Chapter Eight

Marco leaves me, sore, satisfied, and surprised at how tonight has gone.

I know that I was the one to start this risky game, but I never imagined he would actually come here.

He scared me at first, with his roughness and size. I have never been manhandled like that before.

But after the first orgasm, I couldn't get enough of him.

I shouldn't be feeling like this. He's holding me captive and using me as ransom bait.

He's also essentially stealing from my family. Despite all of that, my attraction to Marco has been overwhelming.

It dimmed slightly when I realized he had a gun on me, and again after I woke up in a plane and found out I was being kidnapped. But I understand that the man is trying to create a safety net for himself.

We spoke in the past about how his parents dying had meant he had no family money like his cousins did.

There was no life insurance, just debts that took any money they had, leaving him with nothing. And for someone in this kind of life, that makes it even harder to get by.

God, listen to me. I'm sympathizing with my kidnapper—a man who wouldn't think twice about torturing and killing my family if it means he can get what he's looking for.

Have I completely lost my mind?

Maybe it's just the hormones from those multiple orgasms that are making me feel something softer for him.

I wonder if that's a thing—orgasm bonding.

Thinking about the orgasms and the sex we had makes me feel weird.

The fluttering in my stomach is a good feeling, but there's also a pang of guilt because I should not be sleeping with this man, who is an enemy to my entire family—someone who brought me here at gunpoint.

The only thing stopping me from feeling too guilty about fucking him is the fact that my brothers haven't found me yet.

With all of their contacts and resources, I did think that they would have been here by now. And I know Marco is in contact with them, so they know I'm with him and in Mexico.

They may not know the exact location of this house, but I've seen them track down an enemy and behead them much faster than they're finding me.

The same weary bitterness I have been feeling toward my family chokes me again, and I fight back tears.

I am so tired of being forgotten by everyone.

In the bedroom later, I look at myself in the mirror, lifting my shirt to look at my skin.

I have bruises on my breasts and thighs, even one on my shoulder.

Marco's hands are big, and they weren't soft when he gripped my skin. I trace over the bruises, remembering the movements that caused each one.

I can feel myself getting wet all over again—not something I would have thought possible after the night Marco and I just had.

Soft light starts to creep into the room, and I realize that it's already morning. Somehow Marco kept me climaxing all through the night.

Now I need to sleep more than anything else. I close the heavy curtains to keep the room dark and crawl into bed.

I'm exhausted, and my body is sore. It feels like I completed a triathlon last night.

Closing my eyes, I picture Marco again, naked, hard and covered in tatoos, making me climax in his own bed.

Properly asleep, my brain rewards me with a dream that only continues the night's events.

I see Marco on the plane, looking at me with those eyes that make me melt. I go over to him and undress myself quickly, looking up to see he's already naked.

He sits still and allows me to climb on top of him. Lowering down onto his cock, I feel him fill me up and moan at the feeling.

He holds onto my hips as I bite his neck and he moans in pain—and pleasure.

Then I ride him, faster and harder than the night before. I know he can take it and he's surprised at my roughness.

My nails dig into his skin, and he grabs my hair, pulling it back so my entire body arches towards his hand.

I climax once, twice, three times, scratching and biting Marco until he's groaning louder than me.

My dream self doesn't care that we're in the plane with the pilot.

I make him lie down on the floor and ride him cowboy style, then reverse cowboy, and when he finally comes inside of me, I move up to hover right above his face, indulging in his tongue skills while I climax again.

Then, all of a sudden, we're in my room. It sounds like we're back at the wedding, and I'm finishing that striptease I tried to start before he whipped out his gun.

This time, I push him up against the door and strip him before dropping my dress to the floor.

I kiss his neck, and then all the way down his torso and to his stomach, stopping just before his pelvis.

His hard cock jabs my chest while I'm bent down. I tease him for a little bit longer, before pulling him to the bed and bending over in front of him.

I don't need to say anything for him to understand, and he pushes himself into me, doing me doggy style until I come and he follows after me just seconds later.

When I wake up five hours later, the day has arrived, and I'm wet with sweat. I might be wet with pleasure as well, but it's so hot I can barely tell the difference.

I throw the sheets off me and get out of bed. The dream felt so real.

I look around to make sure Marco isn't in the house, but disappointingly, he's not.

I shower, dress in clothing today, and make myself a quick breakfast to eat in the living room in front of the large windows.

The beach looks gorgeous, and I wish I had the freedom to go out and enjoy it. Marco still doesn't seem to trust me enough, though.

He's more interested in his deal than in us having any real conversations. I thought that us having sex would help with the trust, but he was distant for most of it, almost like he was having sex with a stranger.

I suppose I am a bit of a stranger, but my ego would like to think that sex with me made him feel something—anything.

I've moved the living room furniture around a bit so that I can do a workout on the floor.

I didn't bring any workout clothes, so I'm again in my bra and shorts.

This time I'm not doing anything for Marco. I'm only seeking to help my own aching muscles.

I do a simple circuit of squats, planks, and stretching. I usually go jogging at home, or join a Pilates class. I used to go with Emelia to classes until she started sleeping with my brother.

Here I'm limited with regard to space, but this little routine is at least keeping me moving.

The feeling of my heart rate increasing and sweat building up on my forehead is good, especially considering Marco left me craving more of him and then never came back.

As I'm finishing up, there's a quick knock on the door, and then I hear it open. I stop and listen for footsteps to try and figure out if I'm in danger or not.

Marco hasn't knocked before—he just walks in, sometimes sneaking up on me. Plus, I haven't seen him in like three days, although he's popped in through the cameras once or twice, so I doubt this is him.

But no one else is supposed to know that I'm here. I look at the living room door and see a young Mexican man standing there.

Between fight or flight, my brain chooses to freeze, and we end up just staring at each other for a few minutes.

But suddenly, I realize that he's looking at me standing before him in my bra, so I reach over and grab the T-shirt that I left on the coffee table.

"Uh, sorry, ma'am. I have a delivery." Calling me ma'am seems unnecessary.

I'm sure I see a hint of a blush on his olive skin, which must be from walking in on me half-dressed. I'm probably blushing brightly myself.

"A delivery?" I ask him, looking at the box in his hand. Immediately my mind jumps to the most dramatic option—a bomb!

But that's a bit of a ludicrous option. It's probably something harmless. Maybe Marco has decided on an outfit he wants me to wear.

I kind of wish it was a puppy, to keep me company, but I doubt he'd agree to that.

"Yes." The messenger boy nods enthusiastically.

I can see the gun attached to his hip, and I wonder how long he's been working for Marco. He looks so young.

"Mr. Rodriguez sent it for you."

I walk over to him and take the box. It's not too heavy, so it can't be anything too dangerous.

For a moment, I couldn't think of who Mr. Rodriguez was, since I've only heard Marco's surname once or twice.

"Thank you."

I don't know how I feel about strange men having a key to enter this house whenever they want to.

But I am grateful that he was polite enough to knock before he entered.

I wait until the young man has left the house and locked the door behind him before I put the box down and look into it.

Smiling, I take out the sketchbook, pencils, and a basket of chocolate and fruit.

There are also a few fiction books and magazines that were bought in the last week. Marco finally followed through on his promise.

I can see the books are a mix of thrillers and romance novels. Somehow, he managed to figure out my two favorite genres.

And now I can finally draw. That will be better for me than the exercise.

Sketching has always been the thing that got me through stressful situations. I have a bundle of notebooks that I've never shown anyone, where I hide some of my darkest drawings.

The ones I felt were acceptable for outside eyes, I used to give to my Nonna, and she would frame them and put them up on the walls.

We eventually took a lot of them down and replaced them with real artwork, but I still have my own private art gallery in my walk-in closet at home.

The first thing I do is rip one of the pages out of the book and write, in big letters, "THANK YOU".

Then I put the piece of paper on the coffee table, where I know he'll be able to see it whenever he checks in on the cameras again.

I want him to know I received it, but also that I appreciate the gift. There is no reply from the speaker, so I assume he's not currently watching me.

I'm not sure if it is disappointment that I feel, or if I'm just craving any kind of human interaction after spending so much time by myself.

I move all of the furniture back to where it belongs and set up my drawing station near the window.

I'm pleasantly surprised that Marco remembered that he had promised to get me art supplies, even if it did take him a few days to send them over.

I start drawing without any real plan. After a while, I realize it's Marco's face, but from my dream.

I look into the eyes I have drawn and get the odd feeling in my chest again.

I wonder when he'll be here at the house with me again.

For now, I decide to go to bed early, curling up with the extra pillows next to me and wondering, maybe hoping, he'll come back to my dreams and leave me wet and breathless one more time.