Guilty as Sin

Chapter6 - Ruin

The golden and endless city lights blurred before her, but Cruella barely saw them.

Because her body was betraying her completely.

She pressed her thighs together hard, but it did nothing—nothing to stop the deep, pulsing ache between her legs, nothing to stop the way her core clenched, desperate for something more than just friction.

Something deeper.

Something harder.

Something only Marcus could give her.

Fuck.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms as if that could snap her out of it.

But it was too late.

Because the second Marcus had leaned in, his voice a low, rough promise against her cheek—“I don’t keep them for every woman. Just the ones who matter.”—her entire body had lit up.

And now?

Now she was standing here, drowning in his scent, his shirt, his goddamn presence—and her mind was running wild with exactly what it would feel like if she gave in.

If he touched her.

If he spread her open and filled her up, stretching her, ruining her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

A soft, helpless sound caught in her throat.

Because she could feel it, the phantom sensation of his hands gripping her hips, dragging her back against him, his body hard, hot, unyielding.

She could hear the low, wrecked groan he’d make as he slid inside her, could feel the stretch, the deep, unbearable pressure that would have her gasping his name.

Gods, he’d be so big, thick, and perfect, pushing into her inch by inch, making her take it, making her feel every single part of him.

And when he bottomed out when he was buried deep inside her, so full, so f*****g full she could barely breathe—

She knew she’d break.

Knew she’d come apart, tight and pulsing and utterly wrecked, just from the feel of him alone.

A sharp, desperate need clawed at her chest, curling low in her stomach, twisting between her legs until she was so wet, so aching, she could barely stand it.

Fuck.

Her breathing was too shallow, her skin too hot, and the slick, throbbing pulse between her thighs too unbearable to ignore.

She needed to do something. Anything.

Because if Marcus walked out of that bathroom right now—dripping wet, his jaw tight, his c**k still hard despite the ice-cold water, his eyes dark with the same hunger that was destroying her—

She wouldn’t stop herself.

Wouldn’t fight it.

Wouldn’t care about whatever war they were playing at.

She’d let him take her.

Let him push her against the glass, let him drag her legs apart, let him fill her up, f**k her open, f**k her senseless until she was a shaking, ruined mess in his arms.

Another sharp pulse clenched deep in her core, and she sucked in a breath, her nails digging into her arms.

She had to get out of there.

Had to leave before she did something insanely, unforgivably reckless.

Because Marcus might be fighting his demons in that shower, but the moment he stepped out—the moment their eyes met, heavy and knowing and utterly, devastatingly inevitable—

Cruella knew.

Knew this wasn’t just tension.

Knew this wasn’t just desire.

This was about to destroy them both.

And gods help her—

She was already burning for it.

Cruella’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her body wired too tight, strung up with something raw and unrelenting. The city sprawled before her, neon lights pulsing in the glass, but all she could feel was him. The weight of his gaze. The heat rolled off his body like a promise.

She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. If she did, she’d see the wreckage she’d made of him—Marcus, standing there damp from the shower, hair curling against his forehead, the towel around his hips a laughable excuse for modesty. She didn’t need to turn to know his muscles were tense, his jaw locked, his fists clenched at his sides because he was holding himself back for her.

“Turn around.”

His voice was a low scrape of gravel, wrecked with need.

A pulse of something filthy clenched deep inside her. She turned.

And gods—he was beautiful in the most devastating way. Water still dripped from his skin, running in slow rivulets down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, disappearing beneath the towel that was barely hanging on. His eyes—dark, molten, starving—burned into her like an open flame.

She swallowed hard. There was no going back now.

Then—

He moved.

His hand fisted in her hair, his other grasped her hip, and then his mouth was on her—hot, demanding, all-consuming. The kiss was devastation, a razing of worlds, his tongue parting her lips, taking everything, leaving her trembling, burning.

A sharp sound escaped her throat as Marcus lifted her like she was nothing, hands gripping the backs of her thighs, hauling her up against him. She wrapped around him instinctively, her legs locking around his waist, her body pressing into him as if she could sink inside him, merge with him.

The towel around his hips fell away.

Cruella felt him then—bare, heavy, thick—pressed against her in a way that made her whimper, made her fingers claw at his shoulders.

Marcus groaned, low and feral, his mouth dragging along the column of her throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ruin you.”

She shivered, clenched, ached.

He carried her to the bedroom, laying her down on the comfortable bed, pressing into her, his body a heavy, delicious weight. The moment her back met the sheets, he was on her again, his mouth taking, tasting, worshipping.

His lips trailed down, teasing, tormenting. He nipped and sucked, marking his territory, branding her with every bite, every scrape of teeth against delicate flesh. A dark sound rumbled in his chest as he worked his way lower, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer until she was splayed open beneath him, trembling, desperate.

He proceeded by placing soft kisses on her neck. The tip of his nose brushed against her skin, tickling her, teasing her, making her arch into him, her breath hitching in anticipation. His lips trailed lower, grazing over her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peaks. She gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.

Cruella arched into him, heat twisting and coiling, unbearably tight. She wasn’t thinking straight. Her nails raked down his back, a silent demand, a plea for more.

Marcus’s lips brushed her ear, voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you need.”

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could only feel—the way his hands gripped her, the way his body fit against hers, the way she was already unraveling with just the promise of what was to come.

She swallowed, meeting his gaze, eyes dark with heat. “Aurelius, take me.”

A wicked smile curved his lips, and he gave her exactly that in the next breath.

All of it.

She wanted more. She was greedy to ease the ache, desperate for him in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. But when his kisses found her core when his tongue flicked against her with a slow, deliberate stroke—

Cruella cried out, her back arching, her fingers twisting into his hair, trying to pull him closer, push him deeper, and take everything he was giving. Marcus groaned against her, hands gripping her thighs, holding her open for him as he devoured her like a man starving like he’d waited forever for this moment.

The pressure coiled tighter, hotter, her body trembling as he wrecked her with every stroke, every sinful, torturous flick of his tongue. He held her there on the edge, teasing, taunting, until she was begging, pleading—

And when she finally shattered, when pleasure ripped through her like wildfire, Marcus didn’t stop.

Didn’t let up.

Didn’t let her breathe.

He took everything.

And then he gave her more.

Before she could recover, before the pleasure even began to ebb, he moved lower, his tongue tracing lazy circles, teasing, tormenting. His grip tightened, keeping her still even as she gasped and trembled beneath him. He toyed with her mercilessly, his fingers joining his mouth, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure, keeping her right on that razor-thin edge where she was half falling apart, half clawing for more.

Her body quivered, the overstimulation making her breathless, making her plead his name in a way that was nothing short of a prayer. Marcus growled against her skin, his voice dark and rough. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Cruella could barely think, barely breathe. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, needing everything he could give.

And gods, he gave it. Again. And again.

She moaned his name—Aurelius—over and over as he ravished and ruined her.

And his throbbing c**k was so eager; he couldn’t wait to be inside her, to feel her clench around him.

He positioned himself, holding her thighs, and he rubbed his erection on her core. “s**t,” she cursed under her breath. An unfamiliar pain spread throughout her body.

“You’re a v-” she cuts him off, “Just go on.” He was big and stretching her so bad that Cruella knew she couldn’t walk tomorrow.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked while breathing harshly.

“I’m fine. “she whispered.

“I’m going to move now.” Then he pulls back and in.

“Aaaah!” Cruella closed her eyes as pain seeped in.

“Shhh... It’ll be gone soon, sweetheart.” Marcus whispered in her ear.

He moved again. Slowly, at first. Adjusting for her, I guess.

Cruella moved her hips. Informing him that she was okay now.

He thrust at her deeper. He’s groaning and moaning and cussing while he’s thrusting

faster and deeper inside her..

He moved faster and faster, slamming into her, their moans and gasps mingling with the sound of skin meeting skin. “Aurelius...”

“Ella...”

That was all that filled the room. The sound of them, of raw, unrelenting pleasure.

He grasped her face between his hands, kissing her hard, his tongue tangling with hers, his teeth tugging at her lower lip.

“Damn,” he growled, moving faster, deeper. She felt it building, a tidal wave cresting inside her, an ache demanding satisfaction.

“Come for me, now.” His voice was ragged, desperate.

And that was her undoing.

She shattered, pleasure tearing through her in sharp, gasping waves. “Aaaahhh...”

Marcus groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck.” His head dropped, his body tensed, and with one last, deep thrust, he came undone.

He collapsed against her, breathless, his head resting on her chest, their bodies still tangled.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, staring at her with dark, unreadable eyes.

“You have a lot to answer for.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I just can’t broadcast that I’m still a virgin.” She avoided his gaze.

“But I’m happy. I was the first.” He slowly pulled out.

“Aaah.” She sighed, already feeling the ache of him leaving.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand reaching between her legs, his touch light, soothing.

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath.

His hand continued its motion, softly caressing. “Aurelius...” she whimpered.

He smiled and kissed her breasts before moving his hand away.

He removed the condom from his length. “I want to do that again, but you must rest.” He kissed her forehead.

“You want to what?” she asked, confused.

“Just go to sleep, Ella. Get yourself ready. I don’t have plans. So we’ll stay here and do something we’ll both enjoy.” He stood from the bed and walked toward a door, disappearing inside momentarily before emerging dressed.

“Aurelius...” she called him.

He looked at her.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She settled into the bed, trying to relax.