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With each bite, color returned to her cheeks, and the trembling in her hands subsided slightly. The mana was working, healing her from the inside, restoring what their earlier passion had depleted.
Between bites, he kissed her—soft presses of lips that tasted of maple syrup and strawberries, gentle pecks on her forehead, lingering kisses on her neck that made her sigh but didn't escalate beyond tenderness.
"You're taking such good care of me," Paris whispered, her eyes beginning to glisten. She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. "It's weird... people have always bought me things. Jewelry, clothes, cars... whatever. But this?" She looked down at the plate before meeting his eyes again. "No one's ever made me breakfast. No one's ever sat here feeding me because I was too exhausted to even hold a fork." Her voice softened. "I didn't even know I wanted something like this."
Marvin smiled gently.
"That's because you've spent too much of your life around people who thought love was measured by what they could spend." He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. "It isn't. Sometimes it's as simple as making breakfast for someone you care about."
Paris rested her head against his shoulder as he offered her the last strawberry.
"I think I could get used to this," she admitted with a quiet laugh. "To waking up like this... to you looking after me... to the way you make me feel."
He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
"Then get used to it," he said softly. "Because I'm not letting you escape from my clutches."
Once she'd eaten, he helped her lie back down, turning her gently onto her stomach. "Now," he said, pouring warm oil into his palms—oil he'd warmed with more healing energy, fragrant with lavender and rose, "I'm going to take care of that soreness. Tell me if I press too hard."
He started with her shoulders, kneading the tension from her muscles with skilled fingers. Paris groaned into the pillow, a sound of pure relief. He worked his way down her spine, each touch infusing her with warmth, the mana sinking into her skin like sunlight.
When he reached her thighs, she tensed slightly—the muscles there were tight and aching from being spread and claimed for hours. But his touch was gentle, therapeutic, working the soreness from her quadriceps and hamstrings, then moving to her calves, her feet, pressing his thumbs into her arches until she whimpered with relief.
"Your poor body," he murmured, moving to her ass, which bore the marks of his earlier possession. He massaged the rounded flesh with reverent care, healing the bruises, soothing the tenderness, injecting more golden mana directly into the muscles that had clenched and strained around him. "I used you so hard, baby. But you took it so beautifully. You were perfect."
"I wanted it," she mumbled, half-asleep already from the massage and the food. "I wanted all of you."
"And you'll have it," he promised. "Again and again. But tonight, you rest."
He turned her over and massaged her front—her arms, her hands, her stomach, her breasts with careful tenderness, her throat where he'd marked her. Everywhere he touched, healing followed. By the time he finished, she was limp and pliant, her eyes closed, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Stay with me," she whispered as he settled beside her, after getting naked pulling the covers over them both.
"Always," he said, gathering her into his arms.
They slept naked, skin to skin, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her. The giant pink teddy bear watched over them from the corner, and the scent of roses filled the room.
---
Morning light filtered through the pink curtains, soft and forgiving. Paris woke slowly, stretching carefully—and realized with surprise that while she was still tender, the sharp pain had faded to a pleasant ache, manageable and almost sweet in its reminder.
"Good morning," Marvin said, already awake, watching her with those deep eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Morning," she said, her voice husky. "Oh my God, I can actually move."
"Some," he cautioned. "But we're going to take it slow today."
He helped her to the bathroom, supporting her as she walked—her steps still wobbly, her gait uncertain, but possible. The shower was large enough for two, with multiple jets and pink marble walls.
"May I?" he asked, his hand on the shower control.
"Please," she said.
The water was warm and gentle, cascading over them both. Marvin took a soft cloth and washed her carefully—not sexually, but lovingly—cleaning every inch of her skin, shampooing her hair with gentle fingers, rinsing the suds away while she leaned against him for support. She returned the favor as best she could, her hands still shaky, washing his back, his chest, his hair, learning his body in this new, innocent way.
They didn't make love in the shower.
Instead, they simply stood beneath the warm stream of water, letting the silence settle between them. Neither felt the need to speak. They washed away the exhaustion of the day, finding quiet comfort in each other's presence. Sometimes, love revealed itself not through passion, but through the smallest acts of care.
By ten o'clock, dressed and packed, Marvin stood at the door with her in his arms. She wore a simple pink sundress—modest by her standards, though it still showed her figure—and flats that wouldn't strain her healing body.
"I have to go," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret as he held her close. "But I'll see you soon."
"Promise?" she whispered, her eyes searching his with soft vulnerability.
"Promise."
He kissed her then — deeply, thoroughly, a kiss that promised everything and demanded nothing in return.
It started slow and tender, their lips brushing with aching sweetness, but quickly bloomed into something far more passionate. Paris melted into him completely, her arms tightening around his neck as she parted her lips and invited him in. Marvin answered with a low, hungry sound, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, sensual dance that quickly grew deeper and more urgent. Their tongues tangled and stroked each other with wet, intimate hunger — exploring, tasting, claiming every inch of each other's mouths in long, luxurious strokes.
It was a full French kiss — messy, passionate, and full of longing. Thick strands of saliva connected their lips whenever they briefly parted for air, only for them to dive back in even more eagerly. Soft, needy moans escaped Paris's throat as she pressed her body tighter against his, her breasts squishing warmly against his chest. Marvin's hands roamed possessively over her back and waist, pulling her impossibly closer as their tongues continued their deep, wet exploration.
They kissed like two people who had been starving for each other — slow and savoring one moment, then hungry and desperate the next. Saliva coated their lips and chins, making the kiss deliciously messy and intimate. Paris's fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss even further, her tongue sliding sensually against his in perfect rhythm.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening, foreheads resting together. Paris's eyes were heavy with love and desire as she looked at him, a soft, radiant smile playing on her lips.
"I'll be counting the days," she whispered, stealing one last gentle kiss before he had to leave.
He smiled against her forehead, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he needed to. His thumb brushed softly across her cheek, as if committing every little detail of her face to memory.
"Take care of yourself while I'm gone," he murmured. "And don't make me miss you more than I already will."
"And Paris?" he said, his voice dropping into the calm, commanding tone that never failed to send a shiver through her.
"Yes?"
"Now that you're mine—truly mine—I want you to stop flaunting that figure quite so much. No more skirts that barely cover you. No more necklines that invite every stranger's eyes. Dress with a little more mystery. Save the best parts of yourself... for me."
She should have rolled her eyes. She should have bristled—Paris Hilton, of all people, being told to cover up? Instead, a warm smile found its way onto her lips.
His words were undeniably possessive, yet beneath them she heard something else—care, protectiveness, and the quiet desire to cherish what he loved. Rather than feeling confined, she felt treasured.
"...Okay," she whispered, resting her forehead against his. "Just don't keep me waiting too long, Daddy."
"Good girl," he said, kissing her forehead one last time. "Rest today. Eat the chocolates. Hug the bear. Think of me."
"I will," she said, her heart full. "I love you, Marvin."
"I love you too, my Paris. My little heiress."
He left her standing in the doorway of the pink suite, the teddy bear visible over her shoulder, the scent of roses surrounding her, and for the first time in her eighteen years, Paris Hilton felt truly, unconditionally loved—and it hadn't cost her a single penny.
The moment Marvin stepped out of the Beverly Hilton, he headed straight for the airport. He had been scheduled to leave the previous night, but he couldn't bring himself to leave a girl like that. It would have broken her heart, and sooner or later the girls would compare their first experiences with one another. If one of them felt slighted, it would only breed jealousy and unnecessary conflict. The last thing he wanted was resentment or jealousy taking root between them.
He would rather postpone every meeting on his calendar than allow cracks to form within his coven. Marvin believed every girl's first time with him should be memorable, never rushed because of a flight or a business obligation. Giving them a little more of his time was always the better choice.
The very first lesson he had learned after opening his eyes in the Abyss was simple: women often become one another's fiercest enemies. He had seen desire turn into envy, envy into resentment, and resentment into outright hatred. He refused to let that happen among his girls. If harmony required extra time, then that was a bargain he would make every single time.
Marvin left Los Angeles aboard a private jet from LAX, flying nonstop across the Atlantic to a small, secluded island off the coast of Spain. The crew of *The Others* had established their production camp there, and principal photography had already been underway for four weeks by the time he arrived.
The black SUV navigated the winding, coastal roads before pulling through the gates of the sprawling, gothic estate serving as the primary location. Marvin stepped out of the car, adjusting his sunglasses against the bright Mediterranean sun. Gordon stepped out a moment later, shadowing him closely.
Amy stayed behind in Los Angeles. She currently sat buried under a mountain of pre-production paperwork for *Hide and Seek*, scheduled to begin filming in New York shortly.
"Marvin!"
A bright, excited voice carried across the manicured lawn.
Lindsay spotted him near the catering tent. A heavily highlighted script rested in one hand. Without a second thought, she sprang out of her director's chair and hurried across the grass, her long red hair bouncing behind her.
She didn't stop until she reached him.
Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly.
"Daddy," Lindsay whispered with a mischievous grin.
The nickname was one of those ridiculous inside jokes only a few understood.
Marvin laughed and caught her easily before she could throw them both off balance.
"Hey, Linds," he said, hugging her back. "Been behaving while I was away?"
She pulled back just enough to roll her eyes dramatically.
"Please. I'm the easiest person on this set."
He gave her a look.
"...Okay," she admitted with a laugh. "Maybe don't ask Alejandro that."
She kept one hand hooked around his forearm as they started walking.
"He's such a perfectionist," she said, talking a mile a minute. "We've been doing fourteen-hour days, and he'll still ask for another take because my eyebrow moved half an inch." She shook her head before breaking into a proud smile. "But honestly? It looks so good. The footage is amazing."
There wasn't a trace of complaint in her voice.
If anything, she sounded proud.
She wanted Marvin to know she was earning it—that she wasn't relying on being "the cute kid" anymore. She wanted him to see that she could keep up with demanding directors, long days, and the pressure that came with carrying a film.
Marvin noticed immediately.
He tapped the edge of her eyes.
"I can see that," he said with an approving smile. "Those notes aren't for show."
****
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