Each stroke hit a spot near my cervix. I lost all track of time, crying out for him, moaning his name as I got closer and closer to another explosive orgasm.
I clawed his back, dragging my nails down to his ass, and it was like he loved the pain just as much as I did, because he thrust into me faster.
I couldn't take it. The ground fell away, and I came, screaming his name.
He jerked, then roared, his hot come shooting into my pussy. Each stream was like the greatest reward, and when he was finally done, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
We stayed like that, our arms wrapped around each other, his cock half-hard inside me, while I was so full of his come it leaked out of me.
He kissed my forehead, but there was a note in his breath, a type of hesitation that made me meet his eyes.
"We need to talk about what happened earlier." He brushed strands of hair away from my damp forehead. "Did me buying that dress and jewelry for you really make you feel like a whore?"
I gulped hard. He deserved the truth, no matter how hard it might be to say. I was wrong for what I did and how I treated him, but it was his tenderness that drove the final nail into the coffin that held the last of my ego.
I held him tighter, using his warmth as a reminder that I was safe here. He wouldn't judge me or let me go. He was asking because he cared, just as I was answering because he was everything to me.
"I'd just found out about my father calling a hit out on you, and it caused me to have one of my… attacks."
He squeezed me in his arms, but said nothing. I was grateful for his silence, his patience, his willingness to listen.
"I don't know what they are, but they always seem to happen when I get overwhelmed. They make me feel like I can't breathe." I shuddered. "The walls start to close in, and it feels like my heart is about to explode. I was trying to fight through one when the courier came."
He kissed my forehead. "I'm sorry, mi pequeña reina viciosa."
That he still saw me that way, that I was still vicious to him, someone with so much power that he thought I should be respected as a queen, allowed me to keep going.
"When I was younger, my father used to dress me up in whatever fancy clothes and expensive jewelry he wanted. He'd parade me around as entertainment for his benefactors.” I swallowed against the ball in my throat. “He used to tell me to make myself 'look pretty' because I had a job to do." I took a deep breath. "It always made me feel cheap. I knew I was worthless?—"
Marco snarled, and I quickly added, "To him. And it made me feel like a whore. So when I saw the items?—"
"It triggered you."
"Yes." I hugged him tighter. "I didn't know if he sent it or you did. I didn't really see the items themselves, but my mind was already stuck in the past and anticipating the worst."
"And then I called you."
I nodded. "I knew it was you, but it was like everything came together, and all I could think about was using my pain to push you away." I met his eyes, and his gaze was so tender it brought me to tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, you didn't deserve that, and?—"
He shushed me, pulled me so close there wasn't a speck of air between us, and I cried into his chest. I didn't even understand why I was crying or where it was coming from. But I couldn't stop.
Marco didn't ask me to explain further. He didn't ask for more or beg me to give him answers. He just let me cry, and it was the greatest comfort anyone had ever given me.
When my tears finally slowed, he gently wiped my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lina. I'm so sorry that you went through something like that and that I triggered you like this. But I'm worried about you, Lina. I don't like that you have these attacks, or that you had one while I wasn't here. That's dangerous."
"It is. I..." I paused, scared to tell him how bad this one was, but I needed him to know. "I didn't just ignore all of your calls. After I got off the phone with you, I blacked out."
"What?" he shouted.
"It's… it's okay. It doesn't happen often?—"
"That'snotokay, Lina. What if that happens while you're driving or when something else is going on?"
I wanted to argue with him, to tell him I was in control. But I wasn't. In fact, the attacks seemed to happen most often when I felt like I wasn't in control, and it could very well hurt me or those around me one day.
"I want to ask you something." He tugged my chin, staring into my eyes. "But I need you to know I'm asking for you, not me. I want you just as you are. You're more than enough for me, okay?"
I nodded, realizing how much I trusted him in that moment, because the voice that normally told me I wasn't enough for anyone had never been so quiet.
