9. Chloe
A s expected, I got very little sleep that night, despite the large, bouncy bed being the most comfortable I’ve ever slept in. I tossed and turned, throwing the sheets off every few minutes in a feeble attempt to cool down my scorching skin.
Watching Marcus stroke his hard cock as he talked about me was one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen. His dirty words dripped off his tongue like liquid lava, and my body responded in a way I never expected.
My nerve endings sizzled like they were crackling with nervous energy. I was heating up from the inside out, fire bubbling beneath the surface, desperate to burn free.
Don’t even get me started on how wet my knickers were. Watching my very own live sex show had me wetter than I’d been in a long time, but when he opened his mouth, I was dripping for him.
My thighs are probably red raw from how hard I ground them together, squirming to try and alleviate just a little bit of the maddening ache.
It didn’t take long after Marcus left for me to slide my fingers between my folds, and it took even less time for me to bite down on my lip, desperately trying to swallow the cries of pleasure that threatened to break free as I fell apart. I don’t think I’ve ever come so quickly or easily. I barely touched myself.
The problem was…even after having a toe-curling orgasm, my body was still on fire. My core ached and my pussy throbbed, like it was missing something, and I knew exactly what that was.
I was so close to walking out of my room, straight into Marcus’, and begging him to fuck me.
If he wasn’t demanding to know my secret, I would’ve begged him in a heartbeat. He wants me to trust him, and I think I do, but telling him my darkest, most shameful secret has nothing to do with trust. Some things are better kept in the dark, and this is one of them.
All those fucking amazing things he said about me, the way he made me feel like a beautiful, powerful Queen, it will all be diminished to nothing if he were to find out about the skeletons in my closet.
As much as it pains me, and no matter how much my pussy aches for him, he won’t change my mind.
Instead, I’ll have to spend the rest of my time here tossing and turning, rubbing my clit until it’s sore and sensitive, imagining it’s him. It’s nowhere near as good as the real thing, but it’s all I have right now.
I’m going to hold out the tiniest bit of hope that Marcus caves first, and that he’s so overcome with the need to touch me, he forgets all about his stupid request.
So, as I laid there in the early hours of the morning, in a sleep-deprived haze, I came up with a plan.
I need him to break his own rules and touch me, without me having to tell him my secret.
All I need to do is entice him enough that he can’t help himself. I need to make myself appear as sexy and as unavailable as I can, and hopefully that will drive him wild, the way he does to me.
With a plan in place, I finally manage to get a couple of hours of sleep, and it’s just after half past seven when I find myself wide awake again. I still feel oddly uncomfortable in my own skin.
It’s like I’m at war with myself… Part of my brain is focused on all the negative self-hatred that’s been consuming me for well over a year now, whereas there’s a nagging pit in my stomach that keeps replaying all the fucking amazing things that Marcus said about me, remembering all the ways he made me feel beautiful and special.
He’s not the sort of guy to just say things, so I have no doubt he meant every word. But believing them is something else altogether.
I get the feeling Marcus isn’t one to let the subject go until he’s sure every word has sunk deep into my marrow, until it’s so intrinsically a part of me that I have no choice but to believe them. I don’t know if that’s a relief or absolutely terrifying.
I’ve hidden behind my shame and self-loathing for so long, I can barely remember who I was before. But maybe I don’t need to remember who I used to be, and after all this time, I can focus on finding out who I am now.
With the thoughts running through my brain so much that I feel weighed down, and my flesh still tingling and unsatisfied, I pull myself out of bed with a groan. Sleep is long gone, so I may as well find some coffee.
After using the en-suite, I pull on some sweatpants, as I don’t think I can walk around Marcus’ flat in just the baggy T-shirt I usually sleep in. I pull my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, hoping that a bit of fresh air blowing around my neck will help cool me down.
Remembering Marcus’ tour the night before—focusing on his tour of the apartment rather than what happened afterwards—I head in the direction of the kitchen. I’m shocked to see the light is already on, and there’s someone sitting on a bar stool at the island in the middle of the room, but it’s not Marcus.
I freeze in the doorway, and the man drags his eyes from his phone to look at me, his smile growing as he sees me.
“Morning. Do you want some coffee?” he asks, pointing over to the coffee machine on the counter.
I quickly recognise Miles. He’s been part of Marcus’ security for as long as I can remember, and his friend for longer than that. We all went to the same school, but I was never close to him, and over the past few years, I’ve only ever seen him by Marcus’ side.
He’s usually perfectly put together in a suit with his dark hair slicked back, which is totally different to how he looks now.
When he stands, his black sweatpants are baggy and hang dangerously low on his hips. The tight white T-shirt clings to his chest, and is almost see-through enough for me to see the hard ridges of his clearly defined abs.
His dark hair, that is usually gelled back, hangs loose around his face, and is long enough to curl slightly at the ends. A few errant strands fall in front of his eyes, and he flicks them away without much thought.
He’s also wearing dark-rimmed reading glasses that I’ve never seen on him before, and I have to admit, they give off a very sexy geek vibe that is totally at odds with his usual look, but a lot more appealing.
When he gives me a small smile, a dimple appears on one cheek, softening his whole face. He looks so much younger than he normally does, his face rounder and more boyish than when he’s in professional mode, looking stern .
I smile back, but I’m still thrown at him being here instead of Marcus. “Erm, hi. Yes, please,” I stutter, grateful he’s offering to make the coffee, as the machine looks complicated.
As he walks over and begins operating the machine, he talks to me over his shoulder. “I know you know who I am, and that we went to school together, but I’m going to formally introduce myself. I’m Miles, Marcus’ Head of Security, and his best friend.”
He turns to me, his cheeky smile growing as he hands me a steaming hot mug of coffee. It looks to be made just the way I like it, which is weird as I don’t remember telling him that I take milk. I look up at him in confusion.
“Er, thanks. I’m Chloe.” I feel like an idiot stating the obvious, but Miles doesn’t seem to care. I can’t help but ask, “How did you know how I take my coffee?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m observant,” is his only reply, which is far too cryptic for me. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks, distracting me before I can get him to elaborate.
“Not too bad. The bed is lovely,” I admit, taking a sip of the coffee that is exactly how I like it.
“You can sit down, if you’d like,” Miles says, pointing to the bar stools on the opposite side of the island.
With a grateful nod, I move around to the stool, placing my coffee on the island before I jump up—it’s harder than I expected since I’m short. Miles chuckles as he watches my effort, and when I shoot him a glare, he covers his face with his hand.
I’m about to say something when a deep voice from the corridor interrupts us both. “Morning.” Marcus’ sounds deep and gravelly, thanks to sleep, and it makes my core clench.
How the fuck does this guy have the ability to make me squirm with just one word?
Both me and Miles say good morning back, and without another word, Miles jumps off his stool and moves over to the coffee machine. He also grabs a loaf of bread from the bread-bin and takes it over to the toaster.
I’m watching what Miles’ doing, so I feel Marcus take the stool beside me before I see him out of the corner of my eye.
His body gives off a warmth that heats up my side, and when his arm swipes across mine, goosebumps erupt across the flesh, right the way down to my fingers.
“Would you like some toast too, Chloe?” Miles shouts, his back to me as he places some bread in the toaster.
“Yes, please.” Fuck, I hate how squeaky I sound, but I can’t help being affected by Marcus’ proximity .
I concentrate on my breathing, trying to get my racing heart to slow down, but he blows any chance of that happening when he leans closer to me. His breath tickles my cheek, and it’s almost like I can feel the ghost of his lips touching the bottom of my ear.
I freeze, scared to move in case he actually plans to put his lips on my skin. I try to ignore the shivers that ripple down my spine as each breath he takes feathers over my cheek. My grip on the coffee mug tightens, it’s a miracle the damn thing hasn’t cracked.
“If you keep staring at him like that, I’m going to be forced to kill my best friend, and I’d really hate to do that,” he growls, his words barely above a whisper, so that only I can hear.
I turn to face him, my eyes comically wide, as I can’t quite believe what the hell he just said. “What?!”
The corner of his lip tips up into that signature smirk that both infuriates me and turns me on. “I much prefer your eyes on me.”
I shake my head. I’m so fucking confused, I don’t know what the hell to say. “I-I wasn’t… Not like…”
Before I can tell him I wasn’t looking at Miles, and even if I were, it wasn’t in the way he thinks, he cuts me off. “It doesn't matter how you were looking at him. I want to be the only guy you look at.”
I roll my eyes. “Possessive much?” I snark, and that fucking smirk of his grows.
“I’m very fucking possessive, Mio. While you’re here with me, you are mine. Remember that,” he growls.
There’s that fucking word again. I’m going to ask him about it, but the rest of his words soon force all other thoughts from my head.
“I thought I was here as a deal to help you with Jake? The bet was just a cover so you could meet your end of the bargain.”
He lets out a dark, humourless chuckle. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, that’s fine. We both know you’re here because you want to be mine. I’m willing to wait until you’re ready to admit that. But, in the meantime, I won’t accept you looking at other men.”
My mouth flops open, and I have no idea what the hell to say to that. Luckily, Miles interrupts us by placing down a plate filled with buttered toast, glaring at his best friend as he does.
“Stop being an arsehole. We were only talking. I was being polite and making her feel welcome.”
Both men stare at each other, neither one wanting to break away first. For a few seconds, it looks almost like they’re having a silent conversation with each other. One born out of years of friendship and understanding one another .
Miles is the first to look away, and I’m not surprised—Marcus is a stubborn fucker, who no doubt hates to lose.
“Help yourself to some toast, Chloe,” Miles says to me, before turning back to his friend. “I’m going to get ready. We need to leave for the meeting in half an hour.”
Miles doesn’t wait for Marcus to respond. He grabs a slice of toast and walks off in the direction of his room. Although Marcus said it was his on the tour last night, he didn’t say he lived here.
“Does Miles live here?” I ask.
“Some of the time. He has his own flat, but he spends a lot of his time here. He’s the only member of my security that I allow in the apartment, the rest guard me from in the hall or outside of the building.
“If the threat level is high, Miles will generally stay with me. Often he stays because he can’t be arsed to go home, or because he wants company. We’ve been friends forever, and he’s worked for me for so long, we just go with the flow. He’s welcome here anytime. Is that a problem?”
I contemplate that for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder what Marcus would do if I said it was. “No, he’s always seemed like a nice guy,” I admit.
Although Marcus scowls, he nods his head in agreement. “He’s the best.”
Silence stretches between us as we both eat our toast and drink our coffee. I’m acutely aware of every movement he makes, and each time his arm catches mine, or his knee brushes against my leg. I’ve never been so conscious of another person before.
After a while, the silence becomes deafening, and the building tension grows to the point I have to talk. “So, you have a meeting today? Erm… What do you need me to do?”
We’ve never really spoken about what I’m supposed to do while I’m here. In fact, we haven’t really talked at all. There wasn’t exactly a job description for what ‘belonging to him’ entails.
Marcus’ brow furrows and the confusion on his face is evident. “What do you mean?”
I let out an annoyed huff. “Well, when you brought me here, you didn’t exactly give me instructions of what you want me to do while I’m here. I know I’m supposed to help you get Jacob on the straight and narrow—which I still think is a bloody impossible task—but other than that, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do for you while I’m here. What does belonging to you entail?”
Marcus lets out a chuckle, and I shake my head at the emotional whiplash I get around this guy. “You’re not one of my employees, Chloe. The whole reason you wanted to get away from your family and the arranged marriage was so that you could figure out who you are… That includes finding out what it is you’re passionate about. What did you do at home during the day?”
My cheeks begin to heat, and I’m sure they’re turning bright pink. “Honestly, I did whatever my parents told me to do. I attended social functions, with the intention of getting our family name out there, particularly charity events.
“Mother drags me shopping a lot, and then I do very stereotypical things like spa days, manicures, beauty treatments, trips to the hairdresser…things like that.”
“Why do I get the impression you hate all of those things?”
I let out a humourless laugh. “Because I do hate them. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to have a massage or a manicure every so often, as a relaxing treat, but that’s not what this was. Even going to the gym wasn’t about me enjoying myself, it was always about the end result. Everything I was forced into had the end goal in mind—the creation of the perfect society wife.”
“So you don’t have any hobbies or things you like to do for fun?” he asks, sounding exasperated.
I shake my head. “Nope. Everything has been to make me better wife material. I took piano lessons so I was more cultured. I speak Latin, which I’ll never fucking use, but it gives me an edge over women who can’t speak it.
“I took etiquette lessons to learn how to be the perfect woman, and still attend once a week to make sure my habits don’t slip.
“Together with my mother, we run two charities, but with the exception of planning the fundraising galas and balls, I have no idea what our charities do. There’s not a single thing in my calendar that I chose for myself.”
I don’t know whether Marcus looks more shocked or angry, he’s always so reserved with his emotions. I only catch glimpses of them, and they’re gone so quickly, it’s nearly impossible to get a read on him.
“Well, you can use your time here to do exactly what you want to do. If you want to go to the gym or swim, we have the facilities here, but you can go on your own terms, not because someone is telling you that you have to.
“Other than that, I suggest you think about what you actually enjoy doing. You’ve spent your whole life with other people’s voices filling your head, telling you what to do. When all the other voices are silenced, you can finally listen to what yours is trying to tell you. Find what it is you’re passionate about, and grab the opportunity with both hands.”
“Okay,” I reply, not really sure what else to say.
“Just do me one favour,” he asks, and I look up at him, giving him my full attention. “Stay in the flat, just for today. I haven’t had a chance to sort out security for you, or to even discuss that with you. We can talk when I get back, but just for today, please, stay inside.”
It might be the first time he’s ever said the word please , and so I agree, even though I want to argue with him about the security issue. I agreed to move here to be free, not to have a whole new set of staff follow me around. But we won’t have time for that argument right now, so I bite my tongue…for now.
“Thanks,” he says with a small smile, clearly being able to see how much I want to fight him on this. “Just spend the day getting to know the real Chloe. Forget about all the shit your parents have forced you to do, or the person they’ve made you become. While you’re here with me, you can be whoever you want to be. You just have to take the time to search for her.”
I let Marcus’ words sit with me for a bit, hating how right he is. I haven’t heard my own voice in a very long time. I’ve just been going through the motions, doing as I’m told, almost on autopilot. That’s why my life has started to feel like a monotonous drone, as I’m not doing anything for me.
Now I can change that… As thrilling as the idea is, it’s also terrifying. I’m not even sure who I am without the person I pretend to be for my family, so tapping into that is bloody scary.
Marcus and Miles leave for their meeting, and I sit at the stool in the kitchen for a long time, just looking around at everything. I marvel at all the modern utensils and equipment that Marcus has, which seems totally out of character for him.
I don’t know why, I just don’t see Marcus standing here in his modern, fully kitted out kitchen, doing something as menial as cooking.
Yet, it’s an image that I can’t get out of my head.
Marcus dressed in his low slung grey sweatpants, cooking me breakfast with that cocky smirk that shows me he’s aware I’m not just drooling over the delicious cooking smells.
Fuelled by the bizarre image, I find myself wandering around the kitchen, pulling cupboards open and looking at all the different things inside. I’m half way along when I find a stand mixer that looks almost brand new, and for the first time in a long time, I hear the voice Marcus told me to listen to.
A memory from so long ago hits me, and a lump in my throat forms because I’d almost forgotten this.
When I was about eight-years-old, whenever I’d visit my Momma—my dad’s mum—we would bake together. No matter how many members of staff she had to help her, when it came to the kitchen, that was all Momma.
She would bake her own bread early in the morning, usually before everyone else had woken up, so from the moment we opened our eyes, that smell of freshly baked bread filled the house.
She would cut me a still-warm slice and add some butter, telling me all about how much better things taste when you make it yourself.
Although she was a great cook, and could make just about anything she tried her hand at, baking was her passion. She would bake cakes, desserts, pies, anything she fancied that day, and they would always turn out better than the pictures in the recipe books.
Every time I stayed at her house, she would fetch a little step so I was tall enough to stand next to the counter with her, and I’d help with whatever cake she was making that day. I’d watch in amazement as we mixed the ingredients together until they formed the smooth, creamy batter.
She’d laugh whenever she caught me sticking my finger in the bowl, so I could taste the batter without her knowing. And even though she’d tell me off, once the cake was in the oven, she’d always give me a spoon, so I could eat whatever mix was left in the bowl.
I’d stare at the oven, watching with amazement as the thing we created together started to harden and grow, until it finally took the shape of a cake. Not many little girls would sit there for almost an hour watching cakes rise in the oven, but I was mesmerised.
The thing I loved most was watching her transform the almost boring-looking cake into a masterpiece. How had I forgotten that my Momma used to enjoy decorating cakes?
Every birthday, we would always have the most beautifully decorated cake, like it came from an expensive bakery, when really, Momma had just stayed up for hours making sure it was perfect.
She only made cakes for family and friends, for fun, and I used to love watching her mould the fondant into little designs.
I still remember her teaching me how to make roses, and I’d help her when she had lots to make for a flower cake she was doing for one of her friends.
I don’t recall ever being as happy as I was in the kitchen with her, and my heart breaks that until this moment, I’d forgotten all about it.
Momma died when I was nine-years-old, and I felt like a piece of me died with her. She was the first person I had really lost, and I’d never really known grief before, but even at a young age, I knew the pain I felt wasn’t one that’d ever go away. It may diminish until things are easier and memories are more distant, but it never goes away.
Nobody else in the family liked to bake or cook. Mum definitely didn’t. She hates doing anything that might be considered manual labour, or beneath her. I don’t think we even own any baking equipment in our house.
We have a private chef who cooks all our meals for us, and I can’t remember the last time I was in our kitchen .
As thoughts of my Momma fill me, I look around Marcus’ pantry, smiling when I find exactly what I was looking for. I promised not to go outside, and I’d hate to break it so early on, but I would have done if he didn’t have everything that I needed.
Using the memory to guide me, I start baking a vanilla cake. I have no idea how I still remember the ingredients and the quantities off by heart, but I do. I get lost in the moment, and for the first time in forever, I follow my heart.
By the time Marcus comes home, he finds me right where he left me, in his kitchen, only the sight before him is very different. There are used pots and pans littering every surface, and I’m pretty sure I look like I’m in the middle of the war zone. I have flour all over me from where the bag exploded in a plume as I tried to open it.
But the smile on my face isn’t one that will be dimming any time soon. “I baked,” I state the obvious.
His lip tilts up, as does his eyebrow. “I can see that.”
I point to the baked goods on the island between us. “I baked some bread, and used the excess dough to make a couple of little bread rolls. Then I made a Victoria sponge cake with cream and jam… I had to use pre-made jam as we didn’t have the ingredients for me to make my own, but I can grab them another time, as it’s much better when you make your own.
“I then made these shortbread biscuits, and both the chocolate chip and white chocolate cookies. I’m quite pleased with how soft the cookies are. You can have one now, if you want, they’re probably still warm.
“Oh, I also made an apple crumble, but that’s got about another ten minutes left in the oven. It’ll be really nice with the custard I made,” I add, pointing over to the pan that’s sat on the stovetop with a lid covering it.
“So, you bake?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I nod my head enthusiastically. “When we’ve had the security talk, I’m going to look at hopefully taking some classes. I’d like to learn how to make celebration cakes.”
The smile on his face grows, and it’s not even a fraction of the one on my face. “It looks like you’ve found something you enjoy.”
“I used to bake with my Momma. I’d just forgotten all about it until you told me to forget all the shit with my family. I was looking around the kitchen, and when I found the mixer, it all came flooding back.
“She used to love making big celebration cakes for us, and she was great at it. She was teaching me everything she knew when she died. Nobody else in the family bakes, and I wasn’t allowed to take lessons as my mother said baking wasn’t a skill men valued in a high-society wife. I was told I’d have a chef and wouldn’t need to know how to do something as menial as cooking. ”
“I think your mum is very wrong on this one. Everyone knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I happen to love apple crumble,” he says with a wink, and my heart races.
“Well, you’re in for a treat then as I’m going to cook us a meal tonight too. It’s the least I can do to thank you,” I tell him, leaving no room for him to shoot me down.
I want to cook for him, and the idea of sitting down for a meal with him, almost like a date, sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
“You don’t have to thank me. I have very selfish reasons for helping you, and we both know that. Don’t forget, I’m the bad guy in this story. But I’m not going to say no to a home cooked meal.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and as he stares at me, his bright blue eyes darkening, I can see the dangerous side that he’s desperate for me not to forget.
The problem is, the more time I spend with him, the more I don’t care about that side of him. I like him, and the way my body responds to him scares the shit out of me. I have a feeling Marcus Morelli has the power to break me, and I just might let him.