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Moving with an almost frantic energy, I close my eyes and suck on him fervently, leaving trails of saliva dripping down his length as I run my tongue along every inch. He cautiously guides himself into my mouth, and I eagerly take him in. "Baby, I'm going to come," he gasps.
"Come," I urge, continuing to tease and lick him. His groans grow louder, and his body tenses before a thick, salty liquid shoots out of him and onto me. It drips down my nipples, and I use my hand to spread it across my chest, reveling in the warm slickness against my swollen breasts. It's a marking of our passion, so different from the scars that mar my back.
Marco joins me on the floor, pulling me close by tangling his hand in my hair. He lifts my face to meet his gaze. "I will find out who did that to you and make them pay. And anyone who dares to hurt you will face my wrath. Because you're mine. Do you understand? Mine."
I bat my eyes, entirely under his spell. "Yours."
He nods, his strong arms pulling me close as we stand in the dimly lit room. The warmth of his body envelops me; I feel safe and cared for. Without a word, he leads me into the bathroom, where he presses me down gently and turns on the shower. He strips, and together, our movements are fluid and natural. The warm water cascades over us as he tenderly washes my body, and I return the gesture. There is intimacy and comfort in our silence, an unspoken understanding between us.
Once we are dry and dressed again, he pulls me back into his embrace, his height dwarfing mine, but his strength more than enough to hold me up effortlessly. "I'll see you later," he murmurs softly before gently kissing my forehead. "And tonight, you sleep with me."
There is no room for argument or hesitation in his command. I stand in the middle of the room, wrapped in a towel with my hair still damp from the shower. But despite my physical state, I can't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through my veins, fueled by the primal scent of sex and longing lingering in the air. A mischievous grin spreads across my lips as I realize that I am willingly succumbing to temptation—sleeping with the enemy while betrothed to another. And yet, I can't deny the thrill it sends through me. Trouble has never felt so enticing.
Chapter Eight
Marco
As I step out of Pia's room, the authoritative tone of Don Melchor's voice cuts through the mansion, pulling me back to the reality I momentarily escaped. Darrel emerges from where he was concealed, his presence a stark reminder of the world beyond that door.
"Jefe, there's an issue. The Mendozas are aware their daughter is here, and they've sent a message," he reports, his expression unreadable save for the slight furrowing of his brows, a rare display of concern from him.
"What am I walking into?" I inquire, taking a moment to adjust my belt. The trace of Pia's touch is still vivid against my skin.
Darrel's gaze sharpens, mirroring the gravity of the situation. "One of the Águilas Nocturnas has been captured. Their head…" His voice trails off, the implication clear and ominous.
My hands clench into fists at my sides, a surge of protectiveness and fury coursing through me. "How?" I demand, seeking details yet dreading the answer.
"Señor Marco, the specifics are still unclear," he admits, his tone apologetic.
With a nod, I lead the charge down the stairs, the commotion from Don Melchor growing louder with each step. Entering the study, I am greeted by a tense scene: Joshua, Don Melchor, and two unfamiliar men, the air thick with unspoken threats.
"Leave us," I command, my patience wearing thin. Yet, when they remain seated, my temper flares, the demand sharpening. "Are you all deaf? Leave us!"
Joshua rises, a silent acknowledgment of my authority, but the others hesitate, provoking an instinctive reaction from me. I move quickly, hauling the nearest man up by his collar. Towering over him, my height adding to my threat, I repeat, "Did you not hear me?"
Don Melchor intervenes, his actions swift as he positions himself to defuse the escalating clash. My focus narrows on the man before me, every muscle coiled and ready, the anger an evident force seeking an outlet. The room is charged with volatile energy, a precarious balance of power and allegiance teetering on the brink.
Don Melchor's hand lands firmly on my shoulder, but my unyielding focus remains on the man I've just dragged up. "What is it?" I growl, the question more a warning than an inquiry.
"This is Miss Mendoza's brother, Gerald Mendoza," Don Melchor informs me. I detect a smirk on the man's face as if his relation to Pia grants him immunity from my wrath. He embodies everything responsible for Pia's pain, yet here I am, needing to check my impulses for her sake.
Releasing him, I scrutinize Gerald Mendoza. "So, you're Pia's brother." My tone leaves no room for doubt, even as I barely acknowledge the familial resemblance.
Don Melchor clarifies, "Yes, Gerald was sent by their father." Gerald and I lock in a standoff, his defiance clear despite my towering presence.
"So," I begin, ice lacing my words. "What purpose does your visit serve?" My stance is aggressive, the physicality of my anger barely contained within the confines of my shirt.
Gerald meets my gaze with equal measure. "I'm here to collect my sister."
"Collect?" The word tastes bitter. "She's not a possession. She's a person capable of making her own decisions. Even here, that has to count for something."
His glare sharpens. "I don't care who you are. My sister comes back with me, one way or another."
The mere suggestion of the possibility of him harming Pia ignites a fury within me I struggle to control. I'm on the verge of striking him when Joshua and Viktor intervene, dragging Gerald away before I can land a blow.
"What the fuck?" I explode at them, the frustration of being denied my retribution boiling over.
Viktor meets my eye, a silent reminder that larger games are at play and immediate satisfaction isn't always possible passing between us.
