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The wool dress was stripped roughly away, tossed onto the cold floor.

When my body was down to just the black lace lingerie exposed to the air, I pressed my thighs together instinctively, hand moving to cover the soft curve of my belly.

But Marcelo didn't give me a chance to hide.

He caught my wrists, pinning them to the cushions above my head, gaze dragging inch by inch over my full body. That look wasn't scrutiny. It was near-religious fervor.

"Perfect enough to drive me insane, Ruby."

He praised in that ruined voice, kisses scattering densely across my soft stomach, the tender flesh at my waist, his burning lips and tongue smoothing over every mark that used to make me hate myself.

His mouth moved lower, teeth catching the lace edge of my panties. He looked up at me through dark lashes, voice a filthy rasp. "I'm going to taste every inch of you."

He dragged the lace down slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine the whole time. When the fabric cleared my thighs, he spread my legs apart with rough hands, settling his broad shoulders between them.

"Marcelo—" My voice broke on his name.

"Say it again." He bit the inside of my thigh, just hard enough to sting. "Say my name when I make you come."

His mouth found me then, hot and demanding. I gasped, fingers tangling desperately in his silver hair. He worked me with the same ruthless focus he brought to everything, tongue stroking in maddening rhythm until I was shaking, thighs trembling against his shoulders.

"That's it, baby." His voice vibrated against my skin. "Let me hear you."

When I shattered, his name tore from my throat—raw, desperate. He didn't stop, pushing me higher until I was sobbing with oversensitivity, trying weakly to push his head away.

He rose over me, mouth glistening, eyes predatory. "We're not done."

He stripped off his sweater in one motion. Firelight from the street caught the hard planes of his chest, the dark ink across his ribs—family crests and violence written on his skin. His belt buckle clinked open. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself.

"Look at me." He gripped my jaw, forcing my eyes to his. "You're mine, Ruby. Say it."

"Yours," I breathed.

He thrust into me in one brutal stroke. I cried out, nails raking down his back. He was thick, stretching me to the edge of pain. He held still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

"Fuck, you feel perfect." He pulled back slowly, then slammed in again. "So goddamn perfect."

He set a punishing pace, each thrust driving me deeper into the couch cushions. His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make me whimper.

"You scared of me, baby?" He bit my earlobe, voice dark with possession. "Scared of what I do? What I am?"

"No—" I gasped as he hit something inside me that made my vision white out.

"Liar." He drove in harder. "You should be scared. But you're still here, letting me fuck you on this cheap couch in your shitty apartment. You know why?"

I couldn't answer, couldn't think past the relentless rhythm.

"Because you need this." His thumb pressed down on my clit. "Need me to make you forget everything else. Every cruel word your mother said. Every doubt in that pretty head."

"Yes—God, yes—"

"That's my girl." He hauled me up suddenly, hands gripping my ass, still buried inside me. "Wrap your legs around me."

I obeyed mindlessly. He carried me off the couch, entered the bedroom, and kicked the door shut. He pressed me against the cold wall. The new angle sent him impossibly deeper. I whimpered, clutching his shoulders.

"Feel that?" He ground against me. "You take me so fucking well. Like you were made for my cock."

He fucked me against that wall with raw abandon, each thrust punctuated by my broken moans and the obscene slap of skin on skin. His mouth found my breast, teeth catching my nipple through the lace bra before yanking the cup down and sucking hard enough to bruise.