The moment the hotel door clicked shut behind us, Marcus pinned me against it.
His hand slid around my throat, though not enough to hurt, as his mouth crashed onto mine with a hunger that stole the breath from my lungs. There was nothing restrained about him now. No patience carved out by the fear of losing me.
Just want. Purely raw and overwhelming.
And I gave into it willingly, my fingers gripping his shoulders as his body crowded mine against the wall. My injured shoulder throbbed faintly from the pressure, but it became insignificant beneath the sheer relief of finally having him here like this again. The sprinting from the museum was too tiring, then the Tube was taking too long.
But now that we were finally here, Marcus kissed me like a man starved. His breathing turned rough the moment my lips parted for him, a low sound escaping his throat as his tongue swept against mine.
Then his hands were everywhere.
My coat hit the floor first.
Then his.
The straps of my dress slowly down my shoulders beneath his impatient hands until the fabric pooled at my feet. I reached for his trousers at the same time, smiling faintly against his mouth.
Marcus still refused to even try jeans, insisting the fabric was "a prison designed for men's suffering". And having experienced him more than enough times by now, I unfortunately understood his argument.
A breathless laugh nearly escaped me before he lifted me effortlessly into his arms and carried me toward the bed.
Even now, consumed by desire, he still remained careful with me.
He laid me down gently against the mattress, his large hand sliding over my waist before his eyes caught the fading bruise near my shoulder when I moved. Something dark flickered across his face at the sight of it.
"You are mine," he rasped suddenly, one hand closing around my breast, thumb brushing slowly over my hardened peak before he pinched lightly.
I gasped softly beneath the intensity of his stare. "So are you."
The tension in his face eased immediately.
"An honor," he murmured.
Then he kissed me again, but slower this time.
Deeper.
His mouth trailed from my lips to my jaw, down the sensitive line of my throat, lingering there long enough to pull another shaky breath out of me before he continued lower, worshipful in the way his mouth moved against my skin.
His mouth closed around my nipple before he bit down lightly.
The sharp sting pulled a gasp out of me—
but in the same breath, he pushed into me.
My back arched instantly at the sudden stretch, pleasure crashing violently against the pain from his bite until I could barely tell them apart anymore.
"Marcus—" I breathed, my fingers tightening against his shoulders.
He buried himself deep, stopping there as though savoring the feeling of me wrapped around him again. His forehead dropped against my cheek, his breathing rough and uneven against my skin while my hands slid into his soft, dark hair, instinctively tugging him away from my breast before he became too distracted by it entirely.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The intimacy of it nearly overwhelmed me more than the desire itself.
His body over mine, the warmth of him pressed against me. The sheer weight of how desperately this man could love.
I let out a shaky laugh, brushing my thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. "You know," I murmured breathlessly, "for someone who spent years in the battlefield, you are remarkably dramatic in bed."
A low sound escaped him, half-laugh and half-groan, his dark eyes lifting toward mine.
"Only because you reduce me to this," he rasped.
A breathless laugh escaped me before Marcus stole it away with another kiss.
Though this one felt different. It was deeper, hungrier somehow, but threaded with something unbearably tender beneath it, like every movement of his mouth carried words he could not fully say out loud.
Then his hips began to move, measured and slow.
Each thrust deliberate enough that I felt every inch of him, the drag of his body against mine sending heat curling low through my stomach until my fingers tightened helplessly in his hair.
It was consuming.
Like he was pouring every ounce of devotion, every fear, every impossible emotion straight into my body.
My head fell back against the soft duvet, breath catching as his mouth left mine to trail along my jaw again.
The muscles in his arms flexed beside me as he held himself over me carefully, refusing to let his full weight crush me despite how deeply he seemed to lose himself whenever I made a sound for him.
"My future wife," he murmured roughly against my lips before kissing me again.
The words sent a sharp ache through my chest, as I cupped his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me as another slow thrust pulled a shaky breath from my lungs.
"You sound terribly pleased with yourself," I whispered.
Marcus's mouth curved faintly against mine, dark eyes heavy with heat.
"You agreed to marry me," he murmured. "I intend to savor my victory."
I laughed softly as he moved again, the rhythm of his hips turning rougher now, more desperate, like the restraint he carried so carefully around me was finally beginning to break apart.
My legs tightened around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer while his mouth remained on mine, swallowing every broken sound he dragged out of me.
The room blurring around the edges until there was nothing left but him. The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body on mine, the way he held me like something precious whilst completely losing himself in me.
We stayed tangled beneath the sheets when it was over, both of us still trying to catch our breaths. I was lying on top of him, my cheek pressed against his cheek while his heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my ear.
One of his hands brushed lazily through my hair, smoothing the tangled strands back while the other rested against my waist.
Every now and then, he would lean down to press another soft kiss against my temple, so gentle it made my chest ache.
I traced slow circles against his chest with my fingertips before tilting my head up slightly. Marcus was gazing at me, like he could not quite believe I was real.
"What fills your mind?" he asked, a faint smile touching his mouth, softer than anything I had ever seen on him before.
"What if it doesn't work?" I asked. "What if despite all this, they still wouldn't leave us alone? What if—"
He kissed my lips, silencing me. "I will protect you," he said. "I have faced armies with more men before, done the impossible, this will be the bare minimum of my duty."
I must've fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of his heartbeat beneath my ear, whilst his fingers brushed my hair. Because the next thing I knew, the morning sun had begun spilling through the curtains.
So bright, my eyes fluttered open slowly, one hand instinctively reaching across the bed only to find cold sheets behind me. It was empty. Even the lingering warmth of him had already faded.
Marcus was gone.
A strange unease settled heavily inside my chest, as I stared at the hollow space where he had been only hours ago. The imprint of his body still remained against the mattress, the sheets tangled from where we had slept wrapped around one another.
"Marcus?" I called softly.
Only eerie silence greeted me.
So I pushed myself upright slowly, the duvet slipping down my body as my gaze drifted around the small hotel room we stayed in. The trail of clothes we had left from the door was gone, safely packed in a laundry bag by our luggage. The bathroom light was off.
The distant sound of London traffic filtered faintly through the windows, cruelly ordinary against the sudden panic beginning to bloom beneath my ribs.
Then my eyes caught it.
A folded note resting neatly on the bedside table, written in the same ancient handwriting I had slowly begun teaching myself to recognize.
Elena,
I have gone in search of breakfast for the both of us. Do not worry, I know my way now. Rest awhile longer. I shall return soon.
- Marcus.
I stared at the note for a long moment, my fingers tightening slightly around the paper.
He had said not to worry.
But somehow, this uneasy feeling curling low in my chest just simply won't go away.