by D. Cristiana
Marcus sat higher up against the headboard. He cupped Marguerite’s backside to bring her closer. “Rub your pussy against me.” He followed his wet whisper with another drugging melding of lips and tongue.
She rocked her hips against his muscled stomach. The hard ridges quickly teased her into frenzy. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nibbled on his bottom lip before plunging her tongue deep into his mouth. “You make me so damned hot for you! How do you do this to me?”
Marcus grinned in satisfaction. “Like and like.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Is it feeling better?”
Marguerite bounced faster in reply. The burning pain faded. An intolerable itch replaced it. The only way to satisfy it was to keep moving. She fell faster and faster down his rabbit hole, entering a bizarre world where nothing and everything made sense all at once.
“I love being in your ass, baby. It’s so tight. . .swallowing up my big cock like this. . .I just want to fuck you forever, baby.”
Marguerite babbled her agreement. She kissed his neck. Sweat pooled sweetly on her tongue. She gave into desire and bit down. Marcus responded by jerking his hips up and moaning her name.
Violent thoughts rushed across mind like a thousand scuttling insects, disgusting and forcing her to acknowledge them in stomach-churning fascination.
Does putting a bullet in a man’s head make him hard? Does he feel like God? Does he see us at all? Are we ants at his feet? Does life matter to him when money is the point of transaction?
Marguerite planted her feet on the bed, giving herself more leverage, and letting her thighs become their own gateway to bliss. She begged Marcus to touch her, to make her cry and scream his name. His fingers tunneled true. His thumb flicked across her throbbing clit, returning back to circle it, before tapping away in merriment.
Her arms trembled. Her stomach clenched. She chased her orgasm as hard as she chased the muted colors in her mind.
I should care about what he does when he’s not here. But I still don’t. What does that say about me? Does it say something I don’t already know?
***
Two years prior
“Surprise!”
Marguerite looked about. She imagined herself a tiny blot of ink in a colorless landscape.
“Do you like it?” Marcus grabbed her shoulders and turned her one way and then the other.
Snow spread out as far as she could see. The sky hung over them like a blue sheet of plate glass. There were no farm animals roaming the vast property. No people to stumble across them. There was nothing but snow, isolation, and more isolation.
“Well?” he prompted.
I actually did it. I left the States with this strange man—one who admits to be a killer—left my boring life, and now I’m here in the middle of nowhere. Whoa, momma!
Marguerite focused on his giddy expression. The lines in her face rearranged themselves spontaneously.
“Yes!” She pulled away and threw herself in the snow. Rolling onto her back, she flapped her arms and legs and screamed, “Holy shit, yes! This is perfect!”
Marcus joined her. His limbs kicked out madly as he hooted in joy. “I knew you’d love it! I just knew it! Aren’t you glad you agreed?”
“Yes.” Marguerite inhaled a lung-bursting breath and let it out with a happy giggle. “I’m going to love living here, Marcus. No responsibilities, no façade to keep up, nobody expecting anything out of me—this is heaven.”
He rolled over to face her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If someone told you five days ago you’d be in the middle of Siberia would you have believed them?”
Marguerite mirrored his position. Propped up on her elbow, she snorted. “Never.” She looked over his shoulder. “You know this could be anywhere really. Canada, Montana, or any of those other cold, snowy places. Or at least I think it could be.”
“Once you see the house you won’t think that.”
“Why? Is it a mansion?”
“You greedy thing. Why would I have a mansion all the way out here?”
“Because you’re good at what you do.”
Marcus reached out and gently brushed her windblown hair away from her face. “How come it didn’t bother you when I told you? Do you care that little for people?”
She considered her answer, habitually editing messy words, when Marguerite realized she didn’t have to anymore.
Who’s he going to judge? Not me.
“It’s not that. Look, it goes without saying I’m a little off or I wouldn’t be here with you, right?”
“No arguments here. No complaints either.”
“I guess I see it as either all killing is wrong or it’s not. I don’t think all killing is wrong but that’s when it gets messy. What’s justified? Is it better to kill in anger or not? Should it be personal? If I’m on the end of someone choking me to death, will I really care if it’s personal?”
Green glass eyes reflected Marguerite back to herself. She spoke faster and faster just to watch her miniscule twin mouth move.
“So reason stands impersonality is the better choice but is it? Does it really matter? World leaders routinely send their citizens off for one war or another. Are their hands any less clean? Aren’t they doing it for financial gain? War is big business, right? How are they any different from you?”
Marcus cleared his throat and lifted a dark, well-groomed brow in disdain. “They get to go on press tours and write boring books and demand hefty fees for public appearances.”
“What do you get?”
“Anonymity and an interesting companion like you.”
Marguerite found the snowy ground to be as conducive to sharing confidences as a bar table. “Marcus, would you really have let me go if I said ‘no’ to you?”
“Yep. I would’ve just kept with my original plan.”
Curiosity cocked her head. “Which was?”
“Buy a girl in Moscow.”
***
Present day
“Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”
Marguerite’s legs trembled from the effort. She gripped his biceps, enjoying the power hiding beneath her fingers. Marcus plundered her. His body slammed against Marguerite over and over again. He opened her completely, every entrance wanting his possession and imprint.
“Please fuck me. . .don’t stop yet. . .oh god. . .”
Marcus slid his arms beneath her shoulders. He whispered naughty things into her gasping mouth. He described how hard it made him to hear her beg him. He confided how the scent of her pussy, the feel of her soft lips, and the tightness of her beautiful asshole made him want to fuck her until he died.
Marguerite’s thighs squeezed his waist. His vulgar poetry razed her twisted thoughts to the ground. They fed her hungry soul. In the dark, Marcus became her god. And like a good, selfish disciple, Marguerite wanted to take his divinity for her own. She yearned to come yet again, to be a wanton, shameless thing in his bed.
No, not now. I wanna draw this out.
She pushed on his chest. Once he reluctantly stopped moving, Marguerite wiggled out from beneath him. She groaned in regret as his thick cock slipped out. It beckoned her touch. She couldn’t help but slide her fingers over him and sigh in appreciation.
“You’re so beautiful, Marcus.”
“Moi?” His lighthearted tone dissolved into a lush groan when she closed her fist over him and pumped.
Marguerite reached out for the discarded bottle of oil. Still keeping one hand busy, she opened the lid with impatient fingers and drizzled the delightful liquid all over his hard length.
“Baby, you’re killing me!” Marcus swore when she used both hands on him like a corkscrew.
“Does it feel good?” Marguerite crawled closer to him, mouth hovering over his engorged crown. Her tongue ached to jab the weeping slit and taste him.
“Fuck yes!” He reached out for her full breasts, palming and squeezing them. His fingers pinched, tugged, and pulled her hard nipples until she moaned as loudly as h
e had.
Marguerite rested her cheek against his muscled thigh. She kissed his tight sack, enjoying the light hairs tickling her lips, before laving it with the broad side of her tongue. Marguerite’s clenched hands sped up. “I missed you, Marcus. I didn’t want to but I did. I’m sorry.”
Marcus cupped her chin. He forced her to look up at him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
***
Two years prior
“I’ll get you better ones. Different kinds from those. Just let me know what you’d like and I’ll get them before I leave.”
Marguerite turned away from the closet. She noted a light flush pinked his cheeks. Up until this moment, embarrassment didn’t seem to be an emotion he was capable of. It surprised her.
Marcus gestured to the rack of clothes. “As I told you earlier, I purchased those for a different kind of woman. A flashy, short-skirted kind. Oh, um, but they’re new and have never been worn. Just so you know. I’m not so tacky as to make you wear something another woman has worn.”
Marguerite ducked her head to try and hide her smile. She plucked a silver, sparkly dress by the hem. “So the Russian girl was going to wear this out here? It doesn’t seem to work well in the countryside.”
“Yes, well, she wasn’t going to actually live here. A small apartment in Moscow was the plan for that one. I had those clothes sent here just so you’d have something to wear until I made different arrangements.”
“I see.” Marguerite circled the room, hand reaching out to occasionally touch a piece of furniture or the wall.
“Perhaps it would’ve been better to not have anything at all, right?”
She made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat while examining the plush white comforter.
Marcus watched her while keeping his position by the open door. “You think me a pig, don’t you?”
“I think you odd.” Marguerite sat on the edge of the bed. She met his troubled gaze evenly. “I think you considerate as well.”
“I try to be as much as I can.” His shoulders liquefied beneath his thick sweater. “I really am sorry I’m not better prepared for your arrival.”
“How?”
“How did I miss that set of details?” Marcus scratched his head in chagrin. “You were an impulse. I didn’t have much time to work with once I decided to change tactics.”
“Why?”
“Why you? Because I liked your honesty. I saw myself in you. It felt like kismet. I took a chance.”
“How much would your girl have cost?”
“About a grand U.S. currency.”
Marguerite gasped. “You mean you could’ve bought a whole city of girls for what you’ve paid me?”
He shrugged.
“That’s. . .it’s. . .wow. . .”
“Profane?”
“Yes!” Marguerite couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “Very much so.”
“Do you think me a pig now?”
“Of course not.” She shook her head adamantly. “Besides, how can I think you a pig since I sold myself to you?”
Marcus brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I appreciate your fair-mindedness. It’s a rare trait to come across.”
His praise warmed her insides. Marguerite scooted further back on the bed. “I have to say I’m feeling like I took advantage of you, Marcus.”
“How is that possible when I set the terms?”
“One girl instead of 50,000? How can I not feel like you’re getting the worst end of the bargain?”
Marcus’ eyes glittered. “Because I don’t regret it all, Marguerite.”
***
Present day
Ecstasy dangled her over the delicious abyss as she straddled his face. Marguerite rested one hand on her undulating stomach and the other on his soft hair. Marcus’ mouth covered her completely. His tongue lashed her, jabbing deep inside her gaping slit before stroking her hungry clit.
Marguerite looked down to watch him worship her naked pussy. His ravenous moans outstripped hers. Two fingers plunged in and out of her ass, keeping her primed and ready for him.
“Come, baby. Come on my mouth. Let me taste your sweetness, baby.”
Impatient to make her break apart, Marcus used his free hand to spread her open. He scraped his teeth across her clit before pursing his lips and sucking her hard.
Marguerite bucked. She hissed his name, hips helplessly grinding against his mouth. She was so close. Marcus’ gaze locked on hers.
“Come. Now.”
She convulsed. Cry after rapturous cry filled the room. Marguerite’s body existed in a glorious space where gratification reigned supreme and Marcus was pleasure incarnate.
He gave her one, last languorous lick. “Good girl.”
***
Two years prior
“Are you going to watch me all the time? Even when I go to the bathroom or take a bath?”
“No!” Marcus waved both hands while shaking his head. “The cameras are mainly for security. I’ve programmed the monitoring to be based on body heat for those rooms. Meaning if it registers more than just you, then it’ll kick on and digitally record what’s happening.”
“You think I’m going to invite some strapping young Russian guy in for a little fooling around when you’re not here?”
Marcus’ easy grin vanished. He set his fork and knife down. “We’ve already gone over that. I expect you to keep your word.”
This time Marguerite blushed. “My word is my bond. I wouldn’t do that normally much less when you’re paying me to stay here. I’m sorry for suggesting otherwise.” She gulped down her wine to avoid meeting his penetrating stare. Marguerite found courage to look at him anyway.
“I believe you. Anyway, good luck coming across a strapping young Russian guy out here. We’re at least 50 kilometers from the nearest house.” Marcus smiled, calm and clear as a cloudless sky. “It’s a safety precaution.”
“Safety.” The wineglass made a soft thud. “The distance or the cameras?”
“Both.”
“You mean someone might come here looking for you? Someone bad?”
“I’ve never had it happen but fortune favors the prepared. Which reminds me. . .have you ever shot a gun before?”
“No.”
“You will tomorrow.”
She gripped her tableware, letting them hover uselessly over her half-eaten steak. “Marcus?”
“Yes, Marguerite?”
“Don’t you think this was a vital detail you should’ve shared with me before we got on that plane?”
“Assassin. I thought it was self-explanatory.”
“True.” Marguerite set her utensils down. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Seller beware, right?”
Marcus reached out and patted her hand. “Baby, is your safety really any more guaranteed back in the States? At least here you’ll have a fighting chance along with the best security system money can buy. It will alert you if there are any intruders on the property. There are even several panic rooms with enough weapons and supplies to last you until I come and exterminate anyone who dares to try to harm you.”
“Where? This cabin isn’t that much bigger than a small ranch home. And that was sweet, by the way.”
“They’re under the ground. I’ll show you the tunnels after dinner. And you’re welcome, by the way.” Marcus lifted a half-empty bowl. “More potatoes, Marguerite? They’re really quite tasty.”
***
Present day
“Wider.”
Marguerite reached behind her and pulled herself open.
“Yes, just like that.” Marcus pressed his cock against her tight rosette. “I want you to keep your ass open for me, baby. Make it easy for me to pound you.”
She sighed as he pushed a few inches of his hard length inside before withdrawing. Marcus repeated the teasing action again and again. Marguerite wiggled back, trying to force more of his delightful cock into her.
“Do you want it all?” Marcus squeezed her h
ips and pulled her towards him.
“Yes! I want it hard and fast now. Please, please, please!”
“Anything to make you happy, baby.”
The pillow cushioned Marguerite’s guttural groan as he sank deep inside her unresisting body. Marcus possessed her completely. His hips slapped against Marguerite’s, making her tremble and moan in time with each eager thrust. He made her feel so incredibly good she wondered if it was possible to die from pleasure.
Marcus wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled Marguerite up against him. “I love you, baby. I love every piece of you. . .every part. . .every thought. . .everything that makes you Marguerite.”
Extraneous thoughts halted. They both existed at the edge of a world where the past faded and the future never came.
“I love you, Marcus. God, I love you!”
Marcus turned her head so he could kiss her. Marguerite swallowed his drawn-out cry as he exploded inside her.
***
One year prior
True to his word, Marcus had taught her how to shoot a gun. How to monitor the alarms. How to get to the tunnels. How to lock herself in the panic room. How to send him an alert.
Marguerite was an excellent pupil as she prepared for a mini-invasion that never came. Perhaps that was why she was completely unprepared for the bloodless assault on her heart.
They rarely spoke of him “delivering packages” for clients. Once she asked Marcus if he worked for the government. He paused in the middle of chopping wood and answered, “A government. Not one you’d ever find in the history books though they’ve been around since the beginning of history.”
Marguerite thoroughly enjoyed her new wardrobe. His library made room to include her favorite books. His media collection expanded to reflect her eclectic tastes. An abundant pantry and storage freezer ensured she’d never go hungry. Stacks of beautifully crafted journals, a laptop, and a typewriter guaranteed her mind would have an outlet. Anything she wanted he provided.
Cut off from the known world, she dissected her previous life and still found it empty and as gray as her last name. Maybe it was her parents’ fault for being so self-involved in their anger and pain they could never see hers. Maybe it was her fault for never having the courage to say what she really thought. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore because maybe, just maybe, they were instrumental in making her able to love a man like Marcus and the life that came with him.
