The knock turned into a pounding.
Marco's body stiffened. His hand shot out behind him, silently pushing Elena farther into the kitchen.
"Stay back," he said under his breath.
Her heart raced in her chest. Fear clawed up her spine, but underneath it, trust rooted her feet to the floor.
She watched as Marco strode to the door, his shoulders squared, his whole body ready for a fight.
Another hard bang shook the door on its hinges.
Marco grabbed the handle, turned it sharply, and yanked the door open.
Nobody.
Only the empty porch. Only the bright morning sun streaming down on the path.
But there—tied to the railing—was a single black ribbon, fluttering in the breeze.
Elena stepped out beside Marco before he could stop her. Her stomach twisted at the sight of it.
A message.
A warning.
Marco grabbed the ribbon, crushing it in his fist.
"They want you scared," he muttered, jaw tight.
"Well," Elena said, voice shaking slightly but steady, "it's working."
Marco slammed the door shut and bolted it.
Then he turned, and the anger burning in his eyes softened when he looked at her.
"I'm not letting anything happen to you," he said.
The words sank deep into her, steadier than any lock, stronger than any wall.
She moved toward him without thinking, reaching for the one thing that felt real.
Him.
Marco caught her halfway, his hands seizing her waist and pulling her against him. Elena's fingers curled into his shirt, needing to feel the heat of him, the solidity.
Their mouths crashed together.
It wasn't soft this time.
It wasn't careful.
It was desperate—raw.
Marco kissed her like he needed to stake a claim, like he needed to drown out the fear with her taste.
Elena gasped against his mouth, and Marco took it as an invitation, deepening the kiss, hands sliding over her back, her sides, memorizing every curve.
She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his jeans, needing to feel his skin.
He helped her, yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
God.
He was beautiful.
Hard muscle under sun-kissed skin, the scars on his chest only making him look more dangerous, more real.
Marco cupped her face in his hands, kissing her slower now, savoring the way she shivered under his touch.
He kissed her cheeks, her jaw, the sensitive spot just below her ear that made her knees buckle.
Elena let herself fall into it, trusting him to catch her.
And he did.
Every time.
Her fingers explored the strong lines of his back, the dip of his spine, the way his muscles tensed when she touched him just right.
Marco groaned low in his throat, a sound that made heat pulse between her legs.
"Bedroom," he rasped against her mouth.
She nodded, too breathless to speak.
Marco swept her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, carrying her down the hall.
Elena clung to him, her heart racing, her body aching.
Inside the bedroom, Marco set her down carefully at the edge of the bed. His hands slid down her arms, his thumbs stroking little circles on her skin.
"Tell me to stop," he said, voice hoarse, almost pleading.
She shook her head, grabbing his belt and pulling him closer.
"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.
Marco kissed her again, slower this time, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed her shirt up, revealing bare skin inch by inch.
Elena helped, lifting her arms so he could pull it off.
The cool air hit her, making her nipples harden instantly.
Marco's eyes darkened.
"You're perfect," he murmured, running his palms up her sides, over her ribs, finally cupping her breasts with reverence.
He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, and Elena arched into his hands, a soft whimper escaping her.
His mouth followed, hot and wet, kissing a slow, torturous path down her throat to her chest.
When his mouth closed around one aching nipple, Elena cried out, threading her fingers through his hair, holding him there.
Marco sucked lightly, then licked a slow circle around the peak before moving to the other breast.
The pleasure was almost too much—sharp and sweet, building inside her until she thought she might shatter.
Her hands fumbled at his jeans, desperate to feel more of him.
Marco groaned into her skin, helping her strip away the last barriers between them.
When he stood up, completely naked in front of her, Elena's breath caught.
He was big.
Everywhere.
Her body tightened in anticipation.
Marco dropped to his knees between her thighs, pressing kisses along the inside of her knee, moving slowly higher.
Elena's fingers gripped the bedsheets as he hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down her legs.
She was bare before him now—vulnerable, exposed.
But with Marco, she didn't feel afraid.
She felt wanted.
Worshiped.
His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where she ached for him most.
"You're shaking," he whispered, voice rough.
"I want you," she breathed, voice cracking with need.
Marco leaned forward, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right at the top of her thigh.
"So beautiful," he murmured.
His mouth moved higher, and Elena cried out, her body jolting as he finally touched her where she needed him most.
His tongue moved in slow, devastating circles, drawing cries and pleas from her lips.
He gripped her hips, holding her steady as he worshiped her, drove her higher and higher until she shattered in his hands, gasping his name.
Marco rose, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips.
He laid her back on the bed, bracing himself over her.
"Elena," he whispered against her mouth, "I need you."
"I'm yours," she said, meaning every word.
When he finally entered her, it was slow, deep, and overwhelming.
Elena clutched at him, gasping at the stretch, the perfect, burning fullness.
Marco moved with agonizing patience, rocking into her with slow, powerful strokes that made the whole bed creak.
He kissed her through every thrust, whispering her name, worshiping her body, her soul.
Their bodies moved together like they had always been meant to fit.
The world outside the room—the fear, the danger—ceased to exist.
There was only this.
Only them.
When they came together, it wasn't just physical—it was everything.
All the fear, the longing, the hope.
Everything poured out between them, binding them tighter than any promise ever could.