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Marco rubs his thumb in tight circles around my clit, lifting one of my legs to his shoulder with the opposite arm and balancing on his knees. He has to yank me forward to get me to line up with him, and once he does, he rubs himself along my wetness, adding to it, working me with his fingers and his cock until I buck against him, dripping.
He stares down at me dark eyed, knowing exactly what he does to me, even though I’m wrapped too tightly to touch him. He twists his fingers around my clit again until the orgasm ricochets through me, coming quickly and all over both of us. When I’m done, when he makes sure I’m watching him, he lifts his hands to his mouth to clean his fingers with his tongue.
He tugs me again, rubbing the head of his cock against my cunt until I can’t take it anymore. Then, he slides inside fast enough to make me scream.
I fight against the bindings. I want to touch him. I want—
Every single thought leaves my head as he fucks me, hard and fast, my leg over his shoulder to avoid rubbing his wound.
But damn, the man moves like he hadn’t gotten shot hours ago, going faster with each thrust, not holding anything back. Fuck, but neither will I, not when lust and pleasure rocket through me. Not when the feeling of his girth stretches me from the inside out, his hardness branding my goddamn insides.
“Yes. Let’s see what you can do. Let’s see how loud you can scream for me,” he urges me on.
If this is some kind of punishment, it’s the best damn punishment of my life.
He leans forward, stretching me, keeping my legs above me so that I’m contained beneath him even when I come apart. He presses into me even deeper, close enough to steal a kiss. He drives into me, telling me what a good little dirty girl I am, how tight I am. I come around his cock a second before he thrusts in balls deep and pulses his own release into me.
“Look what you do to me, Lacey,” he whispers.
Except I can’t look, because I’m barely able to breathe. I have to learn how to keep my heartrate from going so sky high, it makes me dizzy. Then, Marco kisses me. I’m sweaty, covered in blood and ribbon, and I’ve never had a merrier night. Seeing his face light up brighter than the tree, I know, whether we’d actually taken down the syndicate or not.
We both won.
Epilogue
LACEY
Mrs. Folders made her special marzipan for this occasion.
I’d gotten used to the taste and the texture, although it took me a little bit to get there, having never tried marzipan before in my life. My mouth waters when I lift a piece to my lips. Wes watches every move with an eyebrow quirked, like he can’t possibly understand why I’m enjoying the treat.
“Because it’s good,” I say out loud, popping it between my lips.
“What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Folders holds a Christmas ornament between her thumb and index finger, a smooth globe in swirling colors of red and green, dangling it in front of Wes’ new baby girl while his wife bounces the child on her knee.
I glance over at Marco, seated close enough at my side for his body heat to seep into me, and I roll my eyes. This picture of familial bliss is a little crazy, and I want him to know exactly how I feel.
“It’s absolutely nothing,” he answers for me. “Lacey thinks she’s being funny, except she actually has no sense of humor.”
Mrs. Folders is only half paying attention to us anyway, too focused on the baby to mind the conversation around her. She’s got a handful of grandchildren of her own to spoil, but she’s carved out a few hours for us today, for this impromptu party before everyone goes their separate ways for the big day.
This year, the apartment is decked out in a dazzling display of decor, things I personally saw to myself. There’s a massive tree at the window where Marco fucked me the first time, strands of white and colored lights decorating each bow, along with ornaments from my childhood and his, things we’d both held on to for nostalgia alone and decided, at the same time, to share with the other.
Every available space is adorned with greenery, and there are bells on the door that jingle anytime someone goes in or out.
It’s a secret apartment no more, one I’ve been mostly living in these days. On the couch across from me, my mom sits sandwiched between a couple of other neighbors. She catches me watching her and offers a brief smile, one I return once I’ve swallowed the marzipan.
Not easy.
Nothing between us is easy.
It’s not like things are back to the way they used to be, either. They’ll never be that way again, but I like to think we’ve both come far enough for this to be new, for us all to want that new chapter rather than repairing and making like the past never existed.
I’d reached out to her a few months after the takedown, urged by Marco to start healing other areas of my past, because unlike him, I still had a mom, and my grievances were not large enough to keep holding onto the grudge as tightly as I did.
The first call ended poorly.
The second, a little better.
