Marcus Scribner Nude Novels & Stories

Instantly, Marcus's entire body goes violently rigid against hers, a sharp, jagged gasp vibrating against her lips as she feels the unmistakable, completely unguarded physical reaction straining heavily against his wet slacks. Beneath the water, Luna's lips curve into a secret smirk. How pathetic, she thinks, a dark amusement stirring inside her as he deepens the kiss, as though he can somehow hide his desire. For a man who has photographed thousands of the world's most exquisite women, playing the role of the untouchable, elite creative director, Marcus is ultimately no different from the rest of the beasts she has conquered. He doesn't have a single ounce of self-control.

And yet… the way he was looking at me, the low command in his voice, the way my pussy was already getting wet despite the shame… it was making me throb. I sank slowly to my knees on the thick carpet in front of his desk. Marcus’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. He reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling out his thick, heavy cock. It was already half-hard, long and veined, the head flushed dark. Bigger than I’d ever imagined in my most secret, guilty fantasies. He gripped the base and tapped the fat head against my lower lip. “Open,” he ordered softly. “And keep those pretty eyes on me while you work off your debt, baby girl.”

He didn’t even look at us, but every few minutes, I could feel his eyes on me sharp, cold, disapproving. Then Marcus said something that made me snort-laugh again, and I caught Santino’s reflection in the tinted window, his jaw clenched, eyes like dark storms. I smirked. Good. Let him stew. When Marcus mentioned something about a famous model who got caught dating her driver, I gasped dramatically. “No way!” “Oh yes!” he said excitedly. “It was all over the tabloids last week. She said she fell in love with his ‘honesty’ or something.”

Soon, the woman would have a taste of her own medicine and she would learn that it wasn’t good to toy with innocent people. While in the shower, Marcus contemplated Daniella’s possible reaction when he would go out of the bathroom with just a towel or nothing. She would be surprised, for sure. After he cleaned himself, he wiped the water on his body with the towel that Daniella gave her, then went outside without troubling himself to cover his nudity. Like a model of underwear, he strutted his way toward the bed. He used to be a playboy and seducing any woman would be child’s play for Marcus.

Then I turned around, bent over, and lifted the back of my skirt, fully exposing my round ass and glistening wet pussy to all of them. My smooth pink lips were visibly wet and shiny. A thin string of my juices slowly dripped down my inner thigh. I stayed bent like that, ass up and pussy on full display while they stared. One of the men held up his phone. "Can we take some pictures, Marcus?" Marcus looked at me. "Elena, would you like to pose for some nice semi-nude photos for us?" I hesitated for half a second, but his calm gaze melted me. "Yes, Sir..." I whispered.

Marcus stopped in front of the bench and spun me to face him. “Strip,” he commanded, voice low but carrying. “Now.” My hands shook as I peeled the dress over my head, letting it drop. Cool air kissed my bare skin. Naked. Completely. My full tits, hard pink nipples, shaved pussy already glistening. I could feel eyes crawling over me—my stepbrother’s little sister, bare for everyone. “On the bench, slut,” Marcus said, loud enough for nearby people to hear. Filthy pride burned in his tone.

“Fuck yes. You look like you need more than your fingers, baby.” Sophia moaned softly and spread her legs wider, showing him how shiny and swollen her pussy was. “Then come here and give it to me. I want the real thing.” He didn’t need to be asked twice. Marcus stripped fast, revealing a thick, heavy cock that made Sophia’s mouth water. It was long, veined, and already leaking precum at the tip. He climbed onto the bed, grabbed the p**n magazine, and flipped through a few pages with a wicked grin.

He froze instantly, the air leaving his lungs as his breath hitched violently in his throat. The room wasn't dark at all, and Marcus was definitely not asleep. In fact, Marcus was standing right in the middle of the narrow space near the foot of the bed, completely naked. His pale skin was still slick with glistening water droplets, fresh from a late-night shower, and the only thing he was wearing was a pair of black boxer shorts that he was just in the middle of pulling up past his thick thighs. Ethan had opened the door right at the exact, horrifying second Marcus had his dick on complete, unfiltered show.

And all I could think about was how that thick cock would feel stretching me open. I rubbed harder, breath coming in short pants. The woman in the video gagged, spit dripping down her chin, and Marcus praised her in that same deep voice he used when he told me dinner was ready. My toes curled. I was so close— The bedroom door swung open. Marcus stood there in his black button-up, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the powerful CEO. His eyes locked on the screen first. Then on me. Hand still buried in my shorts. Face flushed. Mouth open.

Absolutely priceless. This man. This ridiculous, stubborn, maddeningly complex man. A man who used to work as an escort. A man who once slept with a complete stranger in a hotel room ten years ago without blinking. A man who had no issue turning himself into a living fantasy for someone else’s pleasure back then. And now? Now, he can’t even consider the idea of sketching her in the nude, like Jack did with Rose in Titanic? It was hilarious. Absurd, really.