My blood froze.
"He pinned you to the bed and fucked you rough," he breathed. "You cried out so loud. You trembled. Your expression was so utterly slutty. I'd never seen you like that."
"Stop!" I screamed.
His voice went hoarse. "That's when I knew my love was twisted. Five years of softness, five years of waiting—what a joke. You liked being forced? Fine. I can fucking do that too!"
"No!" I shook my head. "That's not— That's not what happened. Igor and I… I love him."
"You love him?" Marco laughed, a sound that made my skin crawl. "He abandoned you. He left you pregnant and alone in a foreign country. I took care of you and your child for five years. I deserve your love!"
"Love isn't a trade!" I cried. "You helped me, I was grateful, but that doesn't mean I have to love you!"
"Then I don't need your love." His eyes went cold. "If I can't have your heart, I'll have your body. I'll taste you."
"No!" Fear unlocked something in me, and I drove my knee up into his crotch.
He stepped aside fast, then used his weight to pin me to the sofa. He crushed me into the cushions until I could barely breathe.
"Let go! Help! Somebody?!" I screamed.
"No one will hear." He whispered in my ear, his voice like a snake. "This place is soundproof. At this hour, the neighbors aren't home."
His one hand clamped my wrists. The other began to grope.
"Don't touch me!" I bucked wildly, but the more I struggled, the tighter he held.
"You're a fucking cunt," he spat. "All this time you played innocent, played strong. Then that Russian comes back, and you spread your legs for him. What the hell are you acting so high and mighty for?"
"What are you talking about?" Tears blurred my vision. "How canyou say that?"
The gentle doctor I'd trusted like a brother was saying things he had no right to say.
"Because it's true." He grabbed me through my clothes and squeezed my breasts hard. "You think I didn't see how wet you got that night under him?"
"Please, Marco," I begged through sobs. "For the things we went through as kids, don't do this."
It did nothing. He covered my mouth.
"No—" I shook my head and clamped my lips, but he pinched my jaw so hard I had to open my mouth. His tongue plunged into my mouth. It was filthy and violent—nothing like Igor's kisses.
I bit down on his tongue with everything I had.
"Ah!" he howled and staggered back, blood filling his mouth.
Then his hand slapped across my face with such force my head snapped. Pain exploded across my cheek; a metallic taste flooded my mouth.
"Bitch!" He spat, wiping his mouth. "Trying to save your pussy for that Russian?"
My cheek burned, and tears blurred my sight. I kept fighting.
"Marco, snap out of it." I sobbed. "This isn't you."
"You don't know me." He went eerily calm. "You never did. You only saw the gentle doctor, the reliable friend. But Elena, did you ever wonder how dark I could be?"
He started undoing his belt.
"When I was eight, I watched my father get beaten to death." His movements were slow, practiced. "They beat him until he was dead in front of me. My mother begged, and they raped her in front of me."
