Novel & Cerita Marco X Jean

“Girl, I knew he was too damn fine to be safe. But why didn’t you stop when you realized the files were... you know…illegal?” I shrugged. “Couldn’t back down, Daya. You know I hate quitting.” She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d stick. “That stubbornness is gonna get you killed one day.” She leaned closer. “So you think Marco’s, like, from the… Maroon fam—” “Marano,” I corrected automatically. “Not Maroon. And yeah, obviously. Why else would he announce his last name like that? But I don’t get it—I just helped Xavier. It’s not like I’m walking around with the file in my pocket.”

"Feel how hard you've made me, baby girl." Liana gasps as she feels the hot, hard length of Marco's cock beneath the denim. "Fuck," she breathes. "You're... you're so big." Marco grins, reaching down to pop the button on his jeans. "And you're going to take every inch of it," he promises, shoving his pants down his legs. His cock springs free, long and thick and flushed with need. Liana licks her lips as she takes in the sight of it, huge and throbbing and leaking pre cum.

He stood, his movements fluid and predatory, and crossed the room to offer a hand. "Hello. I am Marco," he said, his deep, melodic accent hinting at his Mediterranean pack origins. His icy blue eyes held a sharp, inquisitive glint. Standing well over six feet with a powerful, corded build and a razor-sharp jawline, he was the personification of a lunar fantasy.

"This time, it's you, Cillian." Alessandro shook his head with a bored expression. "And you call me volatile." He pointed. Fucking great. For once, I didn't sit quietly. For once, I reacted. Suddenly, I took Alessandro's place in fucking things up. It's fucking hilarious. "Wait. We all fought. Then how is your shirt not creased or stained? Not even a bit?" Marco exclaimed. "Hey, it's Brioni," I stated the obvious. "I am not getting this stained."

She looked at him like he was dumber than rocks, so he shook his head, but did as he was asked, walking back and forth, from side to side until they were satisfied that the trousers were a good fit. Francesca handed him a waistcoat, a rich black colour that matched the trousers, then fiddled with the strap at the back until it was fitting him right. He received a frown and a lecture on how he should never fasten the bottom button, but at that point they were interrupted by Maddy and Heidi appearing in the doorway. "Oh, my," Maddy said, looking at him. "Very nice work, Francesca," Heidi said nodding as she examined Mark. "Mark, you really suit that colour. And keep doing what you're doing at

Marco shrieked in anguish, a sob leaving his throat. Xavier scoffed, ambling close once again, ignoring the way Marco's body wriggled like a leaf as he tilted his head to the side, revealing a mate mark on his neck. Xavier smirked, his calm facade not decamping. "I didn't realize you found your mate, Marco. Looks like a fresh mark, should we invite him, I'm sure he would be ecstatic to see you?" "No, no, no!" Marco shook his head repeatedly. "He knows nothing about this, don't bring him into this!"

I put my phone in it, apply my shimmery lip gloss, then take one last look at myself. I paired my midnight blue jacket with dark colored jeans and some heels, and with my silver purse, I look put together. Marciano is leaning on the car door when I step out through the revolving doors, smoking. He’s in a fitted white dress shirt, with the first three buttons undone, exposing his hard chest. The sleeves are folded to his elbow, where I notice black ink for the first time. His face is as expressionless as I expect, but his eyes, which under the evening light appear green, do not hold as much animosity as I remember.

I wasn’t in the mood. But Marco was serious. And this wasn’t just about me anymore. There was a team, a contract, a brand built around us overnight. Still. I wasn’t going to enjoy it. *** The next day came quicker than expected. Marco had sent a stylist to my place. Nothing over-the-top. Just a soft beige hoodie, cropped slightly, with fitted jeans and white sneakers. Casual, effortless, like I’d just thrown it on without thinking. Like I wasn’t being watched. Xavier picked me up in a black SUV, window partially rolled down, sunglasses on.

They both like to wear black suits, they both have chiseled faces and their necks look thicker than they are in reality. Opposite them, three across the table, sat Marco Clark, his lawyer, and his financial advisor, all of whom bear a striking resemblance to him. Marco Clark is the biggest gadget vendor in all of LV. His brand, Gadget Rolls, is just as big as theirs, and maybe a year or two ago, it may have even been a little bigger. Looking at the man, one would not know he was anything close to what he is. Marco Clark wore framed eyeglasses that, with their round shape, gave his face a certain smooth, slightly-feminine look. He had the air of the merely comfortable.

His hands were still tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white like maybe he was bracing for impact—just not with my car this time. I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Jesus, man. You tryna kill me or just my car?” He blinked up at me, flushed with that stupid grin that was both charming and infuriating. “Okay, I definitely have no money to pay for that.” He climbed out of the car, finally, and I gave him the once-over without meaning to. Old habits. Marco could dress like he owned a mirror and a gym membership—tight black jeans hugging those dancer legs, a cropped hoodie that barely covered the hem of his fitted shirt underneath, and sneakers that looked too clean for a guy with such reckless dr