Marco doesn’t like this.
Sliding his hand down my neck and over my chest, his thumb counts my ribs before the palm of his hand heats my thigh through my tights. Gripping the back of my knee, he hoists my leg up and over his hip in a violent jerk.
My moan sounds into his mouth.
He answers with a low growl.
We waste no time undressing each other.
I reach down to the hem of his tee, lifting it over his head. As he does the same to me, I work on loosening his belt. His belt unbuckled, I reach further down to unzip his jeans and come into contact with his hot, covered erection.
Uncertainty has my hand rearing away.
Marco snarls, takes hold of my hand and places it directly over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck. Don’t do that. Touch me.”
Eyes lowered, I whisper, “Okay.”
My hands begin a firm rubbing motion over the seam of his pants. He hisses, “Oh, yeah, just like that.”
Courage blooms inside of me. With the sounds of heavy breathing bouncing off the walls, my pupils dilate with pleasure as his hands knead my hips. His mouth presses firm, wet kisses to my mouth as he runs his fingers along the underside of my bra. “I want to touch you too.”
Not thinking at all, I reach behind me and unfasten my bra, pulling it up my arms.
Silent permission.
His eyes flare with heat as they rake over my naked torso.
This is the farthest I’ve ever been sexually. It’s remarkable how good it feels.
He covers my left breast with a warm palm and begins to knead gently. I feel that motion all the way to my soaking wet mound. It pulses in time with every movement of Marco’s hand.
It’s wonderful.
Why would God forbid such pleasure?
It doesn’t seem right to me at this very moment.
My eyes flutter and I tilt my head back, exposing my neck. When wet warmth covers my nipple, my back jerks and contorts, curving off the bed. Marco’s mouth flicks and sucks at the taut bud, while his other hand works off my pants. I don’t remember to feel disgrace when I lift my hips, giving him better access to my most private area.
Now dressed in only my white, girlish panties, I groan when his hand plays with the seam. My hand darts out to his, and I place it where I crave it most.
He cups me, rubbing softly, slowly, as if he savours the feel of me. Pleasure floods my hot, needy body.
His mouth releases my nipple with a pop as he grunts, “You’re soaked.”
Wasting no time, he tears my panties down my legs. He quickly kicks his jeans off, his boxers following. “You want this sweet?”
My eyes snap open, and I look up to meet his heated stare. “Fuck, no.”
The smile that appears on his face is glorious. Beauty defined.
“Get on your hands and knees. Face the end of the bed.”
Breathing shakily, I quickly turn over onto my hands and knees. I crawl to face the foot of the bed. And my heart skips a beat.
I can see myself. I can see a very naked, very built, very aroused Marco.
A wall-length mirror faces us. My war-painted face and stunned gaze meets Marco’s in the mirror.
We look feral. We look like a pair of animals. Barely human.
He smirks.
I bite my lip to contain my whimper. My head spins. The room goes fuzzy. A sudden flashback of Ari confronting Marcel greets me. My chest seizes.
Marco positions himself behind me. Reaching down, his fingers lightly graze my slit.
My vision swirls. Another flashback. Marcel on his knees praying for mercy.
The reflection in the mirror shows Marco fisting himself. The tip of his cock kisses my entrance. He runs himself up and down slowly, coating himself in my arousal.
Pleasure assaults me.
My heart stops.
Pressure builds in my ears as a final flashback appears right before my eyes. Marcel’s shuddering body being held up by the neck. Koneko piercing his throat.
Without warning, Marco thrusts into me harshly. As my maidenhead tears, I lift my head to the ceiling and let out a miserable cry, pain throbbing violently between my legs.
Marco stills.
Panting, I lower my head and open my eyes to look beneath my body where we are joined.
Gently pulling out of me, he reaches down to gently stroke my sore pussy. For a moment, my mind plays tricks on me when I look up to the mirror. Marco’s face is replaced with Marcel’s.
With Marcel’s face on Marco’s body, Marco’s voice fills the room. “You let me mark you. It’s my turn to be marked.”
Reaching up, he smears my virginity onto Marcel’s face, covering both cheeks.
My heart races, so much that I feel like I’m about to pass out. My body trembles. I begin to sweat.
I’m frightened.
Marco’s hand is lifted to Marcel’s lips, where Marcel pokes out his tongue and tastes me.
That’s about the time I wake up.
Chapter Nine
I wake with a gasp, mind scrambled and chest heaving in my cot. Eyes wide, I sit up and shake my head¸ trying in vain to clear it. What the fuck was that dream?
Dream? More like nightmare.
Clutching the covers to my chest, I sit trembling, waiting for myself to calm down. I run a hand down my damp face and shake my head once more.
Really. What in the ever-loving fuck was that dream?
***
The garden called my name from the moment I woke a second time this morning. After last night’s psycho dream, I tossed and turned until my mind was sick of fighting my weary body and I fell back asleep. It was a fretful sleep, but it was still sleep.
Regardless, today I feel as though a bus ran me over. Then stopped and reversed.
The second time I woke, it was well past ten a.m. Too late for me to do kitchen duties, too late for me to take on any of the day’s rostered duties, but the garden needed tending. The garden always needs tending. And that’s why I love the garden.
It needs me as much as I need it. I provide it love and care, and it provides me a place to get away.
Having picked all the ripe rewards from the bountiful vegetable patch, I decide it’s time to weed. One of my most hated garden jobs. Alas, it needs to be done, and if anyone else comes close to my garden, I start to hyperventilate.
Bob caught me on the way out this morning. He was sipping coffee in the kitchen when I came bounding in searching for bread to nibble on before I started my day. As soon as he saw me, a look of pride covered his features.
I’ll admit it—it was nice. It felt good.
I lost that look for two whole years, and I’ll be damned if it’s taken away from me again.
Smiling, I cut a piece of bread and half-filled a mug of coffee. Bob watched as I added three sugars and vanilla creamer to it. He winced, although smiling, and asked, “How you doing this morning, Cat?”
I knew he has referring to the night before and what I’d done, but truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it until that very moment, having been distracted by my fitful night’s sleep.
Wow. Are you so cold that you don’t even take a second to think about committing murder?
I lifted my head in thought, and mentally responded to myself with, Call me an ice queen, brain, ‘cause my care factor is zero.
And that was the absolute truth.
Marcel was a bad man doing horrifying things. If I hadn’t stopped him, who would? With a wife too scared to speak out, and a son who had been threatened with death on multiple occasions, chances were, Marcel would’ve been active in his crimes for years to come. The likely people who would’ve stopped him eventually would’ve been his wife or son, and quite frankly, I’m glad it was me, rather than one of them. I prefer to take this responsibility than have either of them pay for vengeance on a man who had it coming.