The rope's patterns made no sense to me. They crisscrossed all over, yet were slack around my wrists and ankles.
Marco circled me once more, surveying his work. Somehow, I felt more exposed to him like this, as if he unlocked something in my soul I wasn't aware of.
The hunger in his eyes made me feel like his prey, and I welcomed it. I was desperate for him.
He could do whatever he wished, take me however he wanted.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, as though we had all the time in the world.
I watched him, taking him in. With each button he released, he revealed more of his beautiful golden skin.
His tattoos swirled over his chest, circling each nipple, extending down his abs past his waist, stopping low at his hips. The full sleeves of tattoos he had ending at his wrists turned his glorious body into a full work of art.
Even though I'd seen them countless times, spent the past week with him breaking into my house, sleeping in my bed, fucking me in the morning, preparing and eating breakfast with me before he went off to whatever meeting he had for the day, I couldn't stop staring. I'd never grow tired of seeing him this way.
"Catalina," he called, and my eyes snapped to his. "I will take your anger, your sadness, every emotion you have. They're a part of you, and I want them all. However," his voice hardened, "the fact that you ever questioned what I think about you, that you said I'm treating you like a whore is not something I can accept."
"I—"
His eyes narrowed. "Thirty-one."
I bit my lip to keep from speaking.
"Since you clearly don't know the difference between me treating you like a whore or a queen, I'll show you." He sank to his knees and claimed my mouth forcefully.
His kiss was demanding, like a brand on my lips, and I craved it. I loved the harshness, his anger, his possessiveness. Loved how he bit my lip, invaded my mouth, took control of me.
When he pulled back, I was panting and ready for him.
He ran his thumb over my lip. "I wouldn't kiss a whore." He moved behind me. "Spread your legs."
I obeyed him immediately, finally understanding why he used the rope. The slack at my wrists and ankles allowed me to balance on all fours, but that was it. I couldn't crawl, stand, or move away from him.
He made a noise, an appreciative hum. "You look so beautiful like this. Tied up, naked, and dripping for me," he murmured. "I definitely wouldn't do this for a whore."
Pleasure fluttered through my body.
In a way, I didn't know the difference. I knew he wanted me, and I believed in his words, yet I also thought I was worthless.
At least a whore sold her body for a reason: to survive. There was honor in that. But me? My worth had always been determined by someone else and what they could gain.
I'd survived out of spite, but in the end, I believed I was insignificant, just like everyone else did—except Marco.
Suddenly, he spanked me.
I gasped, and he spanked me again.
"I will not let you escape your punishment physically or mentally, Catalina. Your every thought belongs to me, and I'm going to ensure you stay right here, focused." Spank. "Present." Spank. "Do you understand?"
He smacked my ass once more, and my body responded. "Y-yes, sir."
"Good. Now count them."
"Wha—"
Smack.
"O-one!"
