"I don't do shit halfway, sweetheart. You step in my flames, you'll burn to ashes!"
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The Kings of the underworld are in a bit of a predicament; their rule over the city is challenged as an old enemy...
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There are several good protections against temptation, but the surest is cowardice.
~ Mark Twain ___________________
For a very short time, Marcella had harboured a youthful fascination for the proverbial bad boys, the danger felt intoxicating in her teenage years.
It was a phase she had quickly outgrown, dismissing it as a naive infatuation with the thrill of the forbidden. Growing up, she had learned to value stability and integrity, distancing herself from the chaos of those who lived on the edge. Yet, life had a cruel sense of humor.
Her lips bruised from a kiss that was searing and punishing, locked in a steamy embrace of the man who embodied every perilous element she had once been drawn to and then rejected, the stark reality hit her: she had come full circle. Only this time, the stakes were much higher and and sharper, because there wasn't a known way to ever slither out from the clutches of a formidable mafia lord.
Perhaps Ashley was right, perhaps the universe could really be so cruel, perhaps Agust D really did desire her.
Marcella's hands, were still pinned behind her back, strained against his grasp. She twisted her body, trying to pull away, but it was futile. He was too strong.
"Please," she gasped, her voice cracking. "Don't do this."
"Begging already?" His smile was wicked, a cruel glint in his eye. His hand slid down from her neck, fingers tracing the curve of her collarbone before moving lower, gliding over the thin fabric of her shirt. He brushed over her hardened nipple, eliciting a shiver from her, then continued down to her stomach, his touch both possessive and tantalizing. Finally, his hand returned to cup her face, his thumb grazing her lips. "Your body speaks volumes, Marcella, yet your lips dare to lie."
He pressed his lips against hers again, more forceful this time. Marcella's mind screamed at her to fight, to resist with every fiber of her being. To cling to her dignity. She managed to pull back slightly, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"No matter what you do to me," she hissed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'll never be yours."
His eyes darkened, and his grip on her neck tightened painfully.
"We'll see about that."
With a brutal force, he recaptured her mouth, his kiss punishing, merciless. Marcella struggled, her body writhing against his, but her strength was waning. Slowly, agonisingly, her body began to betray her, responding to his touch with a fervour that made her despise herself even more.
She kissed him back, anger and desire warring within her, her mind caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His hold on her hands remained unrelenting, and his grip on her neck kept her immobile, a prisoner to his cruel will.
