But he’s already moving over me, our bodies aligning perfectly. Skin on skin, the friction of his cock sliding against mine—I need more, need to be inside him, need to move. I twist beneath him, trying to flip us, get him under me where I can take what I want, but his weight pins me flat.
We wrestle for position, a tangle of limbs and harsh breathing. Marco is stronger, but I’m quicker, and for a heartbeat I think I have him. Then he reaches toward the bedside table, fingers finding the drawer handle.
“What are you doing?” The words come out breathless as I try again to reverse our positions.
He produces two lengths of white silk—ties from his expensive robes, the fabric soft as water between his fingers. “Forcing you into submission.”
A groan escapes me, mostly for show.
“Sorry.” His grin is wicked, unrepentant. “Doctor’s orders.”
Before I can protest, he catches my wrists, drawing them up toward the ornate metal headboard. The silk whispers against my skin as he secures me to the frame, cinching the fabric into knots firm enough I can’t break free.
“Yes,” I drawl, testing the bonds. They hold. “This is exactly what Evander had in mind when he said I needed rest.”
Marco sits back on his heels, gaze dragging over every inch of me spread beneath him. Bound. Helpless. His. “There. Look at you, all laid out for me.” His voice drops low, rough. “Like a feast I get to devour, one perfect bite at a time.”
Fire assaults my cheeks, but I can’t look away from the hunger in his eyes. The way he’s studying every inch of my body like he’s memorizing it, like he wants to map each freckle with his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, fingers trailing gently down my ribs. “So fucking beautiful it makes me crazy.”
The silk restraints suddenly feel less like play and more like necessity. Because the way he’s looking at me, the reverence in his touch—it’s unbearable. Makes me want to grab him, claim him, mark him as mine until there’s no question who he belongs to.
But I can’t move. Can only lie here and let him worship me with hands and mouth, let him take me apart piece by careful piece.
Marco’s mouth trails fire down my chest, tongue flicking against my nipples until I’m gasping. He takes his time, painting hot, wet lines across my ribs where the bruising has finally started to fade. Each kiss sends sparks through me, makes my breath catch, my hips shift restlessly against the sheets.
When he reaches my navel, his tongue dips inside, and I buck against the restraints. The silk pulls taut around my wrists, biting just enough to remind me how completely I’m at his mercy.
“Easy,” he murmurs against my skin, breath hot against the trail of moisture he’s left behind.
My cock throbs between us, aching, demanding. When Marco finally reaches it, when his breath ghosts over the sensitive head, my vision tunnels. Everything narrows to that single point of almost-contact.
But his mouth doesn’t close over me. Instead, his tongue goes lower.
“Marco—”
Strong hands lift my legs like I weigh nothing, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position leaves me completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes my pulse hammer against my ribs.
“Don’t you trust me by now?” he whispers, and then his mouth is on the inside of my uninjured thigh, sucking bruises into the tender skin there.
His tongue traces lower, circling my entrance with maddening precision. The first touch is fire—unexpected—and I cry out before I can stop myself, praying Maria and Esme are too far away to hear.
“Shh,” Marco soothes, but there’s dark satisfaction in his voice. Then his tongue is back, circling again with deliberate slowness. Building pressure that has me straining against the silk bonds, desperate to bury my fingers in his hair and force him closer.
All I can do is writhe against the restraints as he works me open with his tongue, each stroke making me looser, more pliant. Wet heat and pressurein places that shouldn’t feel this good, that make my breath come in ragged gasps, that turn my bones to liquid.
My fingers itch to touch him, to anchor myself to something real as he buries his tongue deeper inside me. But the silk holds firm, leaves me helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore.
As if he can read my mind, anticipate my every need, his finger slides home easily alongside his tongue. White floods my vision, especially when he finds that spot inside me that shorts out every thought in my head.
“Fuck, yes—” The words tear from my throat.
“That’s it, birdie,” Marco murmurs against my thigh, adding another finger. His pace quickens, fucking into me with sure strokes that nail my prostate every time. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
The combination of his fingers and tongue reduces me to a moaning mess. Every nerve ending feels alive. The pain I’ve carried for months, the constant fear—it all melts away under Marco’s touch.
