Chapter 32 Marcus
MARCUS
Sister Margaret’s knowing smile haunts me as I pace my quarters, my hands curling into fists at my sides. She saw everything in the sacristy.
The way Charlie’s body pressed against mine, how my mouth traced her throat, the desperate hunger neither of us could hide.
By now, she’s already reported to the Bishop. By morning, we’ll be summoned for questioning that will tear apart everything we’ve built.
But tonight, I need Charlie. Need to feel connected to her one more time before the Church’s judgment destroys us.
My phone buzzes with a text from Adrian. My quarters. Midnight. All of us.
The rectory is silent when I slip through the darkened hallways.
Adrian’s door opens before I can knock, his gray eyes dark with the same desperate need burning through my veins.
Inside, Elijah sits on the edge of the bed, his golden hair catching the lamplight, his crystalline blue eyes tracking my entrance with unnerving intensity.
“Charlie?” I ask, my voice rough.
“On her way,” Adrian says quietly. His cassock is already gone, replaced by jeans and a white undershirt that clings to his broad shoulders. I can see the tension coiled in his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting himself.
Footsteps echo in the hallway, soft and hesitant.
Then Charlie appears in the doorway, and my breath catches.
She’s wearing a simple dress that clings to her curves, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders.
But it’s her eyes that stop me.
Those hazel eyes that shift between green and gold hold a determination I haven’t seen before.
She’s not the uncertain girl who first stumbled into our lives. She knows what she wants now.
She wants us.
“Lock the door,” she says, her voice steady despite the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Adrian does, the click of the bolt sounding like surrender. We stand in weighted silence, the four of us, knowing this might be our last night together before everything falls apart.
Charlie moves first.
She crosses to Adrian, her hands sliding up his chest, and I watch his control shatter.
His mouth claims hers, desperate and possessive, his rosary beads pressing into her hip as he pulls her close. She gasps into the kiss, and I feel my cock harden immediately.
Dios mío. I’ve been fighting this need for days, maintaining that devastating distance while every cell in my body screamed to touch her.
Now, watching Adrian claim her mouth while his hands tangle in her hair, I can’t hold back anymore.
I move behind her, my body pressing against her back, and she arches into me.
My hands find her waist, feeling the rapid hammer of her heart beneath my palms.
Elijah joins us, his fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head so Adrian can kiss her deeper.
“Eres nuestra,” I murmur against her neck, my teeth grazing her pulse point. You’re ours. “Say it, querida.”
“I’m yours,” she breathes, and the confession makes all three of us groan.
We move her toward Adrian’s bed with coordinated precision. This isn’t our first time together, but tonight feels different.
More urgent.
More real.
Like we’re claiming each other completely, knowing the Bishop’s verdict might tear us apart tomorrow.
Adrian strips her dress off with trembling hands, his gray eyes tracking every inch of exposed skin.
I work her bra clasp, my calloused fingers trailing fire down her spine.
Elijah kneels before her, pressing kisses to her thighs as her underwear pools at her feet.
“Beautiful,” Elijah whispers, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at her. “Parfaite.”
Charlie’s confidence surprises me.
She’s not shy anymore, not hesitant. She reaches for Adrian’s shirt, pulling it over his head, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest.
Then she turns to me, her fingers finding the saints and sinners inked into my arms, tracing the lines she’s memorized in stolen moments.
“I want all of you,” she says, her voice steady. “Tonight. No holding back.”
Adrian’s hands frame her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “You trust us?”
“Completely.”
The word breaks something in all of us. Adrian spins her, holding her back to his chest. His hands cup her chin, lifting it in the air so she meets mine and Elijah’s gazes.
She trembles as Adrians other hand flirts down her body, touching and teasing her breasts then stomach until his fingers cup her pussy and apply just enough pressure to have her writhing in his arms.
I burn with hunger, my eyes following each touch and squirm.
Elijah is tense next to me, his blue eyes dark with desire and his breathing shallow.
“Do you see what you do to us?” Adrian growls, nipping at the shell of her ear. She tries to knod, but his hand on her jaw keeps her still. “No matter what happens, no matter what tomorrow brings, this is what we feel for you.”
He removes his hand from her pussy and drags his hand up to up her breasts, pinching the hard peak between slick fingers. “Marcus.”
I move instantly, dropping to my knees before her and pressing my nose into the apex of her thigh, inhaling her scent.
God, what she does to me, to us. I worship her carefully, kissing, sucking, nipping, her hips undulating into me as she whimpers and whines above me.
Two fingers crook inside her, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll and her legs go boneless, and soon all three of us are holding her up as we send her over that cliff, her inner walls climaxing around my fingers as Elijah bites at her lip and Adrian massages her breasts.
Her eyes track me as I stand, licking my fingers, and I can’t help but smirk as we step back and prowl around her. “Oh, we’re not done with you yet, querida.”
We take turns, passing her between us as we fuck her with all the desperation tomorrow brings.
When she can’t stand anymore, we move again.
I lay on the bed, my fingers stretching her asshole, as Elijah fucks her from above.
Another orgasm rolls through her, and I replace my fingers with my cock and go slow, letting her adjust to the burn until I’m deep inside her and she’s shaking between us.
Cum drips down her thighs, and her eyes water as she prays our names and begs for more until Adrian finally fucks her throat.
We’re finally all claiming her at the same time. we’re all spent, collapsed on Adrian’s bed as if it’s become a fortress of safety
Spent, we collapse on the bed, relaxing as if it’s a fortress of safety.
Adrian’s arm is around her waist, my hand rests on her hip, and Elijah’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her shoulder.
For the first time, this feels real rather than stolen moments in shadows. Like we’re actually a family, unconventional and forbidden, but real.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Adrian says quietly, his voice rough with emotion, “this was worth it.”
Charlie turns her face toward him, tears glistening in her eyes. “Don’t say that like it’s ending.”
“It might be,” Elijah says softly. “Sister Margaret saw you and Marcus. She’s already reported to the Bishop.”
I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the vanilla and cinnamon scent that’s become as necessary as air. “Te amo,” I whisper. I love you. The words feel both terrifying and inevitable.
She doesn’t speak Spanish, but she understands. Her hand finds mine, squeezing three times. I love you. Our secret code.
We fall asleep like that, the four of us tangled together, pretending the morning won’t come.
But it does, brutal and unforgiving.
I wake to find Charlie already gone, slipped back to her apartment before dawn to maintain appearances.
Adrian and Elijah are still asleep, their faces peaceful in ways they never are when awake.
I dress quietly and head to my own quarters, my body still humming with the memory of last night.
The knock on my door comes before I’ve finished my coffee. Isabella stands in the hallway, her dark hair perfectly styled, wearing a tailored dress that whispers money and sophistication. Her smile is warm, but there’s something calculating in her eyes.
“Marcus. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was hoping we could talk. Privately.”
Every instinct screams this is a trap, but I can’t refuse without raising suspicion. I step aside, letting her enter, leaving the door conspicuously open.
“I’ve heard rumors,” Isabella says, moving to stand by the window. Her back is to me, her posture rigid. “About you and that girl. Charlie.”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”
“Don’t.” She turns to face me, and the pain in her expression stops my words. “Don’t lie to me, Marcus. I see the way you look at her. The way she looks at you. I recognize it because it’s how we used to look at each other.”
I force myself to remain calm, to not confirm what she’s already guessed. “Isabella, whatever you think you know—”
“I came back for you.” The words tumble out in a rush. “My divorce is final. My ex-husband is out of my life. I’m free now. We can finally be together, the way we were supposed to be three years ago.”
She crosses to me, her hand rising to cup my face. Her touch is familiar, gentle, and it makes my chest ache with old guilt and new certainty. “We can have the life we planned. A real life. No more hiding, no more shame.”
I gently remove her hand from my face, holding it between both of mine. “Isabella, I’m not the man you remember.”
“Yes, you are.” Her voice breaks slightly. “You’re the man who was willing to give up everything for me. The man who almost killed my husband to protect me. That man is still in there.”
“That man was running from something,” I say quietly. “He thought saving you would save himself. But it wouldn’t have. We would have destroyed each other.”
Isabella’s expression hardens. “And you think that child won’t destroy you? What kind of future do you think you have with her?”
“Charlie is not a child.” My voice drops to something dangerous. “She’s a woman who’s survived more than you know. And what I feel for her isn’t infatuation. It’s love.”
“Love.” Isabella laughs, the sound bitter. “You barely know her. How can you throw away everything for someone you’ve known for a few months?”
“Because she’s real.” The words come from somewhere deep inside me. “What we had, Isabella, it was beautiful and painful and necessary. But it wasn’t real. It was two broken people clinging to each other in the dark. Charlie is different. She sees me, all of me, and she stays anyway.”
Isabella’s face twists with hurt and rage. “She’ll leave. Girls like that always do. When someone younger comes along, when the novelty wears off, she’ll walk away without looking back. And you’ll have thrown away your calling, your reputation, everything that matters for nothing.”
“Then that’s my choice to make.” I meet her eyes steadily. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed three years ago. I’m sorry I can’t be what you need now. But my answer is no.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her dark eyes searching my face for any sign of weakness. Then her expression goes cold, distant. “I hope she’s worth it, Marcus. I hope she’s worth losing everything for. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
She walks out, her heels clicking against the tile floor, leaving me standing in my quarters with ice flooding my veins.
I find Charlie in the parish hall kitchen later, her hands working dough with practiced precision.
Flour dusts her dress, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.
The domesticity of the scene should calm me, but Isabella’s words echo in my mind. She’ll leave. Girls like that always do.
Charlie looks up, and those hazel eyes immediately fill with concern. “Marcus? What’s wrong?”
Before I can answer, Elijah appears in the doorway, his angel face troubled. “The Bishop is ready to see us. Separate interviews.”