Marcus Possessive Novels & Stories

“I don’t do childish labels but I’ll be your man.” As his lips connected with my neck I closed my eyes smiling. “My protector.” He leaned up moving his arm around me as he moved in front of me. “I will always protect you, Taylor. You belong to me.” I laughed. “You make me sound like some kind of possession.” Lucas shrugged, “you are, you’re mine.”

The jealousy was still there, but it was mixing with that familiar heat low in my belly. “You kissed her,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Now you have to kiss me better.” A slow, dangerous smile spread across Marcus’s face. He rose up on his knees, hands sliding higher until they gripped my hips. He pulled me to the edge of the bed and leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, hungry kiss. This one was nothing like the one he’d given my mom. It was possessive, claiming, full of heat and need. His tongue swept into my mouth as one hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wanted.

Sophia moaned as he filled her completely, inch by thick inch, until his hips pressed against her ass. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “This pussy is going to learn who it belongs to now.” He started thrusting — deep, possessive strokes that made her breasts bounce. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the penthouse as Marcus claimed her body as his new rent.

"Why? Why stage all of this?" "Because I needed you desperate. Broken. Willing to do anything." Marcus's voice hardened. "You destroyed my public empire. My legitimate holdings. But you never touched my real power. The underground network. The connections that span thirty years and twelve countries. That is still mine. Still thriving. And I want you to run it." "You are insane—"

He was just a giant with a buzzed head. "I'm going to the garage," I said. "I have to get my car." "You don't have a car anymore," Marcus’s voice boomed behind me. I turned around. Marcus was standing on the porch, wiping his hands with a white cloth. There was a tiny drop of Roman's blood on his cuff. He looked at it like it was a piece of dirt. "What do you mean?" I asked. My throat felt tight. "I mean the keys are in my pocket," Marcus said. He pulled out my phone and held it up. "And this is mine now, too. You’ve been using it to talk to people you shouldn't. From now on, your calls go through my office."

"Declare the marketer's position vacant. Find someone to fill her former role. She's under my wing now," Darien declared, surprising both himself and Hau Lin. Darien froze as he realized what he had just said. Why did his tone come out like that? How could he sound so possessive? Hau Lin was left speechless by Darien's sudden proclamation. While he had sensed a change in Darien since that night he first met the lady who now worked as his assistant, he never expected the man to display possessiveness so quickly.

He cautioned. I glanced at him, my voice cutting sharp. “I didn’t come here for a warm welcome. I came to get what is mine.” I muttered. Referring to Tracey as mine sounded possessive. But, I could care less. She was in my possession at the point she was taken away, and that alone made it personal. Whatever was in my care was mine. Marcus nodded saying no words, his gaze fixed back at the Iron gate. The gates creaked open, and Deigo’s men poured out like a pack of wolves, ready to pounce on the nearest humans around..

"These are for me," Marcus said, putting the phone away. "So I can see what's mine, even when you're not here." The knowledge that Marcus had these photos, that he could look at them whenever he wanted, was both terrifying and deeply arousing. It was another layer of ownership, another inescapable chain binding him to this man.

“You don’t own her.” I grab Logan’s hand, squeezing it and shake my head. “Don’t,” I whisper, my voice pleading. I can’t let this escalate, not when Logan is still so weak. Marcus’ smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with something dark, possessive. “You’re my woman, Camilla,” he says, his voice cold. “I don’t share. And I sure as hell don’t like seeing you cozy up to other men. Keep it up, and I won’t hesitate to rip him apart.”

“And Marcus? He’s unraveling. Feel his scent? Sour jealousy, like spoiled wine left in the sun. He thought he could own the narrative. Now it owns him.” Across the chamber, Marcus was a storm cloud barely contained. His pack hovered close, Viktor muttering something low and placating while the others shifted uneasily, their dominant posturing cracked like cheap armor. Marcus’s scarred face was flushed crimson, nostrils flaring as he inhaled our intertwined sovereign signature again and again, as if trying to scrub it from his lungs. His dark eyes locked on us—on me—with a possessiveness that twisted into something venomous. He took a half-step forward, pack trailing, voice low but carrying i