Chapter 10 Out Of Body Experience
Chapter ten
Out Of Body Experience
Sophia
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Marco Marrone is on his knees for me, every movement of his hands controlling my body like a conductor of an orchestra.
More specifically, stroking between my thighs in the way I’ve fantasized about for years.
Let it be on the record, none of my fantasies compare to the way his strong, long, thick fingers work in real time. Fuck…get a grip, girl.
I must be dreaming. Or hallucinating, thanks to the three shots of Midas Touch—Bella Donna’s signature cocktail literally sprinkled with 18K edible gold dust. Either way, if he keeps touching me like that, I’m certain my soul is going to leave my body.
He strokes me in a steady rhythm, alternating between one and two fingers, grinding the heel of his hand against my throbbing clit, the gusset of the tights adding to the delicious friction.
I am climbing higher towards that edge, heat flooding my lower belly, which coils in response to the impending orgasm dancing just within reach.
If I get out of my head just like Marco asked me to do oh-so-sexily, it could be mine.
But what does this all mean? Is this a one-and-done thing to play with me?
Like when he kissed me senseless months ago and then went MIA under the guise of work, leaving me foolishly waiting for any crumbs to reassure me this attraction isn’t one-sided.
I mean, I’ve felt his thick, hard cock multiple times tonight so obviously the attraction is mutual.
I bet it’s as beautiful as he is. Oh God.
I need to stop this. Ohhhhh noooo, I don’t. Fuck, yes I do. All my brothers are literally on the other side of this door—and given Sebastian owns half the club he’s likely to barrel in at any moment.
“Marco, oh, that feels soooo good. No, I mean, Marco, you should stop.” I look over my shoulder to the gorgeous man staring up at me from the floor, his green eyes so bright they’re almost iridescent.
He slows to a tortuously featherlight touch but doesn’t stop completely. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “Truth or dare?”
We’re playing a dangerous game. One that threatens to crack the concrete covering the years of desire for this man buried deep in my heart.
For a woman who prides herself on being strong enough to handle herself, so much so she’s willingly entering the arena with some of the shrewdest wolves of law in the pursuit of truth, I am about to make an epically bad decision.
“Dare,” I say on a breathless moan.
Marco’s eyes flare. He moves his hands to the band of my stockings, roughly tugs them up, and wedges them into my pussy. Hands down the most pleasurable wedgie he’s ever given me. And trust me, I’ve suffered quite a few of those growing up with him and my brothers.
The added friction has my clit pulsating so hard I am certain you could hear it.
Then without warning he rips them to shreds.
I gasp. That’s all I’ve got. Any words I have die on my lips.
Before I can move or call 911 to come and check I’m not suffering a heart attack, Marco begins to press kisses to the inside of my legs.
Some soft and sweet. Others open-mouthed and wet.
“No objection here, Kitten.” He punctuates his words by latching on to my soft flesh and sucking. Like he’s desperate to see his mark on me. My body shudders involuntarily. He chuckles low before softening his touch once more.
“First.” Kiss. “We’re going to fix your posture.
” Nip. He bends my body over the deck, so my ass is directly in his face.
“Then we’re going to fix your outfit.” Lick.
He runs his tongue up the inside of my right thigh as he pushes my dress up so it’s now bunched at my waist. I shiver, both because of the cool air hitting the warmth of my arousal between my legs and the vision of the fantasy I’m sure I am currently living.
Me bent over and fully exposed to the man I’ve dreamed of fucking too many times to count.
Marco’s gravelly voice breaks me from my fever dream. “Next, we’re going to smoothly transition the track and finish—” I cut him off, my anxiety spiking even in my turned-on state. I go to stand up, but he places a firm hand to my back in silent warning. I look over my shoulder instead.
“Marco, I have no fucking idea how to DJ! I don’t want to be responsible for ending the year on a shit note for all these people! Remember my rule: you start your year like you end it!”
He throws his head back on a laugh and I miss the warmth of his mouth already.
“Easy there, Kitten. Trix has a pre-record ready to go. That’s what she whispered in my ear on her way out. Just press the button with the little cassette icon on it.”
Obeying, I lean over further to hit the button without thought.
Any others I might’ve had leave the building as Marco grips my hips, pulling my lower half flush with his face, and plays my body like a fiddle with his mouth.
As the pulse of the music envelops us, Marco times his tongue aerobics to the tempo of the countdown.
Ten, nine. He licks me from front to back.
Eight, seven, six. He swirls his tongue around my tight hole, a new sensation for me.
Five, four, three. Finally, he takes my swollen bud in his mouth, sucking it like it’s his lifeline.
Two. I think I’m officially deceased.
He’s edged me right to the cliff of no return. The sensation in my core feels like a battle between a raging inferno and a swarm of a thousand butterflies fluttering—unbearable but wickedly delicious. With no stopping it, an orgasm burns through me, causing my whole body to tremble violently.
Marco stands quickly and turns me to face him before my legs can completely give out. One.
As I melt into him for support, he threads his hands through my hair and pulls me closer.
“Happy New Year, Sophia,” he whispers before kissing me deeply and relentlessly.
I can taste myself on his tongue and revel in the feel of his rock-hard cock against my stomach.
The irony is not lost on me. This time I know I did that to him, but the urge to flee is not out of embarrassment; it’s thanks to all the questions beginning to spin like a tornado.
There’s so much to process, but whatever has gotten into Marco tonight leaves little room to do either.
He’s just proven he’s in charge here.
Breaking our kiss, he cups my face and holds my stare as a cocky smirk begins to spread across his face. “According to your theory, baby, it looks like I’ll be spending a lot of time between your legs this year, because by the looks of you, I’m clearly a man who knows how to use his tongue.”
“You’re out of control, you know that!” I gasp, my already flushed cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.
Yep. My body and soul are officially in a pile of rubble right along with my useless, shredded tights.
I just hope my poor heart won’t meet the same fate at the hands of Marco fucking Marrone.
Boy Wonder. Orgasm-giver extraordinaire.
I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. He’s always been good at making me laugh to calm my anxious thoughts. And it works momentarily. “What are we doing?” I whisper back.
Before he can answer, the rattle of the door snaps us back to reality.
I quickly remove my shredded tights, step back into my shoes and adjust my dress before jumping away from his body.
He angles away from the door so he can adjust himself.
A small part of me is grateful for the interruption so I can gather my smarts, which clearly abandoned me when I needed them most. The larger part, the one that’s still reeling from the best orgasm of my life, is fucking furious that I won’t get my hands, lips or tongue anywhere near Marco and his impressive dick.
“Happy New Year, motherfucker! And you too, Soph!” a buzzed Sebastian hollers as he shoves another shot towards us.
Trix follows in behind him, eyeing the both of us suspiciously. “Get out of here, all of you! It’s a tight fit as it is!” I don’t miss the way she emphasizes the word as she steps into resume her DJ duties. I sweep my shredded tights further into the back corner under the decks before Seb notices.
We start down the stairs to join the rest of the gang on the dance floor, Sebastian in front of me and Marco nestled in behind me, setting my body alight before it’s even had a chance to cool down.
Looking over Sebastian’s head, I notice a few more famous—and good-looking—faces have now joined the VIP crowd.
Besides the fact that Bella Donna is New York’s most exclusive bar and restaurant, our tight-knit group is a very connected bunch across the legal, creative, sport, and entertainment industries.
Scanning the space, I can see the who’s who of young Hollywood, Luca’s F1 teammates, and some of Raf’s law acquaintances, including Arty, who it seems also excused himself from my “society debut” party and followed me here.
Fuck.
I sense the moment Marco clocks him too. His body tenses, and the hand at the small of my back that was gently guiding me suddenly becomes a vice grip around my waist. He pulls me back into him and growls in my ear.
“Why is that dick-weasel in the VIP area? I didn’t give him access.”
I haven’t even had a chance to wrap my head around the fact Marco just had his lips and tongue wrapped around my clit minutes ago, let alone how it looks with his arm now possessively wrapped around my middle.
Raf and Arty swing their gaze to the stairs leading out of the DJ booth at the same time, but their expressions could not be more different. One is tense and marred with brotherly concern. The other is smiling wickedly, chillingly.
Me? I’m certain I look like a freshly fucked deer in headlights, and I can sense from the way Marco is gripping me he looks like a ticking time bomb ready to blow. I turn to look up at Marco, putting us in a more intimate looking position now. His jaw is taut and his eyes burn with fury.
“Marco, you need to chill. I do not need you going all Mohammad Ali tonight. Especially not on Arty’s face,” I say more assertively than I feel.
I’m hoping he’ll see reason before this situation escalates.
I catch Raf’s attention and silently communicate that I’m fine.
He loves Marco like a brother, but he’s also had to save the day on more than one occasion when he’s gone “tick, tick…boom.”
I notice a camera flash out of the corner of my eye.
I swing my gaze forward again and find myself looking into a phone.
As my shit luck would have it, the hand holding it belongs to one smug Gigi “GG” Girmaldi, society queen and founder of the Shhhh Don’t Tell Daddy digital empire.
We both know she just got her first money shot of the year.
Regardless of what we did or didn’t do, I know what it looks like.
I can already hear the disapproving lecture I’m going to get from my dad ringing in my ears.
First I cause a scene by leaving the party organized for me, and then I get photographed post-orgasm glow and all with the man who instigated it. There is no doubt if—no, when—my father sees these pictures, he’ll know there’s absolutely nothing platonic about my feelings for Marco.
I’m so fucked.