The Prototype

64. Our New Beginning

TEMPEST

My body dragged me out of unconsciousness, slow and unwilling, like I was caught in the undertow of a dream I wasn't ready to leave. Weightless and floating between sleep and reality. My limbs sluggish and heavy as if laced with a potent drug, my muscles unwilling to obey, sinking deeper into the plush comfort beneath me. My eyelids fluttered, reluctant to open, the weight of exhaustion pressing down, keeping me trapped in the remnants of oblivion. But little by little, the darkness lifted, the world around me bleeding together in a haze before sharpening into focus.

Deep, masculine hues enveloped me—black and great, sleek and commanding. My eyes drifted, catching on the familiar smooth, black leather chairs beside the window, their presence stark against the dim glow of the room. Then my eyes shifted toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the wall, revealing the Mediterranean waves outside. Dark and restless, rolling in an endless, hypnotic rhythm beneath the faint, lingering stairs. The sight snapping me back to reality of where I was.

Marcellus's Penthouse

Still cocooned in a hazy stupor, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the familiar scent of him—spiced vanilla and warm musk. Curling around me, thick and intoxicating, seeping into my pores, branding me from the inside out. Possessive. Unyielding.The scent clinging to the sheets, wrapping itself around my skin like an invisible chain, tethering me to him. A shiver whispered down my spine, my body acutely aware of its own bareness against the cool cotton sheet. I gently shifted my legs—just slightly—the dull ache in between my thighs ignited something visceral, triggering a flood of memories crashing into me all at once.

Flashes—fragments of last night tearing through me in a fevered rush. His mouth devouring mine, his tongue plunging deep, as if he wanted to consume every part of me. The bruising grip of his hands on my waist, fingers digging in, pulling me closer until I could feel nothing but him—his heat, his strength, his hunger. The guttural growls against my skin, rough and raw, vibrating through me until I burned. The deep timbre of his voice in my ears, smooth as sin, sending violent shudders down my spine, straight to my pussy.

My breath hitched. My body responded even now, even with him nowhere in sight.

More flashes. More memories.

Marcellus carrying me to his bed, stripping each other bare, tearing away every barrier between us until all that remained was raw need. His hands, rough and unapologetic, roamed over me, mapping every inch of my body as if memorizing me, claiming me. The slow drag of his palm over my breast, the teasing press of his thumb and index finger, rolling, twisting my nipples until my back arched, a sharp jolt of pleasure sparking through my veins.

I exhaled shakily, my fingers curling into the sheets as the memory surged forward, raw and visceral. His fingers sliding between my thighs, gliding against my clit in slow, torturous circles, dragging me to the edge with precision, with cruel, deliberate control. The way he worked me, as if he knew my body better than I did. As if he had studied every reaction, every shuddering breath. The way he slid those same fingers inside me, stretching me, his touch unyielding, merciless, until I was trembling beneath him. His lips on my neck, his teeth scarping over my pulse before he sucked roughly, marking me.

I shuddered beneath the onslaught of memories.

The thick weight of him pressing against me, teasing, coaxing a need so deep it bordered on madness. My pussy throbbed at the memory of his dick—long, curved, thick—dragging against me, thrusting inside, inch by inch, until he was buried so deep I felt him everywhere. My walls stretched around his dick, a perfect obscene fit. His relentless strokes, deep and deliberate, breaking me apart piece by piece and I reveled and welcomed it all.