clear you have a lot of make-up on, but they’re all quite neutral colours. It’s almost like you’re trying to make your face look natural but with a filter on.”
I listen to everything he’s saying, and he’s not wrong. My mother always says that women should look like they’re not wearing any make-up, opting for nudes and tan colours that give off a perfect, airbrushed finish, which is the look I opted for today, knowing I’d be judged by her.
When I choose my own make-up, Marcus is right, I tend to go for a really dark smokey eye, usually with a metallic glittery finish to make my silver eyes pop. I add a little blush and highlighter so that my cheeks stand out, and a bright red lipstick to show off my plump lips, and that’s about it.
I rarely wear a full face of make-up, preferring to go without, since I have to wear it constantly when I’m with my mother, or people from high society.
My gaze flicks over and meets Marcus’ in our reflection, and I try to find the words to explain to him. “This is how I’m expected to look, but it’s not what I would choose.”
It’s a very simplistic version, but it’s the truth.
When Marcus looks back at me, he gives me a knowing smile, and his eyes are kind. He nods his head, like he understands. Then again, the suit he usually wears is probably part of the uniform he’s expected to present to the world, so maybe he does get it.
He looks at his watch for a second, then turns to face me. “Right, you have ten minutes. Get changed into something you want to wear, but make sure it’s still a skirt, and do your make-up however the hell you’d choose.
“Don’t wear what your parents would expect, just dress for yourself. It’s what I decided to do.” He gestures to his more laid back attire, and I can’t help but smile.
“It suits you.” Understatement of the fucking century.
“Thanks. Now, get a move on,” he states, turning me around and pushing me in the direction of my bedroom.
My mind is whirling, my thoughts spinning a million miles a minute as I second guess myself. I want to dress my own way, to look the way I prefer, but years of being trained by my parents is hard to overcome, particularly in ten bloody minutes.
So, I decided to do as Marcus suggested. I don’t think, I just feel. I wipe all the make-up off and start again, opting for my usual smokey eye with a silver glitter to accentuate my eyes.
I use a slightly heavier black liner than normal, thinking that if I’m going to rebel, I might as well go all the way, adding just a touch of mascara to complete the look.
I then use a darker shade of red to the one I wear in the club, as I want my lips to look plump without standing out too much. Once I’ve added a bit of blush and highlighter to emphasise my cheeks, I take a look in the mirror. The reflection I see shining back, smile and all, is the most familiar version of me I’ve seen in a while.
With only a few minutes left, I rush over to my closet. I didn’t bring much clothes with me, and so that’s making my decision harder. A lot of my casual stuff I rule out straight away—my mother would have a heart attack if I showed up for Sunday lunch in my black leggings or ripped jeans.
All of the skirts I have are Mother approved, which means they don’t qualify, but Marcus was adamant about me wearing one.
That’s when a dress on the end hanger catches my eyes. It’s a small white sundress with little yellow flowers on it, which sounds perfectly innocent, but the dress is far from sweet.
The thin spaghetti straps connect to a low sweetheart neckline that shows off a generous display of cleavage. The top of the dress itself has boning in it similar to that of a corset, with wire underneath the cups, which pushes my boobs up enough that I don’t need to wear a bra.
The boning stops at my waist, and the white fabric flares out from there, stopping mid-thigh. It’s long enough to cover everything, but shorter than my parents would approve of, and that makes me smile.
The white fabric is pale enough that it’s almost see-through, without actually showing off too much. Well, I have to opt for no bra and a pair of very small lace knickers with thin sides, so the fabric isn’t too visible, but it adds to the look, making me feel very sexy.
I opt for a pair of black ballet flats, as I don’t particularly enjoy wearing heels, and this is supposed to be an exercise in me picking what I like.
I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror, and I can’t help but smile. I’m also very glad I remembered to shave my legs yesterday, as there’s a lot of my creamy white skin on display right now. But I can’t deny that the way the dress clings to my curves makes me look shapely and…dare I say it, a little sexy.
I just know my mother isn’t going to approve, but I don’t care.
I walk out of the room, a genuine smile on my face as I hold my head up high. This time when Marcus catches a glimpse of me, I get the reaction I was hoping for all along.
At first his eyes widen comically as he takes all of me in, but then his gaze darkens with lust. I watch as his tongue darts out and sweeps along his lower lip, like he’s trying to taste me. Then, when I expect his lip to quirk up into that cocky smirk of his, he surprises me by giving me a genuine smile.
“Now you look like you,” he states, his voice gravelly and rough in a way that makes my stomach flip. “You look so fucking sexy, Mio.”
My lip tips up into a small smile, and I can feel my cheeks starting to heat up. “Thank you.”
“I’m really going to enjoy punishing you now,” he growls as he slowly begins walking towards me.
“Now?” I squeak, wondering what the hell he has planned. We are cutting it fine as it is, and there’s nothing my parents hate more than tardiness .
The devilish smirk on his face grows as he gets closer to me. I know better than to back away, even though everything in me is telling me to. He stops when he’s right in front of me, towering over me once again.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a light pink oval-shaped item that has a string attached to one side of it. He holds the piece of string, letting it hang between us, right in front of my face.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, and I shake my head.
He waits, glaring at me, and that’s when I remember how insistent he is that I use my words instead of head gestures. “No, what is it?” I ask, intrigued.
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, his breath fanning across my cheek. “This, Mio, is a love egg. It’s connected to a remote control on my phone. Here.”
He takes hold of my wrist, turning it so he can place the love egg in my hand, and I curl my fingers around it, shocked at how soft it is. He then takes his phone out of his pocket, and after a couple of taps of his fingers, the egg in my hand begins to vibrate.
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline when it finally hits me exactly what this is. I’ve heard about them before, but I’ve never seen them in real life, which is why I didn’t recognise it. The name never triggered a recollection either, but now I’m very aware what it is, and what it does.
It’s at this exact moment that it suddenly hits me… This is my punishment.
“You don’t expect me to use this, do you?” I blurt out, looking like he’s lost his ever-loving mind.
Marcus chuckles, but his face remains very serious. “I absolutely do expect you to use it. This is your punishment, which means it’s not optional. You are going to put the egg in now, and you will keep it in until we return home after lunch.”
He’s barely finished his sentence and I’m shaking my head frantically, repeating the word ‘no’ over and over again.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind. I can’t go to Sunday lunch with my family with a fucking sex toy in my knickers,” I blurt out, and Marcus full belly laughs at my outrage.
He then leans over until his lips are almost touching my ear. “It doesn’t sit in your knickers, Mio. The egg belongs in that tight little pussy of yours.”
Once again, my cheeks are so inflamed you could probably fry an egg on them, if it weren’t for the way I’m rapidly shaking my head to protest.
“No. Absolutely fucking not. How the hell am I supposed to walk with this in? Even when it’s not turned on, it’ll feel too full. I can’t do it.”
Marcus takes a step back, and thankfully, with a press of a button on his phone, he turns off the vibration. His eyes glare at me as he fixes me with a stern expression.
“This isn’t up for debate, love. This is a punishment. If you don’t want to make things even worse, I suggest you put the damn egg in right now, so we can be on our way.”
“Worse? How the hell can it get any worse?” I splutter.
This time when his lip tilts up, his smirk is pure evil. “You forget, I have control of the egg. If I need to make this punishment more severe, I can always turn the vibration onto its strongest setting at the worst possible moment. Say when you’re hugging your dad goodbye, or getting a lecture from your mother on how you’re dressed?”
I blame the stress of the whole fucking situation, as it never even occurred to me that he might activate the bloody vibration whenever he chooses.
“You can’t be serious? You plan on using that thing on me whenever you choose? No fucking way,” I snap, putting my hand on my hip for emphasis. I’m about one freak out away from stomping my foot for good measure.
Marcus lets out a dark, humourless laugh as he takes a step towards me, his stern glare fixed on me. “This isn’t up for discussion, Mio. Either you put the egg in, or I will. But remember, the longer you delay it, the worse I will make things for you.”
There’s a dark threatening edge to his voice that tells me he’s not messing around.
“I-I don’t… I mean, how…” My words trail off as I struggle to admit that I’ve got no fucking idea what I’m doing.
Clearly, I’m giving in, as I don’t want to make this punishment any worse than it needs to be—or already will be—but I don’t know the first thing about inserting a love egg.
I have a small bullet vibrator, but I’ve only ever used it on my clit, I’ve never put it inside. Then again, if it were a normal vibrator, I don't think I’d have any problems, but the egg isn’t exactly a standard shape, and it’s making me nervous.
Marcus reaches out and takes the egg from my hand, before slowly moving it up to his mouth. I then watch with my mouth open—most likely with drool dripping down—as he sticks out his tongue and swirls it around the egg.
In a motion that’s far too fucking sexual, he proceeds to get the egg as wet as he can, even going as far as sucking the tip of the egg into his mouth, while sticking out his tongue to swirl around the edges. It’s so erotic, and I can feel my core heating with each swipe of his tongue.
Once the egg is coated, he holds it by the string, that sexy smirk of his back again. “Here you go.”
Fuck, those three little words, combined with everything else, has probably ruined my knickers to the point I will need to throw them away, or maybe just burn them.
I don’t know what the hell possesses me to utter the next words that come out of my mouth, but once they’re out in the world, there’s no turning back.
“Can you do it for me?”