Is it love?

Chapter IX - Proposal?

Marcus's arms wrapped around me with a possessive intensity, his lips trailing across my skin with a fervor that sent shivers down my spine. I could feel the heat of his breath, his need palpable and consuming as if he were trying to claim every inch of me. And for a brief moment, I let him, lost in the passion that seemed to blur the lines of everything I thought I knew.

But then, as if waking from a dream, reality crashed into me. The soft fabric of the towel was the only thing separating me from him, and his hands were now against my bare skin, sending a jolt of shock through me. My heart raced for entirely different reasons now—fear, uncertainty.

"Stop it, please!" My voice broke through the haze, the sudden shift in my tone startling him.

Marcus stilled, his eyes widening with confusion and frustration as he set me down, the weight of his touch gone but lingering like a ghost. I fumbled with the towel, trying to cover myself, feeling exposed in more ways than one. We stood there in the thick silence, his gaze locked on mine, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling between us—desire, confusion, anger.

I knew what he wanted. Hell, I wanted it too, but not like this. My heart pounded against my ribs, torn between the pull of my desire and the panic gnawing at the edges of my mind. I could see it in his eyes—he wanted me as much as I wanted him. But this wasn't how I imagined it, not after all these years of longing. Not like this. It was my first time, and I needed it to mean something, not to be driven by some impulsive, fiery lust that might burn us both.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. As much as I want this, I don't want it to happen like this," I whispered, my voice trembling as I forced the words out. My gaze dropped to the floor, too ashamed to meet his eyes. I was bracing myself for the storm of his reaction, for the inevitable fury that would come.

"Oh, right. The saint Klara. How could I forget?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it, there was a dark edge, a bitterness I hadn't expected. He lifted my chin with his hand, his face inches from mine, his breath warm and unsettling. "Why did you attract me, then? Why did you turn me on if you weren't going to follow through? Was it him, huh? Did he make you lose your mind?" His words were sharp, cutting into me, filled with frustration.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, feeling my fear morph into something harder, more defensive. I met his gaze with a mix of confusion and hurt. "Marcus, stop. You're scaring me."

"Me? I'm scaring you?" His laugh was bitter, almost unhinged. "Wake up, Karla. You turned me on all night, teasing me, making me wait for something, and now you're the one that's scared? What the fuck have I done wrong?"

His words twisted inside me, making it hard to breathe. He was unraveling before my eyes, and I had no idea how to stop it. His anger was simmering just beneath the surface, and I felt as if I was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath my feet.

"You did nothing wrong," I choked out, my voice barely audible. "I've never done this before, okay? Are you happy now? Me confessing that you're the first boy who's ever touched me?"

For a moment, he froze, the shock evident in his eyes. I don't think he ever considered that. He was so used to playing with girls, manipulating them, bending them to his will. I wasn't sure how many innocent ones he'd had, but I was certain this wasn't going to stop him. Marcus was relentless, always pushing boundaries. I knew him too well. I knew what he was capable of.

"And you're telling me this now?" His voice was softer but no less intense. He ran a hand through his hair, stepping back as if trying to distance himself from the weight of my words. "Damn it, Karla."

The anger in his eyes seemed to dissipate, replaced with something I couldn't quite read—regret, confusion, maybe even shame. He stood there for a moment, his hands at his sides, his shoulders tense as if carrying a burden too heavy to bear.