A PAWN WITH SOFT SKIN
Marco POV "Master, I want you deep inside me," She said, moaning in a way pleasant to only her. I pulled out my hard cock and thrusted inside her just as I wanted. Her legs were trembling. Her mouth open in a whimper I didn’t care to hear. My grip on her hips tightened. The sound of our skin slapping skin filled the room. Rhythm brutal. My jaw clenched, eyes locked on the headboard, not her. I could tell the whole building could here her voice but I didn't care. She moaned my name like it meant something. It didn’t. She wasn’t Leona. I buried myself deeper. Faster. The sheets twisted beneath us. Her nails scratched my chest—too needy, too fake. “Marco… ahh, yes…” I barely heard her. All I saw was Leona. That damn girl with fire in her stare and bruises on her soul. Her lips trembling in the cold. That little defiant twist in her voice. The way her body leaned away from me—but her eyes lingered too long on mine. She had no idea how close I’d come to touching her. That night in the Maserati—when she passed out and fell onto me—her chest had pressed against me. Soft. Warm. Real. My cock throbbed now—not from the girl under me. But from the memory of that weightless moment, her breath brushing my neck, the scent of desperation and something sweet. I growled and came inside the girl, hard, rough, cold. She cried out like it meant something. It didn’t. I pulled out immediately. As I sat down closer to my drawer “Here, take care of your bills as promised,” I muttered, grabbing a roll of hundreds from the drawer and tossing it at her like trash. She blinked at me. “Are you kidding me?” “Unless you only want cab fare instead.” No answer. Just the rustle of her dressing and fabric. She knew what this was. They always did. She walked out of the room, banging the door behind her. I stood making way to the bathroom still naked, heart still racing for the wrong reasons. Leona… I hated the damn rules I gave her. Hated that I even cared if she followed them. But she did. She listened. Obeyed. Stayed put like some wounded animal too scared to be kicked again. Didn’t even ask why. Just nodded, quiet as anything. But her eyes… God, her eyes. They said everything she never spoke out loud. Like she already knew the reason. Or maybe she didn’t care. Maybe she just needed someone to tell her where the hell to stand so she wouldn’t get hurt again. I stepped into the shower. Hot water slammed into me. Scalding. Good. I needed the pain. Needed it to burn her out of my head. But all I could see was her curved red lips. The way she bit her lip when she was nervous. The curve of her thighs beneath my oversized shirt. Her breath catching when I spoke low. She was trouble. And not the fun kind. The dangerous, inside-your-veins kind. I shouldn’t care what happened to her. She was just a piece on the board. A pawn that wandered into my game. But the second she said, “I can’t go back,” something in me snapped. I slammed the water off. Toweled off roughly, pacing the floor. I didn’t have time for this kind of weakness. I had enemies to bury and contracts to close. My phone rang, I didn't hesitate to pick the call. "Any news?" "Yes Boss. There's a middle aged man that lives few street from where she was seen. He's name is Kenneth Greene. He has a fake Foster license to Leona." I sent my spy to get a news on W******p had happen to her. "What's the next move Boss?" He asked. "Teach him a lesson," I ordered in a cold tone. "Tell him the next time he tries to touch what isn't his any longer, I won't hesitate to pull a trigger in his mouth myself down to his throat." "Done boss." I ended the call. I stared at the wall. Heart pounding. Adrenaline burning. It wasn’t just about Leona. It was about principle. About power. I couldn’t stomach men like him. Weak men who fed on the powerless. She had bruises on her wrists. I’d seen them. Faint. Old. But they told me everything. I walked to the mirror, towel slung low on my hips. Drops still ran down my chest. My reflection stared back. Controlled. Composed. Dangerous. Except… I felt it again. That pull. That heat. My cock stirred again—thick, hardening slowly—not because of the girl I just finished with. But because of her. Leona. Sleeping just down the hall. She didn’t even know the war she started inside me. Didn’t know how her soft chest brushed against me in that car and nearly made me crash the damn Maserati. Didn’t know I watched the way her thighs peeked through that slit in her nightshirt when she crossed her legs. She didn’t know what it took to keep my hands off her when she was unconscious and vulnerable, curled up like a kitten in my seat. She didn’t know I stared too long. Too hard. That I had to remind myself she was just a pawn. A temporary piece in a long game. I had dozens of women at my disposal. Models. Dancers. Heirs. Ones that begged for my time. But none of them made me want to burn rules I made myself. I gritted my teeth, leaned forward, staring into the glass. This wasn’t like me. This couldn’t become a thing. I had plans. A timeline. And she— She was a complication with soft lips and a story that made my blood boil. I closed my eyes. I needed to stay in control. “Marco?” I was distracted by her voice outside my bedroom door. Her soft, small voice. Leona. My hand gripped the edge of the sink. I hadn’t given her permission to leave her room. She disobeyed. And somehow… That only made me harder.I'm his submissive Leona POV I lay curled in the corner of my room, light creeping through the curtains, drawing thin stripes across my skin. Blankets tangled around me like child’s toy. My chest still beats fast from yesterday’s memory—his voice, the way he pressed me against the wall, the hunger in his voice, the fierce clench of his hands in my hair. It shouldn’t feel so… right. But it was. So impossibly right. Memories of him come back in vivid shards: his lips skimming my jaw, his fingers clutching me like he was afraid of losing something precious. I feel torn—like I’m both undone and made whole in the same moment. My body still tingles, wanting more while my heart braces for the ache that always follows. Tears prick my eyes, soft and steady. I bite my lip, trying to stop them. It doesn’t matter that I cry. Every time I think I've escaped his gravity, he radiates back: his heat, his power, his command. And I… I still wante
Marco’s POVSun ray spat against the windows as I returned from the penthouse terrace, suppressing the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. I was trying to get some soft air. I entered the house, it was surprisingly quiet. I had gone out for a chill air after Leona slammed her door at me.But as soon as I stepped into my bedroom, I felt it shift. A figure against the far wall, silhouetted under the soft glow of the hallway lamp.It was Veronica. Her silhouette was familiar—the curve of her hips, the sharp rise of her chin. My breath stalled. The air smelled of expensive perfume, cedarwood and honey, but there was something off: a metallic tang of tension.I closed the distance in two steps—my bespoke loafers clicking on marble. Veronica stood unmoving, arms crossed too tightly, fingers clutching slender forearms like she’d needed to ground herself. Her lips were pale, eyes glittering with something between accusation and agony. “Why didn’t yo
I MISS MY MOTHER'S PENDANT Leona’s POVHis gaze landed on me. I stood there shaking. He made approach. As I moved back a bit. Staring at his unreadable eyes.Without a word, he turned and walked away. I stumbled into my room.Slamming the door. I dropped to the floor. The storm hit me—grief, rage, shame, betrayal. I cried hard, broken.I stared at my palm. The scar of the injury I sustained when I was 17.The night my foster father came home drunk, he was dripping anger as usual. I had gone to bed early, hiding under blankets until the fuzzy call of sleep took me. But he’d kicked the door open, angry—vodka mouth, fists ready. He screamed, delivered questions like bullets: “Why will you sleep without waiting for me, huh?”I remember hugging the locket so tight it cut into my skin. He saw it, his face twisted. He grabbed it, dragged it away like it belonged to him. We struggled. The chain snapped. When he hit me hard, again and again the pen
I'M FALLING FOR HIMLeona POV I woke to the weight of his body beside me and the soft rustle of sheets. My skin still tingled from last night—pink, electric, numb in ways I didn’t think possible. I was still fully naked, wrapped in his white silky blanket. It smelled like him—cold linen, something deliciously dangerous. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He’d stayed fully clothed; pants, shirt—everything except a tie. I shifted; the weight of his body beside me felt both safe and wrong in the same breath.I stared. He looked like a sleeping god—strong jaw, dark hair spilling across the pillow, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. His right hand lay on the pillow like it belonged there. I reached for it but stopped, fear and something else—want—knotting in my chest.He stirred. Eyelids fluttered. He lifted his gaze to mine, slow and calculating. I could almost hear the hum of electricity between us.“Morning,” he said softly. Voice low but steady.
I AM OBSESSED WITH YOUMarco POVI didn’t expect to see her. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be in the city tonight. “Shit,” I muttered, not even looking down.“It’s really you, I missed you”The voice wasn’t familiar at first. Till I turned to see a familiar face.Veronica Russo. The daughter of Darlington Russo. My ex fiancée. She stood in front of me in a tight gold dress, her lipstick smudged, eyes glossy with alcohol and something else—regret, maybe. She leaned in; her breath sweet with wine.“Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”“Barely.”She giggled. “Of course, you do. You left me at that fundraiser with your father ranting about ‘disrespect.’” Her tone soured.I didn’t answer.She stumbled to the streetlight glow, blinked a few times. “You look… you look more handsome than the last time I saw you.”“You don’t,” I said. Not out of cruelty. Just the truth.She laughed. Loud and bitter. “Still cold. S
THE SCAR THAT NEVER LEAVESMarco’s POVRain battered the shower glass, each drop echoing the tension in my chest. Steam curled into the dim light overhead, but I could still feel the storm in me—rage, guilt, panic. The day from hell replayed in my mind.The business meeting in Milan fell apart halfway through, which meant I could come back home. I had checked my phone every few minutes, expecting any feedback from her but nothing. So I decided to take a night flight back ahead of schedule.My flight was quiet, almost too quiet. I remember checking the sky and knowing it would rain—like it did the night I first saw her trembling in front of my car. Something about rain always brought trouble.By the time I got home, she wasn’t back from her lesson. It was past 10pm. I brought out my phone to track her through her phone’s GPS, thankfully she turned on her location. I thought of calling her but I didn’t want to appear clingy. I felt just to check on her fr