Crowned In Blood

Chapter 14

14

Catalina

I took a deep breath, rising from my desk. My fingers hovered over the door of my office, but I couldn’t open it and step out. The weight of what I was about to do pressed down on my shoulders, threatening to crush me.

My capos were waiting for me in the conference room, where I would tell them what had been going on, about the trafficking, my father's potential involvement, everything. But I was terrified of what their reaction would be.

I'd worked so hard to earn their trust and respect. To be tough, but fair. To show them I could protect them. That they could rely on me, regardless of what anyone else said. Yet, my own flesh and blood might have been the cause for their pain.

Why wouldn't they blame me? Resent me? Wouldn't this undo all the work I'd done?

For over five minutes I’d been trying to make it past my door and I just… couldn't. But I had to, for them.

Suddenly, I thought of Marco. Maybe if I just called him, and heard his voice, it would be enough to get me through this.

No.

I couldn't do that. I'd relied on him more than enough.

My hands shook, and I clenched my fists.

Calm down. You can do this on your own. You don't need anyone else. You never have.

The words were empty. The overwhelming shame, disgust, fear, and sorrow blended into something so dark I couldn't see past it. My despair threatened to consume me.

I was spiraling, falling deeper and deeper into a dark hole. Every time I tried to grab onto something, it disintegrated in my hands. I was scared, so, so scared of losing everything. Of failing everyone.

I fell to my knees, my throat tight, like I was choking on something. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I bit into my palm, hard. The pain flashed through my body as tears clouded my vision and I rocked back and forth on the floor until I could breathe again.

These attacks rarely happened. I was more sensitive to them whenever the weight of the world felt like it was too much.

I'd thought it was location based, but this was the first time it had happened in my office—a place I normally felt safe.

The attack drained me until I no longer cared about seeming weak. My pride had left, and without a second thought, I called Marco.

He answered immediately.

"Hi," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What's wrong?"

I rested my head back against my door. "How did you know something was wrong?"

"I can hear it in your voice."

I bit my lip. "Are you busy?"

"Never for you. But before you tell me what's going on, take a deep breath." His tone was so warm and gentle that I followed him without meaning to.

"One more time," he commanded.

I took another deep breath, sighing as I exhaled, just like he did.

"Good girl."

His praise sent a zip of electricity down my spine.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

"I… I'm about to meet with my capos to tell them about the trafficking and my father." My chest was hot, itchy, and I started to scratch at my skin.

"Are you still feeling guilty about it?"

"How could I not? I hated my life and my father. But now, knowing that he may have made so much money sacrificing the lives of innocent people—people I'm now responsible for—all while proclaiming to the world how he's a good, just man, and putting together laws to give support to women and children sickens me."

"You're not your father, Lina." Marco's voice was patient, but firm.

"I know I'm not. But I benefited from what he did."

"How? Through clothes, jewelry, parties? Catalina, I watched that man almost hit you last night in my presence. I can only guess what he would have done if I hadn't been there, and what he's likely done before."

I fell silent, because even though he was right, I couldn't find the courage to admit it.

"You see yourself as someone who benefited from the gain of other people's suffering, and that's warring with your conscience. But you suffered too."

His words made me freeze. It felt like a light bulb was slowly warming in my mind, dim but beginning to grow. "But I didn't suffer as much?—"

"Didn't you? Your father abused and tortured you, Catalina. Then he sold you off to the highest bidder, knowing full well how that man treated women," he bit out. "He didn't care about you or your livelihood, and it scares me to think of what might have happened to you if you hadn't killed Fernando. Even if I would have come to your rescue, it still would have taken time, and the damage would have been incredibly difficult to repair."

"Even after knowing everything, would you still have come to save me?"

"Of course I would have," he said without a moment of hesitation. "I told you that after I came back from Italy, and as I told you last night, you're mine. No one hurts, or even dares to touch anything that belongs to me. Especially you ."

My heart thundered so hard I was scared it might leave me and run away with him. I bit my lip and shut my eyes, trying to get myself together. But I was so vulnerable right now, especially to Marco, that I was starting to believe his words.

Would it be so dangerous to? To acknowledge the pain and agony I'd gone through, and not judge it against someone else's? To think of and see myself better than I typically did? As someone worth saving and protecting?

"Much like I would have saved you and still will whenever you need me to, you're working to save your people. That's all you can do," he said in a warm, soft tone.

"It's not enough," I whispered.

"No, it isn't enough to fix everything, but it is more than enough from you . Instead of holding yourself accountable for a crime you didn't commit, focus on ways to take down your father and right his wrongs. You're a good person, Catalina."

I scoffed. "I'm definitely not."

"You are." His voice was firm, absolute. "In your heart—in the deepest parts of you—you want to make the lives of those around you better, and you're willing to sacrifice whatever you need to do so. That's what makes you a good person. It's something I find admirable and inspiring about you, and anyone worth a damn can see that in you, too."

I blushed. "Th-thank you."

It sounded like he was smiling when he spoke again, and I could picture it vividly. "You're welcome. Your men will understand. You just need to not put the blame of a situation you had no control of on yourself. And if they don't, I'll just kill them."

I rolled my eyes. "You can't just kill everyone that disagrees with me."

"I can and I will."

I shook my head and chuckled, despite everything.

"Do you feel better?"

"Yes, thank you, really."

"Anytime. I promise to always be there when you need me. Now, when are you planning on being back in the office?"

"Around three." I picked at the helm of my blouse, trying not to take his promise to heart.

"Okay. I'll see you soon with your favorite sushi."

I still felt his presence and strength within me when we hung up the phone. Marco's words grounded me, reminded me of who I was and what I was fighting for.

With a deep breath, I stood, straightened out my clothes, and reached for the doorknob, ready to face my capos. Whatever came next, I could handle it. I wasn't alone, at least for now.

I walked back into the office, an extra spring in my step, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The meeting with my capos had gone better than I could have ever imagined. Instead of blame or resentment, I was met with understanding and support.

They had all but applauded me when they learned about everything I was doing to take care of their families and rectify Fernando's wrongs, and they promised to help in any way they could.

For the first time since I'd taken over, it felt like we were all on the same page, fighting on the same side. A small part of me dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, I could finally trust them.

The thought thrilled and terrified me, but I stuffed the fear away, because I needed this. We needed a win, and this felt like the start of one.

I decided to throw a dinner over the weekend for everyone to commemorate our familia's solidarity. I'd already alerted Olivia, who had immediately started the preparations in our event hall and was looking into potential catering companies.

As I entered my office, I saw an enormous bouquet of red roses sitting on my desk and frowned. Marco had bought me flowers a couple of days ago, and these didn't feel like him at all. I wasn't a fan of roses, and Marco knew that.

Moreover, these were extremely over the top. There must have been at least a hundred roses, maybe more. It felt more like a showpiece than anything thoughtful.

I plucked the card from the bouquet.

"Beautiful flowers for an even more beautiful woman. From Felipe Alvarez."

I huffed. Yet another mafia leader trying to charm me to gain whatever he wanted. It was insulting that they thought I'd spread my legs and serve myself and my familia up on a silver platter for the smallest bit of attention.

Fucking men. So many of them think they're a gift to the female race, when they're not even good enough to lick shit off the bottom of my Louboutins.

I thought about throwing the entire bouquet in the trash, then sighed. They were just flowers. As long as he didn't hide anything in them, it was technically fine to keep them. I'd bring them down to the lobby later and if anyone wanted to take them, they'd be more than welcome to.

After checking to make sure there wasn't a hidden camera or something else in the arrangement, I put them in water.

An hour later, Olivia called, informing me Marco had arrived with lunch. A smile spread across my face the moment he entered the door. Even though I'd spoken with him only hours before, it wasn't the same as being around him.

Having him near me, sharing the same air, filled me with a sense of peace like nothing else. And no matter how many times it happened, it was a feeling I still couldn't get used to. But I was grateful for it, for him. I'd never admit it to him, but he made my day, no, my life, better.

I moved to take the bags and help him spread out our lunch, when he went completely still. In a split second, the joy on his face fell, replaced with complete and utter rage.

"Who sent you flowers?" he growled.

I didn't have to tell him, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn't have. A part of me even wanted to tease him. Seeing him so jealous made me feel important, cherished, even.

But I couldn't. Marco mattered too much to me, and I didn't enjoy seeing him so angry. In fact it made me want to beat the fuck out of Felipe, because he hadn't just insulted me, he'd upset someone I deeply cared for.

I approached Marco slowly taking the bags from his hands. "It was Felipe Alvarez."

His gaze snapped to me, and I could feel the weight of it—his anger, his care, his possession . "What did he want?" he bit out.

"Nothing remotely important. I threw away the card and only kept the flowers in case one of my employees wanted to take them home. But if you want, I'll happily toss them in the dumpster right now or even burn them to a crisp."

Marco's eyes widened. "What?"

"We can get rid of them," I said again, more firmly this time.

He still seemed a bit stunned, but I gently guided him to sit down while I took the sushi out of the bags.

He studied me for a while. "Why?"

I met his gaze. "Because I don't want you miserable, and the only person allowed to push your buttons or give you a hard time is me."

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, my phone rang. "Yes?"

"There's a man with six additional men heading up to this floor," Olivia said. "They were allowed past security as per our protocol, but the reception area informed me the man was extremely hostile."

My body tensed immediately, readying for a fight. "I'll be right out."

"Should I call security?"

"Have them on standby."

I got up, and Marco shot to his feet. "What's going on?"

I opened the drawer, grabbed my gun, then put on my holster, using my blazer to hide it before checking to ensure my knife was still fastened to my thigh. "Apparently, I have an uninvited guest who wants to have a dick measuring contest, even though my non-existent cock would be bigger than anything he could ever pull out of his pants."

Marco smothered a laugh as he checked his own gun and followed me out. We arrived in the reception area just as the men exited my elevator. It was Felipe.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in my office?" I shouted.

Felipe's gaze switched from Olivia to me, then to Marco. "You!" He pointed, his hand shaking in barely controlled rage.

I glanced at Marco. "Do you know him?"

"Not well enough for him to be this pissed off at me."

Regardless of the situation, I couldn't help but grin at Marco's response.

Felipe stomped toward us. "You're always sniffing around like the piece of trash you are!"

Marco stepped forward, but I held out a hand in front of his chest, glaring at him. His eyes narrowed back at me as we communicated without words.

This was my property, my grounds, and Felipe was disrespecting me and my familia. Marco wasn't a part of that, so he couldn't interfere without undermining my authority. I could take care of it.

He huffed. The look on his face told me he'd stand down for now. But if anything happened, he would protect me regardless of my wishes or the consequences.

I nodded in thanks before turning my full attention and rage on Felipe. "I'm not going to ask you again, Felipe. Either state your business here or get the fuck off of my property."

"My business," he bit out, "is you. And I don't like stray dogs messing around with my possessions."

I pulled back. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He slammed a piece of paper down on Olivia's desk. "Read it."

"No." The demand irked me, and I bared my teeth at him, taking a step forward, invading his space. "You see, I don't give a fuck what's on that piece of paper. What I do give a fuck about is that you marched into my building, disrespected my employees, my assistant, my company, and me, not once, but multiple times. I don't know what power you think you have here and I don't care what delusional bullshit is on this piece of paper to make you think that your words hold any weight, but let me show you what you can do with it." I grabbed the piece of paper, and my eyes flashed at the words, "Marriage License."

Felipe had already signed it, and for some idiotic reason, he clearly assumed I would as well.

"You." Rip. "Can." Rip. "Shove it." Rip. "Up." Rip. "Your." Rip. "Ass." I threw the pieces of paper at him, and they rained down on the floor.

"You fucking bitch!" He moved to draw out his gun, but I was faster.

Grabbing the knife from under my skirt, I shoved it between his legs, pressing the tip hard at his balls. His eyes went wide, and he raised his hands in surrender.

"Do you know what they call me in The Underground, Felipe?"

"Se?ora de la Muerte," he choked out.

I pressed the blade harder, cutting through his pants and boxers with ease. "And do you know why?"

He gulped and shook his head.

"Because, every time someone tries to kill me, I send them to Death themselves." I smirked. "You see, I enjoy taking retribution on those who want to harm me. And this knife, right here." I jabbed it harder, digging the tip into his balls. "I like to keep it nice and sharp, for rude, disrespectful men, who are lower than the goddamn sewage that runs through this city."

I swirled the knife along his ball sac and his eyes grew bigger. I nearly laughed at the terror on his face. With a flick of my wrist, I'd castrate him, and the vision of him bleeding out on my office rug was incredibly appealing.

Guns were drawn around us and I felt Marco move behind me, but my focus had to stay on Felipe. I couldn't let him grab his weapon. As long as that didn't happen, his men wouldn't be able to shoot me without hitting Felipe first.

"Now, explain to me like your life is on the line—because it is—why did you think you have some claim to me or any of the things I own?"

"B-because your father?—"

I chuckled. "Ah, I see what happened here. Did daddy dearest strike a deal with you and tell you that if you marched in here, you could drag me out?"

He grimaced but didn't say anything.

"Felipe, sweet, na?ve, Felipe. Let me clear this up for you." I sliced the skin of his scrotum, not deep enough to remove his balls entirely but enough to make blood coat my knife as it trickled down his pants and legs.

Felipe shook, biting his lip to keep from howling in pain, and it only made my smile grow.

"Once upon a time, my father did have some control over my life. But those days have long ended. If—and this would never happen—but if there was ever a chance of us making a deal, you would be dealing with me directly. Not my father. Not any man, me ." I sneered. "Now, tell your men to lower their weapons and get the fuck out of my office before I castrate you and slit the rest of their throats."

"Lower your weapons!"

His men did so, and I removed my knife, stepping away from him.

Felipe stepped back, refusing to turn around and face his men until he was a good distance away from me. "You're going to regret this. You and your familia. I'll drag you all to the ground," he hissed.

I smirked and watched them leave, waving goodbye with my knife coated in his blood. When the elevator doors closed, I turned to Olivia. "Call security and have them followed out. Make sure they leave the building and parking lot. Then I want you to head home for the day. Make sure someone from security goes with you, too."

"But—"

I gave her a warm smile. "It's okay. It's already late in the day. Plus, Marco's here." I turned to look at him, but his eyes were fixated ahead, like he was waiting for Felipe to come back. He was still, like a predator, his malice tangible in the air.

"Marco?"

He finally looked at me, and his gaze was strange, almost haunted yet full of rage. The threat was over. Everything was taken care of for now, so why was he still on guard?

I tilted my head back to my office. "Why don't we head back?"

He followed me silently. But the minute I closed the door, he was on me. He took my hand, checking my fingers, my palm, inspecting my skin.

"Marco?"

"Are you hurt?" he bit out in a low growl.

"I'm fine?—"

"Where are you hurt?" He brushed my wrist, gently tilting in every direction.

"Marco?"

But he wasn't listening. He just kept repeating, "Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?" like a broken record. He continued to check my body, his large, warm hands so gentle as they followed up my arm, then he switched to my other hand and did the same. Nothing I said got through to him, and I didn't understand why.

"Marco," I tried again, "I'm fine. I'm not hurt. No one hurt me. See?—"

"Where are you hurt?"

I sighed and gently put my hand on his chest, trying once more. "Marco?"

His hands stilled, but he refused to meet my gaze. He stood hunched over, his head bowed.

I touched his cheek, gently stroking his skin, and tried to make him face me. He shuddered so hard I felt it through my palm. "Marco, I'm right here. I'm okay."

When his eyes met mine, he stared at me like I was an alien, or a ghost.

"Talk to me," I whispered as softly as I could. "Tell me what's going on."

"This is the second time, Catalina." He was breathless, like he was barely holding himself together. "This is the second time that you've had to fight on your own, and I couldn't help you."

“That’s always going to happen, Marco. It can't be any other way. I've accepted that, and I can take care of whatever I have to," I said softly.

"I don't want you to! I want to take care of you!"

I pulled back as much as I could, but he refused to let my shoulders go.

He trembled around me, crowding me against the door. "I've never felt so weak, Catalina. I've never felt like less of a man than I do right now because you wouldn't let me help you. That because of our roles, I truly couldn't. And you didn't need me." His body shook harder. "The only thing I could do was make sure his men wouldn't try to shoot you, and you even had that covered."

I cupped his cheek with my other hand. "Marco, I wouldn't want you to help me, not because I don't trust you. I do." It was the first time I'd said those words out loud, and as scary as it was to admit, it was the truth. "I wouldn't want you to help me because it would endanger you and your familia. If some asshole wants to march in here and act like he owns the place, I can put him down, but I can't drag you into that fight. You don't deserve that and neither does your familia."

"I don't care."

"Marco—"

"I don't care, Catalina! I don't care what hell I have to walk through for you. I'll gladly take it, anything, everything. I'd rake myself over hot coals if it would make your life easier. If I had no feet, I would crawl to you. If my hands were tied, I'd break or chew them off for you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you ." He grabbed my arms, his gaze piercing. "If I had to give up everything I own, every possession, every bit of the power and money I've earned, I would for you, without a second thought."

I didn't know what to say or do. It felt like my heart was being shattered and rebuilt by his hands. All because I believed him.

It was in his eyes. He was terrified for me, something no one had ever been.

He'd been the same when Simon sent his men after me. And maybe I was a fool, maybe I was wrong or stupid and he was just too good at lying. But when he pulled me into his arms, I didn't pull away.

He asked for nothing, said nothing. Just held me.

At first, I didn't know what to do with my hands, but he squeezed me tighter until it felt too odd to leave them at my side.

Touching anyone was new for me, especially a man, but touching Marco was a strangely beautiful feeling. Something where once I let myself do so—even if it was a small pat on the arm, or an accidental brush of our fingers—I craved more.

Gone was the strong, confident man I knew. In his place was someone who cared about my safety, my life. How could I resist him when he was like this?

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him just as tight. Instantly, the tremors in his body stopped, as if my touch was all he needed.

Gently, tentatively, I followed his lead. When he stroked my back, I stroked his. When he squeezed me, I squeezed him. I absorbed his warmth, let it soak into me, and buried my head in his neck where his scent was the strongest.

I inhaled and sighed, a type of wholeness wrapping itself around me, one I'd never felt before, and I wondered if it was the same for him.

I had no idea how long we stayed that way. But a thought kept circling in my head. Why did this feel so comfortable and yet so heartbreaking?

The longer our embrace lasted, the more I wanted to cry until the realization donned on me. No one had ever held me. Not once in my life. Not even as a child.

When I scratched my knee or bumped into a table, I was yelled at for not being careful enough. The love and attention that I should have gotten would go to that inanimate object. The smudge of my accident would be polished, the remnants of my mess cleaned. But me? I was forgotten. Always forgotten.

And yet this man—someone who I still didn't understand why he gave a damn about me—was holding me so tightly, like he couldn't bear the thought of ever letting me go.

I tried to hold back my tears, but they spilled from me, embarrassment flooding through me at crying in front of Marco.

But he simply took my face into his hands, and gently wiped them away. "Why are you crying, mi peque?a reina viciosa?"

I laughed. "What kind of nickname is that?"

"It's one of the many I have for you. You are my vicious little queen, after all. Now tell me why you're crying. Your tears make my heart ache."

His voice was so full of genuine sincerity that I couldn't take it. I looked away, but he drew my gaze back. "Tell me, Catalina."

"I've… I've never been held," I whispered.

"What?"

"N-no one has ever held me. This is the first time."

Marco's eyes widened. "Not even as a child?"

I shook my head. It scared me to look at him, to think he'd see me as something else—less than or weak—for my admission.

But he put on his best smile, even though it didn't quite replace the vengeance in his gaze. "I am always here for you. I'll hold you whenever, for as long as I can." He stroked my cheek. "I won't lie and tell you it's only for you. It's not. Having you in my arms feels like heaven, and I'm a greedy, selfish man when it comes to you. But I'm here, do you understand? Whatever you need, whatever you missed, I'll take care of it all, and I'd be honored to take all your firsts."

I bit my lip. How could I tell him that I wanted him to? That I wanted this, to stay in his arms? To feel like I had a safe place that I could come back to when the world was too heavy for my shoulders? How could I tell him he had become that for me, when caring for him left me both terrified and hopeful?

I wanted him. I wanted it all, even if it hurt, but I couldn't move. I couldn't take the next step. I couldn't let the words slip from my tongue.

But he waited. He didn't push. Didn't pressure me, just waited to make sure I understood.

Finally, I swallowed the large ball of emotions in my throat and forced myself to nod.

His smile was radiant, his dimples on full display, perfectly encased by his beard.

My heart fluttered. I couldn't stand it so I just hugged him, because at least then I could bury my head back in his neck, inhale his scent, and be with him even while I hid away.

But as my tears dried, and the minutes passed, something else took over. I knew the moment he felt it too.

His hands began to knead my tight muscles.

I squirmed from his touch, it felt so good. He chuckled. It was a deep, low, breathy sound against my ear and neck. The sensation made me shiver, sent goosebumps over my arms.

"Are you cold?" The mischievous tone in his voice told me he knew I wasn't.

"No," I whispered, burrowing more into his warmth.

I should have pulled away. This was heading into dangerous territory that I wasn't ready for—that I might never be ready for—but I stayed in his arms. And as he kept rubbing and massaging my back, eventually a soft moan slipped from my lips. I had my head buried as much as I could, but he heard it and shivered at the sound.

"You're so tense, my vicious little queen. How you even lift an arm with your muscles like this, I don't know."

I hummed, not in agreement, but because I couldn’t put together a single thought when he was touching me.

He chuckled.

"Shut up," I said, but my voice was too breathless for my words to have any bite to them.

"Does it feel good?" He massaged my shoulders, kneading into a tender spot I didn't even know I had, bringing warmth while releasing the tension, without pressing too hard.

It was so perfect I moaned again and nodded.

"Use your words, my vicious little queen," he said in a deep, husky voice.

He touched the spot again, and I hissed. "Yes."

"Good girl."

I hummed again at his praise. It made me want to agree to anything, give him complete freedom to do whatever he wanted, no matter how sinful. I was under his spell now and there was no going back.

I couldn't seem to remember why I'd been so hesitant with him, why I hadn't just fallen at his feet and begged him to touch me before. But now that I knew how it felt, I would. I'd beg and plead anytime. Anyplace.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered.

"No!" I said too quickly, too loudly.

He chuckled again, his hands sliding down, lower, lower, until he brushed the top of my ass before he slid them back up, slipping his hands in my hair, sliding it to my opposite shoulder, leaving my neck bare to him. He growled in my ear, "Beg me for it."

I bit my lip, smothering the moan that almost escaped me from his words. "Please."

He groaned, and it sounded so good I wanted to hear it again.

"Please, don't stop," I whispered in his ear.

Another throaty moan of pleasure, then he grabbed my ass, pulling me tight against him. When he shifted, I felt his erection. He was so big, I gasped.

What would it look like to see it, see him, completely naked? How would it feel to have him inside me? Thrusting hard and fast? Taking me? Owning me?

If he told me to bend over right now, I'd ask him how far. I wanted to see him in ecstasy, hear his moans and grunts. Wanted to feel his come inside me, on top of me. I was so fucking wet, my pussy throbbing, and all he'd done was massage my back.

It wasn't fair that he was so controlled when I wasn't. But I didn't know what to do. If I rubbed him in the same way he was massaging me, would he sound like this? Would this be enough to affect him, when I knew he was far more experienced than me?

I sighed, and he shivered. Realizing I was right against his neck, I exhaled, blowing along his skin, and he shuddered.

His reaction delighted me.

I gently kissed his skin. At first he was still, barely breathing. I kissed him again, and again, following the path from his collarbone to his neck. I reached a little spot between his ear and neck, and he moaned for me. My heart felt light, elated, nearly danced out of my chest at the rough sound.

His fingers slipped to my shoulder, gathering the strap of my shirt and bra, sliding them down.

"Marco, what are you?—"

"You wanted to play, so let's play." He kissed my shoulder, and at first all I felt was a slight tingle. Then he continued kissing my skin, and when he got halfway between the end of my shoulder and my neck, he bit me and a moan ripped out of my throat.

He licked the area gently, soothing the pain, and if he didn't have such a firm grasp on my ass, my knees would have buckled from the pleasure.

I'd never felt anything like it. Didn't even know I could feel like this.

He licked higher, then blew, drying his saliva on my skin, as if he longed to leave his brand on me, but once he got to my neck, he changed.

He kissed, licked, sucked, bit. Shifted from one to another, and all I could do was cling to him.

I buried my hand in his hair and tilted my head, giving him all the access he wanted.

It felt so good. So good to be touched, lavished. To feel such delicious pleasure.

Each moan made him bolder. His bites grew harder, as did the way he sucked my skin. Then he kneaded my ass.

He licked my neck, then smacked my ass, gripping it hard. I gasped at the dual sensation. He caressed my ass, then did it again, alternating between pain and pleasure.

Picking me up, he pinned me against the door. He slid his thigh in between my legs, pulled my hips, made me drag myself along it.

"Marco…" I whimpered.

He growled, dragging my hips more until I was rolling them myself. I leaned my head back against the glass door, my eyes closed, moans filling the room. Every time I said his name, he groaned as if he was reaching the same state of nirvana I was.

He cupped my face, his eyes dark, predatory, hungry. Filled with the most beautiful desire. And it was all for me. His gaze went to my lips, and I knew he wanted to kiss me and I wanted him to.

I'd never been kissed. That was the one thing I'd kept for me, the one thing I wanted to give someone I cared for, and I wanted to give that to him. But my inexperience made me worry, and he must have seen that fear in my eyes because he stopped immediately.

"N-no?—"

"Shh," he stroked my cheek, "I want to make it clear that I'm not sorry for this. Kissing your skin, feeling your body against mine. Bringing you pleasure is a dream come true. But I shouldn't have rushed you."

"Y-you didn't, I just—" I tried to take a deep breath but I couldn't. I was so scared he'd be disappointed in me, that he wouldn't want me if there was something I was simply not good at or didn't know. And I didn't know how to admit that to him or if I even could.

"It's okay." He grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to his. "Hey, it's okay. I told you, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He slipped his knee from between my thighs and held me, but I felt terrible and stupid for breaking apart a moment that I was so desperate for.

I clung to him and with each soft stroke of his hand against my spine, I started to settle.

"Can you tell me what happened now?"

I nodded, but I was still too embarrassed to face him, so I whispered my truth into his ear, bracing myself for his judgment. Because I was a twenty-one-year-old woman who was more comfortable killing someone than being intimate because violence was all I'd ever known. "I… I've never been kissed before."

"You haven't?" There was shock and something that sounded almost like devilish glee in his tone.

"Yes. I don't know how to be intimate with someone, except to lie there. I don't know what to do. I… I'm sorry."

He stiffened. It was quick, gone so fast that if I didn't have my arms wrapped around him, I would have thought I'd imagined it.

He pulled back and took my face in his hands. "There's absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about. It actually makes me so happy to hear that."

"It does?"

"Yes. I told you, I want all your firsts. I wasn't joking when I said I'm a selfish and greedy bastard when it comes to you, Catalina. I'll take anything you offer me, and then I'll demand even more until everything you are is mine ."

I shivered at how possessive he was. It was so dirty, so seductive, and I wanted him badly. But I knew whatever had almost happened between us was over, and that hurt.

He leaned down, cupping the back of my neck. "I want you to understand the only reason I'm not kissing you right now is because I want to do this right. I want to teach you how fantastic all of this can be between us. I want to know everything that you crave. Every desire and fantasy you've ever thought of and never told anyone, and I want to show you all of mine, too." He took a deep breath. "But if I touch you right now, that'll go out of the window. I'm barely holding onto my control. And you could make a saint give up his resolve and fall to the deepest levels of hell with a smile."

I beamed as a zip of pleasure went through me, knowing that he felt the same needy, crazed desperation for our next touch as I did. And while I was happy to at least know it would happen in the future, I couldn't fully mask my disappointment that it wouldn't happen now.

But as always, Marco saw me. He kissed my palm, and the tender gesture filled the space where I still felt less than.

We fixed our clothing, and as I smoothed my hair, he gently tucked it behind my ear.

Without meaning to, I blurted, "Would you like to go home with me?"

Flames flickered in his eyes, dancing there, like I was the oxygen he needed. Then he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His Adam's Apple bobbed, his neck corded, and he looked like he was fighting the hardest battle of his life.

"Marco?"

"Resolve of a saint, Catalina, resolve of a saint," he grumbled, and I realized the innuendo of my question.

I hiccupped a laugh, smothering it with my hand, and he peered down at me.

"And then you wonder why I call you my vicious little queen when you make me fight like this every day."