Chapter 37 Alina #2
I look over to the bed, and it seems too far away for my needs. Marco must have felt the same way, because he spins me around and gently pushes me onto the chair. I rest my knees on the cushion and grip the top of the chair.
Marco's hand glides over my butt, and the gentleness in his touch makes me bend forward and arch for more.
He gently slaps my ass, and a soft moan escapes my lips. The sensation stokes the blaze that's deep within me. He does it again, a little harder this time, but I can sense his hesitation. It's not like before—he's holding back, still worried about hurting me, about pushing me too far.
"Again," I demand, my voice breathy with need. I turn back to look at him, my eyes showing my desire. "But harder, Sir."
I see something shift in his eyes at my words, that familiar primal darkness returning. He raises his hand and brings it down on my ass with more force. The sting is delicious, spreading across my skin like wildfire.
"Again, Sir," I breathe out, gripping the chair tighter. The sting is exquisite, the pleasure it brings almost too much to bear. I feel myself getting wetter with each slap, my body responding to his dominance in a way I never knew.
I arch my back further, presenting myself to him, silently begging for more.
"More," I beg, my fingers digging into the chair. "Please, Sir."
He obliges, his hand coming down again and again, each slap pushing me closer to the edge. I can feel myself spiraling, a lustful intoxication enveloping me.
He pauses for a moment, his hand gentle on my ass, rubbing the area he's been spanking. I like when he does that.
"You're doing so well, my good girl," he says, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking well."
I love his approval. It does something to me that words cannot describe. It fills me with a satisfaction I've never known while intimate with a man. It makes me want to please him, to make him proud. It's a strange feeling and one I feel so intensely.
He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. "Are you ready for me?" he asks in a low growl.
"Yes, Sir," I say and instinctively spread my legs as far as the chair will allow. "I'm ready for you."
Marco kisses my shoulders and then runs his tongue down my back as he positions himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips. He's at my entrance, teasing me with the tip of his cock.
"Please," I whimper, pressing back against him. "I need you inside me."
He enters me slowly, stretching me completely. I gasp at the fullness, at how perfectly he fills me. This feels different than before—deeper, more intense, more meaningful. It seems that finally admitting my feelings has made everything more vivid, every sensation more heightened.
"Fuck, Firefly," Marco groans, his hands gripping my hips. "You feel so perfect around my cock."
Marco starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first. Each thrust drives me closer to the edge, and I can't help but moan. My knuckles turn white as I brace myself against his powerful thrusts.
His pace quickens, and the feeling is electric. "Harder," I gasp.
Marco responds, his grip on my hips tightening as he pounds into me relentlessly.
The chair creaks beneath us, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is the exquisite feeling of Marco inside me.
His possessive touch makes me feel owned—completely owned by him.
The sensation sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
"You're mine," Marco growls, leaning over me. His chest presses against my back, and I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I moan out between thrusts. "Only yours, Sir."
He releases one of his hands from my hips and places it around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my head swim. The combination of his cock filling me, his hand on my throat, and the lingering sting from his spanking feels so amazing it's almost sinful.
"I love you," he says, his voice low. "God, I fucking love you, Alina."
Hearing those words while he's inside me sends a jolt of pleasure through my body. "I love you too," I moan. "So much, baby."
He releases my throat and moves his hand between my legs, finding my clit. His fingers work their magic as he continues to thrust into me.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
In my state, it doesn't take much, and my body tenses. My eyes roll back, and I shatter into a million pieces.
My orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, more intense than anything I've ever experienced before.
I cry out Marco's name as my body shakes with pleasure, my toes curling.
I rock back and forth, riding out this erotic, raw feeling, as he refuses to slow down.
His continued thrusts prolong my orgasm, and I'm lost in a haze of pleasure.
"That's it, good girl," Marco praises, his voice deep. "One more time, together with me."
I didn't think it was possible, but I feel another orgasm building. The oversensitivity from my second climax makes every touch, every thrust, feel magnified.
Marco's movements become more erratic as he gets close too. He pulls me up, my back flush against his chest, never breaking his rhythm. One hand cups my breast, pinching my nipple, while the other continues its relentless assault on my clit.
I feel his cock growing larger, harder, and he growls with a strong, hard thrust. The feeling of him pulsing inside me triggers my orgasm, and my body goes limp, unable to take any more.
Marco holds me tight as he fills me with his hot release. As he slows, we stay still for a moment, both of us panting heavily. Marco places soft kisses along my shoulder and neck, showing me love and adoration.
This is what making love feels like, I realize.
A perfect combination of rough passion and tender emotion.
The feeling of being completely and utterly his, while knowing he's just as much mine.
I've spent so long hiding from what love could be.
Now I see—it's not about losing myself; it's about finally being found.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of me. My legs feel like jelly, and I'm grateful for his strong arms supporting me as he turns me around to face him.
"I meant every word," he says softly. "I love you. More than I ever thought possible."
I take his hand and kiss it. "I love you too," I reply. "With everything I have to give."
I watch as Marco walks into the bathroom and brings back a thick, heavy robe. Even spent, I can't help but stare at his muscular, toned body.
He helps me put it on and then pulls on his boxer briefs. We walk over to the bed and lay down together.
I lay in Marco's arms, my body still tingling from our intense lovemaking.
The events of the night flash through my mind—the gunshots, the intruder, the blood.
My heart races as I remember the fear, but Marco's steady breathing beside me calms my nerves.
I focus on the warmth of his skin against mine, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
As my pulse slows, I feel a strange urge to break the heavy silence that has settled over us. Maybe it's my way of coping with the trauma. Whatever the reason, I find myself wanting to lighten the mood.
"So…" I start, my voice sounding unnaturally loud. "Is that Russian swimming with the fishes now?"
Marco turns his head to look at me. His expression is so genuinely puzzled that I can't help but laugh.
"What?" he asks.
"You know," I explain, propping myself up on one elbow to face him better. "'Swimming with the fishes.' Isn't that a mafia saying? It’s from movies and stuff." I feel slightly foolish now and my cheeks warm.
He shakes his head and smiles. "I've never heard anyone say that in my life."
"Oh,"I quietly giggle to myself.
"But if it means dead, then, he's swimming with the fishes," he says, his arm tightening around me. "And anyone who ever touches you will be too."
In that moment, I know I've crossed over, because those words don't instill fear, nor does my mind scream at me to run. Instead, I think:
Damn straight. That's my man.
I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted and drained. My body aches, my mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and now I just want to sleep beside the person I love.
Marco must sense my fatigue because he kisses me on the forehead. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I've got you."
As I drift off, feeling warm and protected in his arms, a final thought floats through my mind: I guess Marco caught his Firefly after all, and I don't think I ever want to be free.