I work my fingers deeper, stretching him open with quick, efficient movements. No finesse, just desperate need. A third finger and his whole body goes taut, breath hitching. My cock throbs, aching to replace my fingers. I line myself up, my oil-slicked cock finding the cleft of his ass.
I give him no warning. I drive into him in one smooth thrust, and Marco dissolves into a broken moan that vibrates through his entire body. He’s tight, so fucking tight around me that I have to bite down on my lip to keep from spilling immediately.
“See?” I breathe into his ear, rolling my hips and pressing that last impossible inch deeper. “My cock belongs inside you.”
My arm wraps around his waist, pulling him flush against me. Every inch of his back presses to my chest, my hips cradling his ass perfectly, letting me bury myself as deep as possible inside him.
My mouth finds his ear, sucking the sensitive lobe between my teeth. Marco shudders in my arms, pushing back against me with desperate little movements that drive me deeper.
“Fuck,” he breathes, reaching back to brush his fingers through my hair. “Birdie—”
I pull back slowly, then snap my hips forward, and his entire body arches. The sound he makes is obscene—raw and needy and completely wrecked. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
“That’s it,” I murmur against the shell of his ear, establishing a rhythm that has him trembling in my arms. “Let me hear you.”
And he does. Every thrust punches another desperate moan from his throat, each one higher and more broken than the last. His hand reaches between his legs, stroking himself in time with the snap of my hips.
His whole body thrashes in my arms. Frantic, frenzied. “Close,” he gasps. “I’m soclose—”
I angle my hips differently, searching, and when I find that spot inside him, Marco’s entire body goes rigid in my arms.
“There—” he chokes out. “Right there, fuck, don’t stop—”
I don’t. I drive into him again and again, nailing that spot with every thrust until his back bows, pressing impossibly tighter against my chest. His hand moves wildly over his cock, desperate, and I can feel the exact moment his orgasm hits—the way his body locks up, the way his ass clamps down around me so tight I can barely move.
He roars out my name—a declaration of devotion that I’ll treasure forever. Hot streams of his release coat his hand and stomach, spattering across the sheets beneath us. His body shudders, wave after wave, and I hold him through all of it, still buried deep inside him.
Even before the last tremors fade, Marco brings his cum-covered fingers to my mouth. The gesture is filthy, possessive, and I open eagerly, tongue swirling around each digit as I taste him. My teeth scrape along his knuckles as I suck his fingers clean. It pushes me over the edge I’ve been teetering on. Heat coils tight at the base of my spine, every muscle in my body tensing. My hips stutter against him, rhythm falling apart completely as my release builds—white-hot and inevitable and so intense I can’t breathe through it.
“Marco,” I groan around his fingers, biting down on his knuckles as the orgasm rips through me. The world fractures. Everything I am shatters as I spill inside him. I’m buried as deep as I can get, and for one perfect, devastating moment, there’s no separation between us. No Robin. No Marco. Just this—two broken people, fused together, remade into something neither of us was before.
My body goes slack against his, trembling with pleasant aftershocks. I stay inside him, my arm still wrapped tight around his waist. Marco turns his head, seeking my mouth, and I kiss him—slow and deep and tender. Nothing like the frantic passion of moments ago. This is softer. Sweeter.
He shifts, and I slip from him. The loss is profound, but then Marco rolls to face me, and his hands cup my face with such gentleness.
“Hi,” he whispers, dark eyes searching mine.
“Hi.” I lean into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm.
He pulls me closer until we’re tangled together—legs intertwined, his forehead resting against mine. Our breathing synchronizes, gradually slowing from ragged gasps to something calmer. His fingers trace idle patterns along my spine, and I let my hand drift through his hair, savoring the silky texture.
Marco’s thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “I love you,” he murmurs. “More than I thought possible to love anyone.”
“I love you too.” The words feel inadequate for the enormity of what I feel, but they’re all I have. “I love you,” I say again, as if I need to convince him. “I love you so much, Marco.”
“Forever, birdie,” he breathes. “Forever and ever.”
Chapter forty
Robin: Pound of Flesh
The dawn sky bleeds crimson above Victora, shadows stretching like dark fingers across the cobblestones. The early morning walk here was busier than usual. The streets are already filling—workers hauling massive screens into position on every corner, stringing up banners that snap in the morning breeze. Marco says most of the city will get the day off work for today’s grand finale. Later, every plaza will be packed, every tavern overflowing. The whole city will watch. One giant party.
We’ve been up for hours already. Before dawn, while Victora still slept, Marco and I helped Esme and Maria hide themselves within two massive carts piled high with Marco’s belongings—things he didn’t actually want to take, but useful for burying them in. Rugs, cushions, spare furniture. Enough to conceal two women determined to escape.
Because after this game, Marco is leaving first thing, whether I live or I die, to take Esme home.
I said my goodbyes to her in the dim pre-dawn light, promising to see her again. Something I’m not sure I can deliver. Then Marco arranged for the carts to be housed outside the city walls for the day, ready to escape the moment the closing ceremony finishes.
