3. Marcus
MARCUS
Two days. Forty-eight fucking hours since I sent Maisie away with Dorothy, and every minute has been torture.
I grip the steering wheel of my Mercedes harder than necessary as I navigate toward Westbridge University. The late afternoon sun glints off the hood, but I barely notice. My mind is elsewhere—on the girl I'm about to reclaim.
The past two days have been a strategic nightmare wrapped in personal hell.
I sent Maisie with her mother to avoid an escalation I wasn't prepared for in that moment.
Dorothy was looking for any excuse to call the authorities, to make accusations that would complicate everything.
So I let her take Maisie, bought myself time to make a few calls.
My lawyer now has a file ready in case Dorothy tries anything legal.
My accountant has prepared documentation showing Maisie pays rent here—establishing her independent residence.
I've covered every angle, even calling a friend from the police.
But strategy doesn't ease the ache of absence.
My phone sits in the center console, screen dark now but I remember every text from her over the past forty-eight hours.
She's watching me constantly.
I can't get away.
I miss you.
That last one nearly broke my control. I wanted to drive to Dorothy's house, kick down the door, and take back what's mine. Instead, I waited. Planned. This morning I finally sent my own message: I'm picking you up from campus at 3 PM. Be ready. -M
Non-negotiable. A command, not a request.
The memory of that night—her virgin pussy clenching around my cock as I took what she'd offered—has played on loop in my mind.
The way she felt, tight and perfect around me.
The blood on my sheets proving I was her first. The knowledge that I marked her, claimed her completely before anyone else could.
Dark satisfaction curls through me at that thought. No college boy will ever know her the way I do. She gave me something she can never give again.
The idea of her with someone else—some fumbling twenty-year-old who wouldn't know how to handle her, who wouldn't appreciate what he had—makes my jaw clench. She's mine. I made sure of that.
I turn onto the main drive leading to Westbridge's campus. Gothic stone buildings rise against the afternoon sky, students moving between classes in clusters. I spot the main quad immediately—the expansive lawn surrounded by academic buildings where I told Maisie to wait.
And there she is.
Sitting on a stone bench near the fountain, her backpack beside her.
She's wearing a sundress—pale blue that shows off her legs—and her brunette hair catches the light.
Even from this distance, I can see the moment she spots my car.
Her entire body shifts, attention locking onto me with visible eagerness.
I pull up to the curb, parking in a spot that's technically for loading and unloading only. Don't give a fuck about the parking regulations. I'm not here for long.
Maisie stands, grabbing her backpack and moving toward the car. I watch every step—the way her dress moves around her thighs, the way her petite frame navigates through a couple of students who don't bother moving out of her way. She's beautiful. Young. Mine.
She reaches the passenger door and I lean over, pushing it open for her. She slides in, dropping her backpack in the back seat. The scent of her—something light and floral—fills the car immediately.
Before she can speak, before she can even settle properly, I reach out and grip the back of her neck.
Pull her toward me across the center console.
My mouth claims hers in a kiss that's pure possession—hard, demanding, making a statement even here in this public parking area where any of her classmates could walk by.
She melts into it immediately, her hands coming up to grip my shirt. When I finally release her, she's breathless, lips swollen, green eyes wide.
"I missed you too," she manages.
I put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. My right hand returns to the wheel while my left settles on her thigh—high enough to be possessive, firm enough that she feels the weight of my claim.
"My mother thinks she can control me." Maisie's voice has an edge of frustration. "She's been suffocating me for two days."
My hand flexes against her thigh. "You're not going back there."
"She threatened to call the police if I tried to leave. Said you were manipulating me, that I'm too young to make my own decisions." Maisie's tone carries anger mixed with exhaustion.
My jaw tightens. The urge to confront Dorothy directly rises sharp and immediate, but I force it down. "You're twenty years old. She has no legal authority over you."
"I know that. She doesn't seem to care." Maisie shifts in her seat, and my hand slides slightly higher on her thigh.
"She's been watching me constantly. Checked my phone twice.
Made me sleep in my old room with the door open.
It's been like being a teenager again, except worse because I know it's bullshit. "
The image of Dorothy trying to cage Maisie makes my blood heat with possessive anger. "Tell me you didn't let her get in your head."
Maisie's green eyes meet mine, steady despite everything. "I know what I want. And what I want is you."
Satisfaction rolls through me, dark and primal. My hand moves higher still, fingers brushing the hem of her dress. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go again."
The drive back to my villa takes twenty minutes through suburban streets that gradually give way to the gated communities where I live.
The entire time, my hand stays on her thigh—a constant reminder of ownership.
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't protest. Just leans back in her seat and lets me touch her.
When we finally reach my property, the gates swing open automatically. I pull into the circular drive, then into the attached garage. The door closes behind us with mechanical finality, and suddenly we're cocooned in private space.
I kill the engine but don't immediately move to get out. Instead, I turn to face Maisie fully, my gray eyes locking onto her green ones.
"When we go inside, I'm going to fuck you." The blunt statement makes her breath catch. "No interruptions this time. Understood?"
Her pupils dilate, lips parting slightly. "Yes."
Not enough. "I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want this."
Maisie's gaze doesn't waver. "I want this. I want you. I've wanted you since I was old enough to understand what wanting meant."
The confession hangs between us—raw, honest, impossibly arousing. I get out of the car, moving around to her door with deliberate control. When I open it, I extend my hand. She takes it, and I pull her from the passenger seat.
My grip is firm as I lead her into the house through the door connecting the garage to the mudroom. We pass through the kitchen, but I don't stop. Don't slow down. My focus is singular.
We barely make it into the hallway before my control fractures. I crowd Maisie against the wall, my larger body caging hers. My mouth claims hers in a bruising kiss—harder than in the car, more demanding. Her hands push at my shirt, wanting it off.
I pull back just enough to yank the fabric over my head, tossing it aside.
Maisie's hands immediately go to my bare chest, her fingers exploring the tattooed patterns covering my skin.
The intricate black ink that spreads across my pecs and down my arms. She traces the designs like she's memorizing them.
I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. "Not yet. I'm in charge here."
The command makes her whimper, her body arching against mine. Perfect submission mixed with clear desire. I keep her wrists pinned while my other hand grips her hip, pulling her harder against me so she feels exactly how much I want her.
Then I release her wrists only to scoop her up entirely—one arm behind her back, the other under her knees. She weighs nothing. I carry her through the villa toward my master bedroom, her arms wrapping around my neck for balance.
When we reach my room, I kick the door closed behind us with enough force that it slams. Set her down beside the massive bed that still carries memories of taking her virginity while she slept.
My hands go immediately to the hem of her sundress. "Take this off."
Maisie hesitates, a flicker of shyness crossing her face. "I?—"
I raise an eyebrow. "Maisie. Take off your dress."
She obeys, pulling the sundress over her head with trembling hands. Stands before me in just a bra and panties—simple white cotton that somehow makes her look even more innocent. Her arms instinctively move to cover herself.
I step closer, my hands gently but firmly pulling her arms away from her body. "Don't hide from me. I've already seen everything. Touched everything. Fucked you already."
The explicit reminder makes her flush pink from her cheeks down to her chest. "That was different. I was asleep."
My fingers trace her collarbone, sliding down between her breasts. "And now you're awake. Which means you get to feel everything I'm going to do to you."
I reach behind her, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. Slide the straps down her arms, baring her breasts. They're perfect—small, perky, with pink nipples that I know are sensitive. My gray eyes darken as I look at her. "Perfect."
I cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peak. Maisie's breath hitches, her body responding despite her embarrassment. My hands move to her panties, hooking my fingers in the waistband.
Slowly pull them down her legs. She steps out of them, now completely naked before me. My gaze rakes over every inch of her—the gentle curves of her waist, the flare of her hips, the triangle of dark hair between her legs. Clear possession and appreciation in every second of my assessment.