Page 80 of Ruthless Secrets
“Come on, love. Come with me.”
My legs buckle as I orgasm, but Marco wraps an arm around my waist and holds me upright as he thrusts inside me one last time before he climaxes.
I cry out his name with each rush of pleasure that surges through my body, and his answering groans have my skin breaking out in goosebumps.
When we’re both done and catching our breaths, Marcopulls me up so that my back is pressed against his front, and I angle my head so that he can kiss me.
I rest my head against his shoulder.
He kisses me again. “I mean it, Clara. I want to come home to this every night.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
Chapter Eighteen
MARCO
I thoughtI had mastered the art of making Clara happy, but now I’m suddenly not so sure.
As I lead her upstairs to one of the guestrooms on the top floor of Andre’s house, a nervous pit starts to form in my stomach. Even focusing on her small hand in mine does little to ease my anxiety.
She looks at me. “You’re being weird.”
“Am I?”
Clara huffs but says nothing until we reach the bedroom at the very end of the corridor.
When I pause outside the door, she looks up at me.
“What’s behind the door?”
I shrug. “Why don’t you open it and find out.”
I squeeze her hand tightly before letting go and taking a step back.
Clara frowns as she looks down at my bruised hand but curiosity seems to get the better of her. She turns the door handle and pushes it open, and for a second, there’s nothing but silence.
She takes in the room. “Oh my god! Marco! This isincredible!”
Turns out I can make Clara scream my name without even having to touch her. I might be more skilled than I thought.
“Do you like it?”
She gazes around the room in awe.
After speaking with Andre and Lila about Clara’s love for sewing, they both agreed that it would be good for her to have a space of her own that she doesn’t share with anyone else. Not even Zoe.
I wasted no time ordering a top-of-the-line sewing machine as well as countless rolls of fabric and other supplies that she might need. I’ve set her up with a proper sewing table and put in shelves to keep all of her fabric and projects organized.
There’s even a couple of dress mannequins by the window, that for some reason, I find incredibly creepy.
She steps into the room and starts to run her fingers along the rolls of fabrics. “You did this for me?”
“I would do anything for you Clara.”
Over the past week,Clara has disappeared inside her sewing room at every opportunity, sometimes even choosing to sew instead of eating.
One night the following week after Clara doesn’t appear for dinner, I decide to bring her some food to her room.
