CHAPTER 23 – Leona
“Satisfied?” I ask, breathless and molten.
“Mmm.” His lips graze my shoulder, soft and deliberate. “For now.”
But I already feel his hand sliding down my body again, reigniting embers that had barely cooled. The black silk beneath us is soaked with sweat, the scent of sex thick in the air. My thighs are slick, my skin fever-hot. I know that tone in his voice. We’re not done.
And I don't want to be.
His palm spreads across my belly, fingers splaying possessively. He presses me into him, his cock already hard again against my ass, nestled between us.
“You know what I want next?” he murmurs, voice dark honey in my ear.
“What?”
“I want you blind.”
My pulse kicks. Hard.
He reaches behind him and pulls a length of black silk from the nightstand drawer. Not a question. Not a suggestion. An order. His mouth brushes mine, and he ties the blindfold around my head—tight, firm. My world goes dark.
The loss of sight makes everything else sharper. I hear his breath. I feel the shift of his body beside mine. The soft creak of the mattress. The slow drag of his knuckles down my chest, the cool air kissing my nipples as he teases them, watching them harden.
“Now you only feel what I give you.”
The sound of his voice is lower now, stripped bare. He’s no longer Marcus Drake the Kingpin. He’s the man who owns my body, inch by inch, thought by thought.
“Spread your legs.”
I do.
I feel the mattress dip. His body moves between my thighs. His breath fans against my inner thigh. Then his mouth—hot, wet, obscene—licks up my slick folds in one long, slow drag.
I cry out, back arching, hips lifting off the bed. His hands slam down on my thighs, pinning me. “No. You stay still. Or I stop.”
I freeze, trembling.
He takes his time.
His tongue traces every inch of me, slow and deliberate. He flicks across my clit in lazy circles, then down again to tongue my entrance, slipping inside, tasting me. He groans against my cunt like he’s starved. The vibrations make me twitch, moan, beg.
“You taste like sin,” he whispers, his voice thick. “Like something only the wicked deserve.”
Then he slips a finger inside me, crooking it just so, and my entire body tightens. I whimper.
“Another,” he says, adding a second finger, scissoring me open, fucking me slow with just his hand while his tongue torments my clit.
I’m gasping now, legs shaking.
“Don’t come yet,” he warns. “I’ll tell you when.”
I nod helplessly, blind and pinned and dripping for him.
But he doesn’t make it easy.
He adds a third finger, and my hips buck.
He fucks me hard with them now, deliberately hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision flash even through the blindfold.
His mouth is relentless. The lewd sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of my soaked pussy fill the room, echoing with every squelch.
“You’re soaked,” he growls. “You’re fucking gushing, Leona.”
I sob.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone.
My cunt clenches around nothing, empty. I whine in protest.
A hand around my throat.
He lifts me, not roughly—but with command. The blindfold remains. I feel the silk sheets fall away as he turns me, drapes me across his lap, ass high, face pressed into the mattress.
“You look perfect like this,” he says, his hand running over my bare ass. “Every inch of you begging to be owned.”
He spanks me once. Hard.
I gasp. The sting lingers. Another slap. Then another.
My skin burns, but the heat only drives the wetness between my thighs higher. I’m dripping down my thighs now. I feel it. I feel everything.
“You know why you’re taking this?” he says, his voice a low snarl. “Because you’re mine. And good girls take what their man gives them.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please…”
“Please what?”
“Please take me.”
The mattress shifts again.
I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
“Watch this,” he growls. His hand grabs my chin, turns my blindfolded face toward the mirror on the wall. “You can’t see it, but I can. And I’m going to watch your face as I fuck you.”
Then he thrusts in.
Hard.
I scream into the bed. He fills me in one brutal, deep stroke, so thick and hard it feels like I’ll split around him.
“Fucking tight,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips, using me.
He pounds into me from behind, relentless. My cheek drags against the silk, blindfold soaked with sweat, moans torn from my throat.
The sound of his hips slapping against my ass is deafening. I’m nothing but nerve endings and surrender.
“You feel that?” he grits, his cock dragging along every inch inside me. “That’s your king fucking his queen. Look at you. Fucking ruined.”
My climax builds too fast. I can’t stop it. I’m shaking again, trembling.
“Can I come?” I choke.
He spanks me again. “Beg.”
“Please. Marcus—please, let me come.”
“Now.”
I explode.
I scream so loud it tears from my throat raw and feral. My cunt clamps down on him, spasming, fluttering, soaking him as I come hard, again and again.
He keeps going.
He’s fucking me through it, snarling, losing control. “You make me fucking crazy,” he growls. “Gonna come—fuck—gonna fill you up.”
He slams in once, twice, then growls deep in his chest and spills inside me, his cock pulsing, thick and heavy. I feel the rush of heat fill me, leaking out as he stays buried deep.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs, sweat-soaked, breathless, shaking.
The blindfold slips off, and the mirrored room swims back into focus. Our reflections are everywhere—above, around, beneath. I see myself: flushed, wrecked, coated in sweat and cum. And Marcus beneath me, sprawled, cock still glistening and hard, his chest rising and falling with spent power.
But my hunger isn’t gone.
I shift off him slowly, trailing fingers down his stomach. “Don’t move,” I whisper, already crawling lower. “Be still.”
His eyes open slightly, but he understands. He goes limp. Dead weight. Eyes closed, breath shallow.
A body on a table.
My specialty.
“Cold case,” I murmur, straddling his thighs. “Male, mid-30s. Found naked. Rigor faded. I need to examine for... cause of death.”
I start with his chest.
I lower my lips to one nipple and flick it with my tongue. He doesn’t flinch. Good. I suck gently, then harder, nipping, dragging my tongue across to the other. I kiss my way down—sternum, ribs, stomach. Lick the V lines at his hips.
“No trauma to the torso,” I mutter with mock professionalism. “Extremely well-developed musculature. Possibly an active lifestyle before death.”
I press a kiss to his lower belly. He twitches beneath me. Still, he says nothing. Still playing dead.
I shift lower.
His cock is semi-hard now, glistening with the last of his release. I wrap my fingers around it, slow strokes from base to tip. My tongue follows. I lick along the underside, tracing the vein, then swirl around the head.
His hips don’t move. But his cock pulses in my hand.
“Hmm,” I murmur, letting my breath ghost over the head. “Signs of arousal. Postmortem reflex, or...”
I take him in my mouth.
Deep, slow. My tongue flattens beneath him. I slide down until I gag, then pull back, saliva slicking his length. I suck again, harder, bobbing my head while my fingers massage his balls, rolling them with slow reverence. A bead of precum appears.
I lick it off.
“Delicious,” I whisper.
I jerk him now, hand tight, mouth teasing. The sound is obscene—wet slurps and low hums, my moans vibrating against his cock. He stays still, barely breathing, every muscle tight.
“You’re doing so well for a corpse,” I tease, nuzzling his thigh.
I climb back up.
Straddle him.
Line myself up and slide down slowly—my soaked cunt enveloping him inch by inch. The stretch burns, the fullness perfect.
He still doesn’t move.
I start riding.
Slow, grinding circles, hips rolling as I use him. I run my hands over his chest, up my own body, gripping my breasts, arching my back. The mirrors show everything: me fucking his still body, using his cock for my pleasure.
And then—
His hands shoot up.
grip my hips like a vise.
He thrusts up violently.
I scream.
He’s alive again. Awake. A man reborn.
“You like playing with corpses, Leona?” he growls, flipping me in one smooth motion. My back hits the mattress, legs spread around him as he drives into me.
“No, just you,” I reply.
“Then you’ll love what the dead can do.”
He fucks me hard, punishing thrusts that knock the breath from my lungs. He bites my neck, drags my wrists above my head, pins them.
“You think you’re in control?”
“I was,” I pant.
“Not anymore.”
The door creaks.
I hear heels. Then silk. Then laughter.
“We had to come,” Genevieve purrs from the doorway, her voice silken and dripping with mischief. “CCTV doesn’t do this justice.”
Lucius stands beside her, his hands in his pockets, eyes dark and unapologetically hungry.
Marcus doesn’t pause.
He drives into me harder, deeper, gritting his teeth as if their presence only fuels him. His grip on my hips is bruising. Possessive. As if he needs to remind them—and me—that I’m his.
Genevieve moves toward the bed like a goddess entering a temple.
She’s in a different dress from before. Her body—a perfect hourglass draped in a gown of shimmering pearl—glows in the low light.
Her hips sway with power. Her breasts, full and high, press against the plunging neckline.
Her skin is golden, unblemished, glistening as if oiled.
I see it all in the mirrors. Her. Me. Marcus fucking me like he’ll never stop.
Lucius chuckles, voice low and dry. “It’s like walking in on royalty.”
Genevieve stops at the edge of the bed. She watches Marcus fuck me for a moment—the way my mouth falls open, the way my legs shake with every thrust.
Then she leans forward.
Her fingers trail down my arm. They glide over my breast. She cups it, thumb brushing my nipple until it peaks again under her touch.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs, then looks to Marcus with a sly smile. “She doesn’t mind. Do you, pet?”
I moan in answer, overwhelmed by Marcus’s cock pounding into me and the sensual electricity of Genevieve’s touch.
Lucius begins to unbutton his shirt.
From the mirror, I watch it fall to the floor. Then his belt. His pants. He steps out of them like a man walking into war, confident and calm.
Genevieve peels her gown down slowly, revealing a body that could destroy empires. Wide hips. Smooth thighs. A waist made for worship. Her breasts bounce free and heavy as she steps out of the fabric, completely bare.
Lucius kisses her.
Not gentle. Not restrained.
He grabs her face with both hands and devours her mouth, tongue plunging between her lips. Her body melts into his, I can see it all from the mirrors: the power, the hunger, the decadence.
Then they climb the bed.
Marcus is still buried inside me, unrelenting, and I cry out as another wave builds. But now there are four bodies on this bed.
Genevieve lies beside me, facing me, her breasts rising and falling with every pant. Lucius parts her thighs. Her pussy is slick. He groans at the sight.
“Always so ready for me,” he murmurs.
He lowers his head between her legs.
Genevieve gasps, hand flying to his head, fingers twisting into his dark hair.
His tongue licks up her slit, then circles her clit slowly—once, twice, three times.
She whimpers.
Then—
Genevieve reaches for me. Her hand touches my hip first, then drifts upward along my side, fingers grazing the underside of my breast. She takes my hand in hers and guides it between her own full, perfect tits, placing my palm over one nipple.
"Touch me," she murmurs.
Her skin is soft and impossibly warm. I roll her nipple between my fingers, and she moans as Lucius devours her between the legs, his mouth working in slow, delicious circles over her clit.
Marcus growls above me—a low, rumbling sound in his chest. He pulls out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making me whimper.
But then he's sliding down my body.
“Don’t think you’re done yet,” he says against my thigh.
He spreads my legs wider. Bends them back.
And buries his mouth in my cunt.
I gasp, my head slamming back into the pillow.
He eats me like a man starved. Like I’m his final meal.
I writhe beneath him, hands grasping the sheets, my body arching. I hear Genevieve moan beside me, her thighs tightening around Lucius's head. But I can't focus on her.
Marcus devours me like he wants to ruin me.
His tongue circles my clit. Then he flattens it and drags it slow and wide from entrance to clit again. My legs quake. I feel the orgasm building fast, tight and screaming.
“Marcus,” I pant.
His grip on my thighs tightens.
He groans into me.
And then—I come undone.
My body locks, spine arching, scream caught in my throat as my release crashes through me like lightning. It burns, it throbs, it floods me.
He keeps licking until I twitch, until my body is too sensitive to bear even one more stroke.
He finally lifts his head, his mouth and chin glistening with me.
He moves beside me, resting on one elbow, watching as Lucius makes Genevieve squirm.
Genevieve turns her face toward me, her lips parted.
“That sounded... divine,” she says, still breathless.
She takes my hand again and guides it to her chest.
“Touch me again. Like before.”
My fingers slide over her skin, playing with her nipples while Lucius continues to feast between her legs. Her moans turn ragged, her hips starting to buck, but she doesn’t let go of me.
Tonight has been about cementing our place at the pinnacle of Port Hollow's dark hierarchy. About making it clear that Marcus Drake and his queen are untouchable, unbreakable.
Tomorrow, we'll remind everyone why that's not just symbolism but deadly fact.
Through the mirror, I catch a glimpse of us as I pant—two predators entwined in the aftermath of one hunt, joined by guests and already anticipating the next.
Port Hollow has no idea what's coming.