5. Marcus #2
I listen, my jaw clenched. My teeth grind together. She was trapped with Dorothy all those years.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Maisie shrugs.
"I didn't know how. And I thought... I thought maybe it was normal. That all mothers were like that."
My hand cups her face.
"It's not normal. What she did to you—what she's still trying to do—is abuse, Maisie."
She blinks rapidly, eyes shining.
"I know that now. Being here with you, I can see how different it is. You let me make my own choices. You don't try to control everything I do."
I almost laugh at that. She has no idea how much control I want. How much I'm restraining myself daily.
But there's a difference between healthy dominance within a relationship and Dorothy's emotional terrorism.
"I'm sorry you went through that."
"It's not your fault."
"I should have seen it. Should have protected you better."
Maisie shifts to straddle my lap, looking directly into my eyes.
"You're protecting me now. That's what matters."
I pull her down into a kiss that's less gentle than I intend. Pouring all my protective fury into it. She responds eagerly, grinding against me.
When we break apart, I need to lighten the mood before I lose control completely.
"I've been tracking your phone."
Maisie blinks.
"What?"
I pull out my phone, show her the app displaying her location as a green dot.
"I installed it the day after you moved in. I check it constantly. Need to know where you are, that you're safe."
I expected anger. Violation of privacy. At minimum, discomfort.
Instead, Maisie's eyes darken with interest.
"You've been watching where I go?"
"Yes."
"The whole time? Every day?"
"Yes."
Her breathing quickens.
"That's really hot."
Not the response I anticipated. She grinds against me harder, her arousal obvious.
"You're obsessed with me."
I grip her hips, holding her still.
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"No. It's exactly what I want."
Her hands slide up my chest.
"What else do you do?"
The question is breathless. Eager.
I decide to test how far this goes.
"I watch you sleep every morning before I leave for work. Stand there for at least ten minutes, just looking at you."
"What else?"
"I check your location constantly throughout the day. Every fifteen minutes at minimum."
Her pupils dilate.
"What else?"
"When we picked up your things from Dorothy's, I kept one of your shirts. The one you'd been sleeping in. It smelled like you."
She moans softly at that.
"What else?"
"I think about you constantly. Obsessively. During meetings, while I'm working, every spare moment. You consume my thoughts."
"What else?"
"I get irrationally angry when other men look at you. Want to mark you so obviously that everyone knows you're taken. Want to brand my name on your skin."
Maisie's breathing is ragged now, her hips moving against me despite my grip.
"Most women would find this disturbing."
She leans in, her lips brushing my ear.
"I'm not most women. And you're not doing anything I don't want. I like knowing you're thinking about me. Watching me. Being obsessed with me."
She bites my earlobe.
"It makes me feel wanted. Desired. Claimed."
The words break my restraint. I stand, lifting her with me. She wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom.
"You are claimed. Completely and utterly mine."
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'm yours, Marcus. Only yours."
We don't make it to the bedroom. I press her against the hallway wall, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss. Her shirt—my shirt—gets torn in my haste to remove it. The sound of fabric ripping just fuels us both.
Later, much later, we collapse into bed properly. Sweaty and satisfied and tangled together.
Around midnight, we're both drowsy. Lying facing each other, the villa quiet around us.
Maisie traces the tattoos on my chest lazily.
"Tell me about these."
I explain some of the meanings. The stories behind the ink. Most of them predate her, remnants of a younger version of myself.
She asks questions, genuinely interested. The intimacy of the moment is quiet and tender.
Eventually her questions become less frequent. Her touches slower. Her eyes drift closed mid-conversation.
I watch her fall asleep, that possessive satisfaction settling in my chest.
She's mine. Completely and utterly.
And I'm never letting her go.
An hour later, around one AM, I'm still awake.
Can't stop thinking about our earlier conversation. About my obsessive behavior and her positive reaction to it. How she finds my stalker tendencies romantic rather than disturbing.
Looking at Maisie sleeping beside me, I remember our established agreement.
She gave me permission explicitly. Said I could have her whenever I wanted. Awake or asleep.
My body responds to the thought.
I carefully move in the bed, positioning myself between her legs. She's deeply asleep, her breathing even and slow. I gently part her thighs, settling between them.
Take a moment just to look at her.
So trusting. So vulnerable. So completely mine.
My hands stroke her inner thighs lightly. Soft skin, still slightly sticky from earlier. She stirs but doesn't wake.
I lean down, press kisses to her stomach. Her hips. Working my way down slowly.
My mouth finds her pussy. Tongue sliding through her folds.
She's not wet yet. But as I lick and suck, patient and thorough, her body begins to respond. Small sounds escape her throat.
"Mmm..."
Her hips shift slightly, unconsciously pressing toward my mouth. Seeking more.
I continue the oral attention, focusing on her clit. Feel her growing slick under my tongue. Her breathing changes, becoming faster. Thighs trembling on either side of my head.
I slide two fingers inside her pussy while continuing to lick her clit. She clenches around my fingers.
"Mmm... Marcus..."
Hearing my name from her sleeping lips is intensely satisfying.
I work her higher, feeling her body respond even in sleep. Her back arches slightly. One of her hands moves, fingers tangling loosely in my hair.
The gesture of encouragement, even unconscious, fuels my desire.
When she's wet and ready, I position myself over her. My cock hard and aching. I guide myself to her entrance.
Push inside slowly, carefully.
She's tight and warm, her sleeping pussy gripping me. A louder moan escapes her.
"Ohh..."
Her eyes flutter but don't fully open. I still for a moment, watching her face. She settles back into deeper sleep.
I begin to move. Slow shallow thrusts at first, letting her body adjust. Then deeper, finding a steady rhythm.
Her body responds instinctively. Back arching. Hips lifting to meet me. All unconscious reactions that tell me she's enjoying this.
I increase my pace, thrusts becoming harder. One hand grips her hip. The other braced beside her head. I watch her face constantly—the flush on her cheeks, her parted lips, the way her brow furrows slightly in pleasure.
She's close to waking, I can tell. But not quite there yet. Suspended in that drowsy state between sleep and consciousness.
My orgasm builds, pleasure coiling in my spine. I bury myself deep.
"Fuck, Maisie?—"
Come inside her with a groan, my cock pulsing.
The sensation must penetrate her sleep because her eyes flutter open briefly. She smiles drowsily at me.
"Mmm... hi..."
Then her eyes drift closed again, falling back asleep immediately.
I carefully withdraw. Pull her into my arms. Both of us sleep finally, tangled together.
Exactly where we belong.