Chapter 7

After an afternoon of people making me pretty, I am declared acceptable and told to put my dress back on. My hair is still long and lays flat on my back, one length. But it's healthy the way they blew it out, it looks soft and full. My makeup is light and natural, mainly concealer to cover up the dark circles and colors of peach and golden bronzes sprinkled over my skin. Oh and lots of mascara and a pale pink lip to match my nails.

Marco seems pleased with the results. He tugs me to him and wraps an arm around me as we leave and guides me past a few guards to his private offices in the main house. He explains that he has an office building and a warehouse on the grounds, but when he has to work late or early, he'd rather be in the main house where he can be alone and away from other offices.

The Saltillo tile continues into the hallway to the Spanish oak doors that lead to his office. He unlocks the door with his phone and when the door clicks open, he guides me into a large office decorated in dark woods and leather. The first televisions I've seen since I've been on the compound are in his office. The screens are blank, and even though I want to ask, I remember the last time I asked for information on the outside world. Because that's what it is. I am inside his compound and everything else is the outside world. I am separate from it.

There aren't pictures in his office, but similar blueprints that decorated the walls of his Miami hotel are on the walls. He has a full library and a bar with what I expect to be expensive liquors and crystal tumblers and a crystal decanter filled halfway with amber liquid. Marco has me sit in a leather armchair across the desk from him. I don't know if it was intended, but the vision of him sitting across a perfectly organized mahogany desk in a high back leather chair does something to me. He unbuttons the cuffs of his white shirtsleeves and rolls them up his forearm before leaning his elbows on the table, exuding power. I squirm. He is impressive.

"Do you wish to please me?"

Oh, this again.

"Yes," I affirm.

"Good," he replies. "There are rules you must follow at all times. The first one, is simple. You must always do as I say and be honest with me, if you are not, I think you are familiar with the consequences."

Boy, am I ever.

"You will always be with me, unless I give you permission or tell you otherwise. When you work with your tutors, for example, you will be in a study next door. When I start to trust you and you please me, you will earn certain freedoms."

How do I earn freedoms? By simply doing as he says? Something tells me it's not that simple. Or what he asks me to do won't be so simple.

"You are Viviana," he tells me. "That is all. You do not talk to anyone else about your past or background or how you got here."

I nod, that one was kinda obvious. He mentioned it earlier.

"If you have any questions about anything, you ask me."

"If you are not with me and you need to contact me, there are phones in every room. You have permission to dial 831, it will go directly to my cell phone."

My eyes widen. "My birthday."

"I thought it would be easy for you to remember. Only you have access to that line."

I fidget in my chair and finally decide to tuck my legs beneath me so I can see over the desk better.

"The phones do not give you access outside the compound," he warns me. "You are not allowed a cell phone, internet, or to see a newspaper, or watch live television. There is a movie room where you can select from a pre approved list of television shows or movies. You will also have access to a restricted laptop. However, I do not trust you with these things yet."

I understand. I barely got out of the hell cell. I wouldn't trust me either.

"The compound is the largest in Mexico and one of the largest in the world. It is heavily guarded, you are heavily guarded."

There's no exit strategy. That's what he's saying.

I knew this already. I knew this while staring at the pipes in the hell cell.

"I know what is best for you. You are my gift, Viviana, and I take care of my gifts. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Tell me the rules so I'm sure you understand."

"My name is Viviana and I must always be honest with you. I cannot talk about my past. I must always do as you say. If I am not with you, I can dial 831 to contact you. I'm not allowed to use the internet, a cell phone, or look for information on the outside world," I repeat.

"Good girl," he approves. "Come over here."

I move to stand and walk around the table.

"Shoulders back."

I pull my shoulders back.

"Lift your arms."

I think I know where this is going. I lift my arms above my head. He crouches at my feet, gently takes off my shoes, and swiftly pulls the dress over my body, then strides across the room. Opening a closet door, he hangs up the dress and places the shoes on a rack. I don't move from my spot. He sits back down in his leather chair and gazes at me slowly from head to foot, his eyes lingering on my pebbled nipples. My breathing shallows under his gaze. After spending hours getting waxed, buffed, and cleaned up, standing before him while he just observes every part of me, does something to me.

Part of it is the fact that I don't know what he'll do.

His gaze slowly tracks south, down my bare stomach to my bare… "You are wet," he observes, a smile on his lips.

I feel myself flush. I shouldn't be, my rational mind tells me so, but I've always been attracted to Marco and those times when he's taking care of me and holding me are not bad memories at all. The kiss in the salon was nice. More than nice.

"Why are you wet?"

He does this. He makes me say what I'm thinking when he knows what the answer will be. Bonus points if my answer causes me to flush more than I already am. He did that in the room downstairs.

I take a deep breath. "I am aroused."

"Why?"

I want to roll my eyes, but prevent myself from doing so. He knows why.

"The salon," I pause, but then feel part of the old me slip out. "You kissed me and it was nice and you touched me and that was nice too, but then you stopped. Now I'm naked, standing before you while you, looking like you do, and just stare at me."

I think I went too far, but he seems to approve of what I said because he leans over in his chair and runs his index finger up my slit, brushing past my clit. A shocked gasp escapes my lips. He lifts up his finger, shows me my glistening juices before licking it off. "Sweet, just like I thought it'd be."

Christ.

He sits back in his chair, he spins that same damp finger. "Turn."

I turn around, and even though I'm staring at a bookshelf, I feel his eyes. I squirm slightly, which earns me a chuckle. Bastard.

"Turn around," he orders.

I turn back around.

"Kneel."

I get on my knees.

Marco stands and from this angle, he is massive. I'm not exactly short but standing next to him, I look petite, and right now I feel like I'm kneeling before a Greek god. "Take me out."

My hands reach for his buckle. I look into his cool green eyes tentatively and he nods encouragingly. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his slacks and yank them down. I sit back on my haunches, admiring him. Marco looks delicious in a dress shirt and black boxer briefs. I lean forward and yank the boxer briefs down his muscular thighs. His cock springs out, and fuck me, he's going to kill me. Split me wide open. His cock is huge, but thick and long. I eagerly unbutton the bottom of his shirt so I can get a good look at the full package.

My right hand automatically shoots to my clit. Marco tsks. "You are pleasing me, not yourself, Viviana."

I remove my hand. He's right.

"Show me what you did to all those boys," he orders.

I place my hands on his muscular thighs and lean forward, breathing in his scent. He is all man and it is delicious. I kiss him, just above his balls, my forehead leaning against his lower abs. My hot breath takes in every inch of his maleness. I stick out my tongue and lick from base to tip. I take time to pause and look up into Marco's green eyes. He runs his fingers through my hair as I take his large cock into my mouth. I'm not one of those girls that doesn't like giving head or thinks it's degrading. I've only ever witnessed immense appreciation and reciprocation. Plus I like doing it.

I use my hands to brace myself against his thighs as I pleasure him. Then he shouts an order for me to put my hands behind by back and when he does, he shoves himself down my throat. I gag, but I don't care. He obviously wants to control this experience. He places his hands behind my head. "Relax your throat."

His words aren't harsh, they're instructive and gentle. I do as he says and he groans as I deep throat him. "That's it, love. Give me everything."

I keep my left hand wrapped around my right wrist behind my back as Marco guides my head, thrusting in and out. He groans when I take him all the way, and without warning I feel his cum spurt down my throat.

Even after he comes, I still spend time licking him clean and lavishing in his maleness. "You really were made for me," he mutters, guiding my head as I lick his base. I feel him harden again against my cheek, so I continue to worship him. "You can use your hands to support yourself, love."

Marco glides his cock down my throat and with my hands wrapped around his thighs, he thrusts.

It's the only time I've felt remotely in control, especially when he looks at me like I'm an angel sent from heaven. I don't think angels suck cocks, but that's an argument for another time.

He comes into my welcoming mouth with a grunt. I feel his muscles flex beneath my fingers as he comes for a second time. The man that owns most of Mexico and all of Florida soothingly runs his fingers through my hair while I lap him up. I don't do it for the taste, I do it to bring him pleasure. In the end, it brings me as much pleasure to see him grateful for my touch.

I glance up at him, and his fingers graze my face with a combination of appreciation and devotion. "Clean me up and put me back," he orders.

I lick around him, making sure I've cleaned up his orgasm. I hold his cock in my hand, and can't help myself, but I tug slightly before putting his boxers back on and then bucking up his slacks, making sure his white shirt is tucked neatly in his slacks. I sit back on my haunches, with my head bowed, waiting for instruction.

I am needy and dripping, my legs are slick as I wait for him to tell me what to do. "You have earned a reward, Viviana."

Marco sticks out his Berluti Italian loafers and by the look he gives me, I know what he wants. I crawl up to him and straddle his foot. I glance up and know based off of the heated look he gives me that I'm on the right track. I rock my hips along the laces of his five-thousand dollar custom loafers, my sternum grazing his shin as I arch my back and move my pelvis. The ridge of the leather laces hit just the right spot and I moan, grasping at his slacks for support. "Look at me," he orders.

I must look a sight, my knees splayed between him with my dripping wet sex using his thousand dollar loafers to get what I need. My newly cut hair is wild, covering my bare breasts as I sit beneath his gaze.

My eyes shoot to his beautiful green ones as I rock my clit along the laces of his shoes, moving to the rhythm of the blood pulsing in my veins. A long moan escapes my mouth and he watches every second of it. He isn't actively touching me, but he might as well be with the way he looks at me. The ridges of the leather laces hit the right side of my clit, and I bite my lip and continue to ride his loafer through my orgasm. A tingling flush blooms through my body.

When my heart rate calms, he leans over and places his lips on mine and gives me a grateful kiss. "That was beautiful."

I sit back on my haunches and wait, glowing in the aftermath of my orgasm. "Clean me up," he orders.

I glance at his glistening loafer and know what he means. I hesitate. "Viviana," he chastises.

If the me from three months ago saw me now, she'd shake her head in shame. However, in those three months, I have learned. I lean down and I kiss the tip of his loafer before I drag my tongue around the laces and try not to appear to be too repulsed by the combination of leather and my juices. When I've done a sufficient job, I lean back and wait. Marco crouches down and lifts me in his strong arms. I tuck my head in the crook of his arm, my new favorite place, and inhale. Expensive cologne and sun. He walks into an adjoining bathroom and seats me on the counter. Marco opens a cabinet, pulls out a disposable toothbrush, and puts toothpaste on it. "Open," he orders.

I open my mouth while he brushes my teeth and tongue. He takes great care in making sure he polishes up my teeth. He takes out the toothbrush and tosses it in the bin. "Spit," he orders, wrapping a hand around my hair to keep it from falling in my face.

He hands me a cup of water after I spit in the sink and I rinse out. Laying my hair over one one shoulder, Marco's hand caresses my cheek before kissing my lips. He hums in approval. "Minty fresh."

He pinches my warm, smiling cheek. His hands roam down spine back before cupping my ass and lifting me. "Up, we go."

With my arms wrapped around his neck, I dare to comment. "I can walk."

"I like carrying you around and I tend to do what I like with the people I like."

"You like me?"

"I do," he confirms. He nuzzles my neck and places a kiss on the base of my throat. "You smell good."

He's being sweet and I like it very much. Marco's massive frame sits on his desk chair and positions me across his lap. I lean into his hard, warm chest while he pets my hair and runs his fingers soothingly over my body. I listen to his even heart beat while he drinks out of the crystal tumbler he poured earlier. "I don't know anything about you," I mutter, looking up to check his reaction.

He doesn't look upset, instead plaintive. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you like music?"

He shifts me so he can grab his phone off the table. He scrolls through it for a second then plays an album I recognize. Beck's Morning Phase album. Morning plays through the stereo system that surrounds his office. "Found a love light in the storm, looked up this morning, saw the roses full of thorns, guns are fallin', they don't have nowhere to go, oceans of diamonds, always shine smooth out below, can we start all over again, this mornin'?"

"I like this album," I mutter.

"What else do you want to know?"

He knows I won't push it, otherwise he wouldn't ask.

"Movie?"

His fingers graze down my naked side. "Drive."

I chuckle against him. "I like that movie too, but for other reasons."

Ryan Gosling being that reason.

Marco pinches my ass and I squeal.

I feel his deep, silent laugh and it warms me all over. "Candy?"

"Chocolate and I'm very much looking forward to dripping it all over your body."

I hum. "I'm looking forward to that too."

"Okay, nosy. One more question."

"Book?"

"Lord of the Rings."

He doesn't take more than a second to answer.

"Really?"

He nods. "Have you read it?"

I shake my head. "More of a Harry Potter girl."

"Predictable," he mutters. "I'm making you read it."

Marco pecks me on the nose. "Up!"

I move off of his lap and stand. He puts me back in my dress and shoes and has me sit on his couch with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, while he works. I'm hungry but I don't want to say anything. I can't go anywhere without him. I can ask, but I've been out of the cell for less than a day and I already prefer it up here. Maybe Marco will take me to the beach later or answer more questions. When he's open, he's sweet and genuine. Or is this more of the manipulation. I wish I could ask him.

Not yet.

Adrien was shot right in front of me and my second thought was that was my fault, my first was gratitude his blood didn't get on me.

I know there's something wrong with that line of thinking, but going back to that dark, cold place outweighs everything else.

Marco leaves music playing while he works on his computer and I read about the Shire. Sounds like a glorious place to be at the moment. After a couple of hours, Marco takes the book out of my hands to see how far I am and nods in approval. "You're at a good part."

"I know," I reply indignantly, reaching up to take the book back but he lifts it away from me.

I give him a horrified look when he folds the page and places it back on the shelf. "I have more than one copy, Viviana."

Still, that was a special edition copy. Couldn't have come cheap.

"Come," he says, as if I have a choice, he grabs my hand.

Marco guides me down the hallway, through the courtyard, and to the kitchens. An older woman wearing a blue apron and a white house dress has her head in the refrigerator. She takes out a bag of grapes and places it in a picnic basket, purposefully ignoring us.

"Marta," Marco shouts out. She lifts her head from the basket and regards me with a skeptical eye.

"Viviana, this is Marta, she's one of the cooks and helps take care of the main house."

I walk over to shake her hand, but she doesn't take it. "This is the American whore you are obsessed with?"

So Marta and I will not become close confidants. I drop my hand and step back behind Marco. There was a time I would've torn Marta a new one, but I don't know my place at the moment.

"You should know how to treat things I am obsessed with," Marco admonishes. "I am more than happy to sell you back to Edgar."

Sell?

Marta straightens, but still glances at me with a critical eye. "If you make me take orders from her, then you might as well sell me back to Edgar."

Well, damn.

I watch Marco's hands to see if he gets twitchy for the gun I saw him put in the band of his slacks before we left his office. But he doesn't seem concerned. "Give me lip again and you'll see what happens."

Marta rolls her eyes and walks away. Huh, I never thought I'd see anyone treat Marco that way and walk away alive.

I glance back at him and he's smiling. "She's a bitch but the only family I have left."

That's how he treats his family? What happened to him?
"For now," he adds, glancing at my stomach.

I pale and he chuckles. "Not yet, Viviana. If I wanted you for your uterus, I would've knocked you up when I first took you."

That statement does not change things.

"I am traditional in the sense of starting a family and we are not there yet."

I can't react. I can't show how that freaks me out.

"Picnic basket?" I ask, pointing toward the basket, hopefully distracting him.

He jokingly rubs my stomach before grabbing the basket. I have to ask. I have to know even though it's dangerous and he's obviously in a decent mood. "What did you mean when you said you manipulated me in Miami?"

He sighs and bows his head and since I've already dug myself in deep, I might as well go all the way. "That night in Miami was special to me," I reply honestly. "I understand the position you were in, but you wouldn't have brought up the manipulation if you didn't want to confess to something which means there's part of you that wants what we have now to be real."

"It didn't work," he growls. "Almost, but not quite."

Oh, shit.

"You have too much fight in you."

I freeze, trying to think of a way to rectify this.

"I brought you upstairs not eight hours ago and I watch you, Viviana. You still look for escape routes and you are still calculating, still manipulating. You think you can question me without consequences? I am not one of your marks, Viviana."

"Forget what I said, Marco. Let's have the picnic you planned and I won't question you, I promise," I plead. I don't think I've ever sounded so desperate. "You're not a mark! I chose those, I didn't choose this. You have complete control here. Complete control."

He takes out his gun showing me just how much control he has.

FUCK.

Marco places it on the counter, well in for a penny, in for a pound. "What are you going to do, Marco? Put me back in the cell? Leave me there to die of hunger or until I completely change my personality? You like me," I argue. "You don't want a submissive mute."

"I like your last name," he hisses. "Your rack and ass are a bonus."

Well, now I have something to work with. "So, what? You're going to let Moretti lead you by the dick? He met me in Europe, you know. He told me not to go back to the states. Did Damon Salvatore refuse you both access to the ports if you grabbed me from Europe? The contingency being if I step foot in the US again, I'm free game?"

The things I figure out while laying in a cell with just me and my thoughts. Moretti knew that if he warned me against going to the states, it'd put the idea in my head. Moretti and Marco have been working together. The deal to marry me off was originally done by Moretti when he sold me to Marco Reyes. It's why I went to Miami in the first place. Combined with the things Moretti said to me in Europe, it didn't take long to figure it out when I was taken. Too bad I didn't realize all of this until after I was drugged and taken to Mexico.

Marco takes a deep breath, his impressive frame stands up straighter and that's when I realize he expected this type of outburst.

I was hoping to rattle him enough to make a mistake. I got a good look at his grounds and came up with a few ways to escape. Sure I'd lost hope, but looking for escape routes instinct at this point. The only thing keeping me sane in the cell was the fact that if he wanted to kill me, he would've put a bullet in me long ago.

Marco smiles. "I thought it'd take one more day, but as always, Viviana, you exceed expectations."