Leona’s POV
Two months.
That’s how long I’ve been in Marco’s house—his space, his world, his rules.
Midterm break came and went like a passing dream, but I never went home. I didn’t pack a bag not like I wanted to anyways, I was happy my foster father forgot me with the twinkle of an eye.
I just stayed.
And he let me.
Marco never said the words, but I could see it in his eyes. The need. The silent command. The way his body curled around mine every night like I was something his—to keep, to claim, to consume.
Somewhere between late morning coffees and late-night moans, I forgot what time meant. Days melted together. His house became my sanctuary. My prison. My stage.
Everywhere I went, I felt him watching me.
And I loved it.
At first, I thought I was just his s*x tool. Intense,
