Chapter 4

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.