Sebastian, Althea, and Bellamy could walk in right now, and I’d still make sure my girl came. Arousal is so fuckingbeautiful on her. The side of her face is smashed against the bed and I have the most perfect view of her profile. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are tightened.
I swivel my hips faster, fucking myself between the fabric of my boxer briefs, my shorts, and her sweet ass. I groan at the feel of her clenching, all hot and needy on my fingers. I rub her clit harder, adding more pressure, moving in tight, fast circles. Her nails scratch at the bed, but she doesn’t move away from her position. She keeps herself locked in place, twisting and shifting, but obedient all the same.
It makes me deliriously happy.
I come down over her back and lick the shell of her ear. “So sweet. Such a good, sweet girl for me.”
A shudder rolls through her, and her pussy clenches, holding my fingers in, refusing to let them go. I rub her front wall and press in on her clit. Her pussy is leaking all over my hand, soaking my fingers.
I can’t bear it. Not another second. If she doesn’t come right now?—
“Oh god. Oh hell. Oh fuck!”
And that’s when it hits me.
It’s her. It has to be. I pull back and stare down at her face when she comes. The way she moves and responds. Her sounds. The words she just said—they’re identical to the ones she said after I made her come the first time.
She comes all over my hand, tattered noises and strangled pleasure that nearly make me orgasm on the spot tumbling out of her. I watch with rapt attention, studying her in a way I haven’t until now. The moment she goes limp, the tension on her face relaxing, I pull my fingers from her cunt and put them straight into my mouth.
I tasted her cunt that night. I know what my girl tastes like.
It’s a revelation, and my throat closes around my gasp. She tastes like innocence and sin. Like temptation and ruination.
Exactly the way Ella did that night.
I may not have a ton of clear memories, but I remember how her pussy tastes. I remember how her face looked as I made her come. How she sounded when she moaned for me.
I use my other hand to unzip my shorts and pull my cock out.
Her eyes flash open, and she twists her head over her shoulder, but I shake my head, pull my fingers from my mouth, and reclaim her braid, stopping her as I give myself three firm jerks and come all over her ass and the back of her black shirt. Wordlessly, she arches so she can stare at my dick, which only makes me come harder with grunts and growls.
Maybe I’m going mad. Maybe it’s delusion and insanity and obsession. One night shouldn’t do me so hard. It shouldn’t lead to something like this.
But it’s her. I’d swear in front of a military tribunal to it.
All this time, I’ve ignored it and justified it away.
Rationalized its impossibility.
But no. Marcella is Ella. Ella is Marcella.
I slap her ass, jarring her forward. I do it again, and she tosses me a scowl over her shoulder. I stare down at her perfect profile. Her lovely lines. I’m fuming. Lost. Insane.
She’s painted in my cum, the sight erotic and beautiful, like her, and without a word—because I don’t think I’m capable at this moment—I head into my bathroom to retrieve a cloth while I tuck myself back in and zip up.
I take a moment to give my reflection awhat the fuckglare. By the time I return, she’s gone, and I lean against the doorframe, locked on the rumpled spot on the bed where she had been moments ago.
I don’t know what this means. I don’t know who she is or what she’s doing here. I don’t know if someone sent her or if she came on her own. I don’t know if this is about me or if she’shere to hurt my family. I don’t know how she got past the facial recognition or security.
Her accent is different. Her hair is different. Her eyes are different.
The rest is her.
Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do about it. And how to prove it.
19
MARCELLA
