Chapter 6

Chapter Six

H e's not that guy . I know that, right? I'm certain that he isn't. He did let go. He's not forcing me to do anything. That's not what has me wanting to take him up on the offer he brought to my door, though. It's the way he's looking at me right now.

Or should I say the way he's not looking at me? He doesn't have that same look Flynn used to have whenever I had an… episode. Marcel doesn't appear disgusted. He also doesn't seem to be searching for a way out.

When I pushed on his chest and he didn't let go, I was taken back to a time I'd do anything to never remember. I can't control when the flashbacks come on, and I can't stop them once they start. But Marcel stayed. He could have easily gotten up and left. He doesn't owe me anything.

Flynn did that a few times. Just left me in the midst of a panic attack, his logic being that he thought I needed space. I didn't. I needed help. Understanding. Patience. But I would never admit that to him.

Marcel doesn't appear to be in a rush to leave. And he gave me my gun back. Just handed it to me like it was nothing. With that one gesture, he made me feel like I had control. I'm not an idiot. I know he could easily overpower me and take it back if he wanted to.

"Why didn't you leave?" I ask him.

"Why would I leave you when you clearly need help?"

I lift a shoulder. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not, but I'm also not an asshole. I'm not going to just leave you alone if you're panicked or scared."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You are an asshole."

"I deserve that." He smiles. "You're right. I'm usually an asshole with brief moments of good behaviour between."

I can't help but smile back at him. What is it about this guy that makes me feel so much more at ease? I don't think I've ever recovered from a flashback so quickly before. They can last for ages and I'm left a mess afterwards. But, somehow, Marcel has me smiling.

Something comes over me at that realisation, and I leap up and throw myself at him. Straddling his lap before my lips connect with his. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tight to me. There's this hunger inside me I'm not sure I've ever felt, and it's for him.

Marcel's hands roam up and down my back. Grabbing hold of my ass, he pulls my core against the hardness of his cock. I moan into his mouth. It's not enough. I need more. My hands push down on his shoulders, until his back is flat on the marble floor. Shifting my position on top of him, I undo his belt, then his pants. Then my hand reaches inside and frees his cock. It springs up, hard and leaking precum.

I want to taste it. Leaning forward, I run my tongue along the tip.

"Fuck, Zoe," Marcel groans, pulling my head back to look me in the eye. "Are you sure about this?"

"Am I sure I want you to fuck me all night and give me as many orgasms as you think you're capable of giving me? You should probably try to set a new world record or something, because not only do I want this, Marcel, I need it," I tell him.

"Well then, call the Guinness people, babe, because we're about to break records." He smirks.

"I like your confidence." I grin until a thought comes to mind. "Condom? We need one." Surely, he's one of those guys who carries those things around with him wherever he goes.

He proves that I'm right when he shifts his weight, reaches into his back pocket, and fishes out his wallet. I grab it from his hands, digging through all the cards and cash until I find the foil packet.

"We're probably going to need more than one," I tell him before ripping the packet open. "But it's a start." Then I roll the latex down his length.

Marcel watches me as I stand and slide my panties along my legs. Before I settle back on top of him, my pussy against his cock. His head tips backwards and his eyes focus on the ceiling as he inhales deeply, his fingers digging into my hips. He's trying to control himself. Which is the last thing I want. I need him to lose control. I need a repeat of that night at the hotel. I don't need him treating me like I might break after what he witnessed.

I want him to need this as much as I do.

When his head shifts in my direction again, and we make eye contact, I can see it. The lust, the desire. "You're going to need an ice pack tomorrow," he grunts.

"Why?" I ask as I grind against his cock.

"Because I'm going to fuck you so hard your vagina's going to bruise. And when it twinges every time you take a step, you'll remember that you're the one who asked for this. You'll remember that I'm the one who made you feel so fucking good."

Before I can respond, Marcel is sitting up. He somehow manages to get to his feet, taking me with him. My legs wrap around his waist as he starts walking. A few seconds later, he is lowering me onto the sofa and lining up his cock with my entrance. Marcel lifts one of my legs, kissing my ankle before resting it on his shoulder. His body leans over mine, bending me like a damn pretzel as he pushes into me.

He stills when his eyes connect with mine. "Remember: you can ask me to stop at any point and I will."

"Thank you." My voice is hoarse, the emotions he's bringing to the surface foreign, and I'm not a hundred percent sure I want to feel them right now. Which is why I'm grateful when he starts moving.

Marcel pumps in and out of me, slowly at first. And then his fingertips dig into my hips, holding me in place as he picks up speed. His cock slamming into me relentlessly, hitting some spot deep inside that has me seeing the damn stars. I'm reduced to a screaming, wet mess as he fucks me. Right now, the entire world could go up in flames and I wouldn't stop him. Stop this.

Like I said, I need this. I'm prepared to burn if it means reaching that earth-shattering orgasm I can feel building within me.

"Fuck, you feel good. The way your cunt is choking my cock right now… Fuck, Zoe. I could get lost in your pussy and never look for a way out," Marcel grunts through his thrusts.

"Shit! Oh, fuck!" I bite down on my bottom lip.

"That's it. Light up for me, babe. Come all over my cock." He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my screams.

And like he flipped a switch, my entire body is alight with pleasure as my orgasm crashes over me. Every nerve ending tingling. I lose track of everything but that pleasure. How good it feels. It's addictive. I haven't had it a lot and I already know I don't want to go another lifetime without it.

I open my eyes, as I'm coming down from my high, to find Marcel staring down at me. When did he stop kissing me?

"So fucking pretty," he says. His thrusts have slowed, his movements almost reverent. "I love watching you come."

I'm sure if my cheeks weren't red before, they would be now. His attention is a lot to digest. How can a stranger make you feel like you're the most important thing in the world with just a look? Or am I that desperate for love that I'm making shit up in my head?

Who knows? What I do know, is how much I like the way Marcel feels buried inside me. That's what I need to focus on. Nothing else matters right now.

"Where's your bedroom?" he asks.

"Upstairs." Before the word is out of my mouth, Marcel is picking me up, somehow managing to keep me impaled on his dick as he does.

He walks through my house, as if he's memorised the floor plan, heading straight up the stairs and into my bedroom. I should be concerned that he opened the door without being told which one it is. But then I feel his cock move inside me and all common sense is gone. I expect my back to hit the mattress, but Marcel spins around and falls backwards, pulling me down on top of him as he goes.

"Ride me. Take control, babe. Show me how much you love my dick buried inside your dripping wet cunt." His hands pull the bottom of my dress up and over my head, revealing my body to him.

Cupping my breasts, he rolls each nipple through the tips of his fingers as I start to move up and down on his shaft. He wasn't wrong. I do love having him inside me. It feels different in this position. Deeper. Every time I bottom out, my clit grinds on his pelvis and sends shots of pleasure through me.

"That's it. You're so good, Zoe. So fucking good," Marcel grits out, his jaw tight as his abs flex underneath my hands.

"I… oh god!" I can feel another orgasm building. How can I be ready to come again so soon?

"Good girl, Zoe, you're doing great. Show me. I want to see you make yourself come on my cock. Use me to make yourself feel good," he says.

And I do. I ride him as if my life depends on it. With one thought on my mind. Coming. I move in any way that makes me feel good. Chasing that feeling all the way to the end. Grabbing on and holding firm.

"Fuck yes," Marcel groans as my body tightens and I explode.

I know I scream. I can't make out the words though. The sounds Marcel makes, that's what I focus on. I've never heard anything so good in my life. Hearing him lose control, hearing him come because of me, it's a turn on like nothing else.

The sun streams in through the windows. I must have left the curtains open last night. It's the only reason I'd wake up this early on a weekend. My body aches as I roll over, and my hand lands on something next to me. Which has my eyes springing open.

"Shit," I hiss. Everything I did last night plays back at twice the speed in my brain. My lips spread into a smile before I force them to stop. Reaching out a hand, I shake Marcel's shoulder. "Get up!"

"Huh?" He tries to grab my wrist. I scoot back and climb out of the bed.

"Get up. Your time here has expired. I got shit to do, and you're not it. Sorry, sweetheart, but you have to leave." I throw his words back at him. Though I must say my delivery was much nicer.

"You have to be kidding me. Really, Zoe?" He glares at me.

" Really, Marcel. You need to leave."

To my surprise, he gets out of the bed with a smirk on his face. I watch as he disappears through my adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him. Then the water starts running. And the image of that man naked in my shower starts playing in my head. I can't deny how tempting it is, the thought of going in there with him. I'm about to cave into that temptation when my phone vibrates on the bedside table. I frown. I don't remember bringing it upstairs.

But there it is, plugged into a charger and all. Did Marcel do that for me? If so, why?

Seeing Mikhail's name on the screen stops my wondering and has me hitting answer instead. "Hello."

"Zoe? How are you?" The Russian accent and the genuine concern I hear in his voice make me homesick. I really do need to visit New York soon.

"I'm great. How are you? How're the babies?"

"Who's the guy, Zoe?" Mikhail asks.

"What guy?" I play dumb, even though I know it's pointless. He wouldn't be asking if he didn't already know.

"The one who showed up to your house last night and didn't leave?" Mikhail clarifies. "You can either tell me, or I can send some friends over now to find out."

"I'm fine, Mikhail. He's just a friend. That's all."

"Are you really okay? You'd tell me if you weren't, right?"

"You'd be the first person I'd call. Well, the second, after Izzy. But only because she'd kill the both of us if I didn't call her first." I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

"I want you to have freedom, Zoe. I do. And I want you to be a young adult, but I also want you to be safe. And choose who you spend time with wisely," he says.

"I'm being careful. I promise."

Mikhail sighs into the phone but seems to drop the subject. "Okay. Should I send the jet to bring you home for a weekend soon?"

"I'd like that, but let me look at my work schedule and get back to you."

"Anytime, Zoe," he says.

"I know."

"I love you," he tells me in Russian.

"Love you too," I say right as the door to the bathroom opens. "I have to go. I'll call you back later." I cut the call without hearing whatever else Mikhail was going to say. I can only imagine the surprise on his face. No one hangs up on Mikhail Petrov. Except maybe his wife. And now me.

Marcel stands in the doorway of my bathroom, nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. There's a look I can't decipher on his face. Without a word, he snaps out of whatever trance was holding him captive. Then he walks over to his discarded clothes and gets dressed. Which takes him less than five minutes to do.

He takes a few steps in my direction, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approaches me. "Last night was fun."

"It was."

Then Marcel leans down and kisses my forehead. "See you around, Zoe," he says before turning around and walking out.

"What the hell was that?" I whisper the question to the now-empty room.