Forced Marriage with the Devil Mafia

Every touch igniting a fire

Jenna pushed him away and crossed her arms across her chest. "I need to change," she murmured. "You didn't even let me bring my clothes here," she grumbled.

Without a word, Marcel strode to the wardrobe and retrieved a simple white shirt, tossing it in Jenna’s direction. “Wear this,” he said curtly.

Despite her initial reluctance, Jenna conceded; the gown she wore was far too uncomfortable. She caught the shirt mid-air and begrudgingly accepted it.

She rushed to the washroom while Marcel dried his hair using a towel. When she emerged, clad in his crisp white shirt, its hem grazing her mid-thigh, a wave of discomfort washed over her.

Marcel’s intense gaze settled on her with such heat, she felt it could sear her very soul.

“Avert your eyes,” Jenna implored.

“Why should I?” Marcel challenged, closing the distance between them. “Am I not allowed to gaze upon my own wife?” His voice softened as he added, “Remember, Jenna, this is our wedding night.”

"We don't love each other. So, nothing will happen on this wedding night," Jenna stated. Though she was trembling inside in fear because Marcel wasn't the old Marcel anymore. He didn't even hesitate to kiss her earlier twice.

"I'm sleepy," Jenna said and quickly spotted a resting place for her on the recliner when her stomach let out a noise. She was famished because she didn't eat properly since the morning. She covered her stomach with her arm and bit her bottom lip.

"Let's have dinner," Marcel said and headed out of the room. She silently followed him to the dining room where the dinner was already set for them. She took her seat and began eating.

Jenna's gaze lifted, and she found Marcel's eyes locked onto hers. She diverted her attention back to her meal, finishing it hastily. With a sense of urgency, she scurried to the bathroom, brushing her teeth in swift strokes.

Upon reentering the bedroom, Jenna halted abruptly. The space where the recliner once stood was now empty. Marcel's presence filled the room, his smirk casting a shadow over his features.

"Come to bed," he beckoned, his voice a blend of command and mischief.

"Marcel, you can't just impose your will on me," Jenna replied, her voice steady yet tinged with unease.

She approached the bed with measured steps, perching tentatively on its edge before slipping beneath the duvet's protective embrace.

A silence enveloped them, thickening the air as Jenna's pulse thrummed in her ears. Then, suddenly, darkness descended at the sound of Marcel's clap, save for two dim yellow lights that cast an eerie glow. Her heart danced a frantic rhythm, skipping a beat.

"Ahh!" Jenna’s scream pierced the silence as Marcel’s grip encircled her waist, drawing her closer with an assertive tug.

"I've not punished you for jumping out of the balcony," Marcel's voice brushed her ear.

“Let go of me,” Jenna’s demand was firm, her voice laced with defiance.

“A kiss,” Marcel declared. “And don’t let your body deceive you once I begin,” he warned with a provocation.

Jenna's teeth found her lower lip, a silent plea for escape from the devil's clutches. The brush of his fingers against her outer thigh sent an involuntary shudder through her, a convulsion of both fear and unexpected sensation.

The cold metal of his ring, resting on his fourth finger, leaving a trail of shivers on her burning skin.

"Marcel, don't," Jenna pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Why? Give me a valid reason to withdraw," Marcel murmured, his rough lips finally touching the sensitive skin just below her ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine.

'I shouldn't feel this way. I hate Marcel. Why is my heart not accepting this?' Jenna's inner voice was a swirl of confusion and conflict. She felt his hand moving slowly upward, inching towards the hem of her long shirt. Each touch ignited a fire within her, one she desperately tried to quench.

Her toes curled involuntarily, and she lifted one leg, pressing it against him in a futile attempt to suppress the strange, electrifying sensation coursing through her body. Her breathing grew shallow, and despite her mind's resistance, her body truly betrayed her, responding to his every touch.

Jenna finally turned to face him, her eyes holding a strange, unreadable expression. "Because we don't love each other," she replied.

"That's not a satisfactory reason, piccola," Marcel murmured affectionately, his gaze lingering on her moist lips.

He pressed his mouth to hers, the softness of her lips eliciting a quiet moan from her. One of his hands began to unbutton her shirt, his desire evident in his every movement.

Jenna's resolve not to kiss him back crumbled, and she found herself responding to him. The taste of mint filled her mouth, and in that moment, she forgot the years of hatred she had harbored for him.

Why did Marcel have this intoxicating effect on her? Her body and her mind defied her will, aligning with her heart's longing.

For five years, Marcel had endured a hellish existence without her. Now that she was with him again, he couldn't bring himself to hold back any longer. She was his, and he was hers, and he intended to make up for all the lost time.

Jenna stopped his hand on the third button of her shirt, but he gently yanked it away, refusing to break the kiss. As his tongue touched hers, she shuddered and moaned, her defenses crumbling. She wanted to break free from this turmoil, but something deep inside her resisted.

Marcel's hand moved to her shoulder, sliding down slowly to trace the curve of her body. Her back arched slightly in response, every touch igniting a fire she couldn't control. The conflict within her raged, but in that moment, she was unable to deny the powerful connection between them.

Finally, after a while, when the two ran out of oxygen, Marcel pulled away. "This is what I do to you, Jenna," he muttered and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.