He lets me keep it there, even if his neck flexes away from me, bulging veins in that too-strong, too-alluring neck that I want to run my tongue all over. “We don’t fuck anymore.”
“Mmm. Yeah, you said that.” My other hand runs up the chain to meet his tight, hot fingers. “Right when you let me fuck you on that balcony like I was the only thing in this world you wanted.”
There’s a tremble to his lashes as they settle closed. I let my head dip softly to the side, let my breath play on his cheek.
“It appears you have me in chains, sir.”
“So the guards can walk you home,” he says, voice calm. Factual.
“Because we don’t fuck anymore.”
“That’s right.”
I step back, my fingers finding the top button of my shirt. Marco’s eyes track the movement as I work it free, the small disc of bone slipping through worn fabric. His throat moves as he swallows.
The second button. Third. Each one deliberate, unhurried. Marco doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just watches with those dark, bottomless eyes. The lamplight catches the hollow of his throat, the slight parting of his lips.
Fourth button. Fifth. The shirt falls open, hanging loose from my shoulders. Cool air hits my chest, raises goosebumps across my skin, but Marco’s gaze burns hotter than any flame.
I shrug the fabric off completely. It pools at my feet between us, soft cotton against cold stone.
Marco raises an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting choice for walking through the city streets, but you do you.”
My hand moves to the waistband of my pants.
Marco stiffens the chain, stilling my movement. “Robin,” he warns.
So I step forward, slide my hand up his arm instead, rest it on his chest. Feel his heart hammering beneath my palm.
“You can’t touch me, Robin,” he says, breathless.
I slide my palm down, find his cock through the linen fabric. He’s already rock hard, straining against the cloth.
“Is that so?” I smirk.
Marco rattles the chain, wrapping it around his fist. “You can’t touch me,” he repeats.
I move back, run a finger over the length of my collar. The metal is warm from my skin, a perfect circle of possession around my throat. Bare-chested, collar gleaming, chain pulled tight to Marco’s fist. The way his eyes drink me in—like I’m something he owns, something he wants to devour—sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
I open my mouth and say, “That’s too bad, then, that we don’t fuck.” Eyes on his bulging cock, I add, “I hate to have to leave you like that…”
A mocking smile tilts his lips. “You think I need you?”
But I meet him head-on, eyes clear against his, and I tell him the plain truth. “I think you do need me.” And we both know I’m not just talking about sex.
I can see it in the darkness that pools in the blacks of his eyes. In the way his lip curls. “I don’t need you.”
“Really?” I take the liberty of kissing that hard, cool edge of his mouth. “Prove it.”
Marco’s control snaps. He groans, a sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest. “On your knees.” With the sharp growl of the words comes an even sharper pull on my chain, and I’m down on his cold floor in a second, begging for him, praying he’ll feed it to me.
But Marco only leans back against a table, widening his stance, and he places one bare foot on my shoulder, holding me down while his muscular arm flexes with his grip on my chain, pulling my head up to watch.
He brings his free hand to himself, his dark eyes boring into mine as he tugs at the fabric of his short tunic, freeing his magnificent cock. Thick andflushed, already glistening at the tip, framed by those enormous thighs that I’m desperate to sink my teeth into.
“Is this what you want so badly?” he rasps.
I lunge for it, but he kicks me back with his foot, ripping my neck to attention with his chain, the metal clinking against the floor. He brings his hand to his mouth, spits into his palm with deliberate slowness. The gesture is obscenely crude, and my own cock twitches, thickens,begs.
