First Act (Night Fury 1)

Caught somewhere between asleep and awake, I bury my nose into the unknown male and sigh.

This male is not Clark. I can’t smell the familiar zesty citrus scent of him. This scent is woodsy and fresh. And this body is larger than Clark’s.

A lot larger.

Bob.

This is Bob.

I whisper against the bare skin of his neck, “I did it, Father.”

He shushes me and continues to carry me along in silence.

Finally, we stop and he opens the door to my room. Placing me down on the soft bed, I exhale and bury myself in the covers. But I don’t have a double bed. I have a cot.

My eyes snap open to find Marco eyeing me from the edge of his bed. In his room. Or at least, I assume we’re in his room. It looks like it would be his room. Dark bed covers, bare walls, a small closet, mirror, an open laptop and a television, complete with game station.

I sit up, crossing my legs in the middle of his bed. Sleep has made my voice croaky. “Hey.”

He tips his chin at me.

“Why...” I’m stuck on my question, already knowing the answer. I try again. “Why am I here, Marco?”

“You told me to take you to bed.”

A fog settles over my already-unclear mind. That doesn’t sound like me.

He smirks. “You didn’t say which bed.”

I remain silent, feeling the need for something I dare not ask for. He watches me closely, his eyes searching me for a sign.

Something.

Anything.

“I know what it feels like,” he utters. “The rush. The bloodlust.” His knee settles on the bed, and he adds quietly, “The need for release after a mission.” The second knee joins the first. He creeps over to me, much like a cougar stalking its prey. “You feel it, don’t you?”

My head jerks fitfully. I swallow hard.

I do feel it.

“How do I make it stop?” I breathe.

Crawling over to me, forcing me further up the bed, he whispers, “You fuck it out, Cat.”

My breathing quickens and shallows.

“You want that, don’t you?”

Yes.

Yes, I do.

His fingers graze my hip and I gasp at the contact. “My skin is crawling.”

His warm lips gently kiss my cheek. “Let me help you. I’ll make the itch stop.”

My hand reaches out to grip his head, his buzzed hair prickling my palms. My cheeks heat in shame as I answer on a whisper, “Okay.”

My logic on this is simple. After tonight, after what I did, I don’t feel as if I have a right to remain pure. I want to be tainted, to be as imperfect as my job. I need to be dirtied, and Marco can do that for me.

In fact, I need Marco to be the one to do this for me.

His face hovers above mine, waiting for me to make the first move. I lift my face an inch and brush my lips across his in a weak and extremely nervous kiss.

The first and last man I kissed was James. And that didn’t turn out so great.

Marco scoffs, his breath warming me. “You gotta do better than that, kitty Cat.”

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he pushes me down gently. My back meets the soft covers of the bed. Framing my face with his strong arms, he looks down at me, face unyielding. “What do you want, Cat? We can stop, but you need to tell me to stop now, because my cock—hard as it is—will not be happy about stopping later on.”

Oh, shit.

Those nasty words fuel me and cement my decision. I reach up with a shaking hand, curving it at the back of his neck. I pull his mouth down to mine and say against his warm lips, “Make it stop.”

His eyes flash and his kiss—oh, my—so hard and harsh; it’s exactly what I need right now. I need this act to be as violent as the one I committed myself. His tongue brushes mine, and instinctively, my legs tighten, as if the arousal will escape me in a heavy whoosh if I don’t.

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.