Chapter 8

Marco grabs me and I fight him, I try to grab his gun but it's tempting me out of reach. Instead, he tosses me over his shoulder in a fireman's hold, and even though I hit him as hard as I can, he walks…not downstairs, but to another building, one I didn't see earlier. We enter a room with a four-poster bed and a ceiling full of a complex geometric maze of metallic art that hangs from the ceiling. He places me on my feet in the center of the room.

All I can think is this room was prepared. With the grey-lavender walls and brass display from the ceiling, to the brass four-poster in the middle of the room with white linens. He rips the dress off of my body and tosses the shoes aside so I stand naked before him. "You planned this," I mutter.

"Let's just say, I had confidence in how strong you are," he places his hands on my shoulder. "Stay."

I do because I'm not an idiot. He walks over to a closet, pulls out a drawer, and walks over with a blue velvet box. He opens the box and pulls out a necklace made of interlocking silver links. "You were measured for this when you arrived."

"After your men chased me through an airport, drugged me, and abducted me? How romantic."

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll be so devoted to me, the thought of running from me would break you," he says. "I've been studying you, Viviana. In your room downstairs, over the last four years, I've studied how you react in certain situations, what you like to do, like to eat, where you shop, I even studied the way you handle money. You've been my favorite past time."

My stomach rolls. The cell got me weak, upstairs he showed me what I could have, and now I learn.

He takes out a small key and locks my necklace. "For example, I know you can pick a lock in under thirty seconds. I know you can hot-wire a car in less than a minute. I know you can run a six-minute mile, I also know you can barely run three. The girl I knew in Miami would kick herself for only being able to run three miles."

"The girl you knew in Miami died when she left the states."

He kisses the tip of my nose. "Technically, you're right, though I was one of the few that never believed it."

I scowl and he laughs. Jackass.

Marco shows me a small key. "This is one lock you won't be able to pick. I made sure of it."

Marco strides across the room and pulls out a thin chain attached to the ceiling. He loops it through a hook, pulls it down, and attaches it to my necklace, and makes sure that too is locked in place. He tugs on the chain. "It's been tested, you won't be able to get far but you can use the bathroom and leave your bed." He holds up the key. "Unfortunately, for you, I am the only one with a key to release you. I spent a lot of money building this just for you, so I took the necessary precautions."

My eyes scan the room. Yup, red diode. I'm being watched.

"Why am I here and not in the basement?"

"You're ready for phase two."

"So you brought me up to show me what could be? If you think I'm the type of person to be impressed by a salon visit and expensive clothes, you clearly haven't been watching closely enough."

"Caroline Forbes," is all he says.

I panic. "What about her?"

"Gorgeous blue-eyed girl with blonde hair and porcelain skin could fetch a pretty penny on the market. You protected her when Mystic Falls High School was on lockdown. She lives in Charlottesville and is getting ready to start her first year at law school at the University of Virginia. Divorced parents, no boyfriend, few close friends, she's an easy mark."

Caroline hasn't been a friend for years, but I loved her mom. She doesn't deserve this. Not what he'd do to her.

He thumbs through something on his phone and shows it to me. It's Caroline in jean shorts and a red tee. She's meeting a friend for lunch at an outdoor cafe. According to the time-stamp on the photo, it was taken yesterday. "You didn't have friends, Viviana, but it doesn't mean you didn't care about people. She's safe as long as you do what I say. It's time you submit. Give up. You cannot get off this compound without getting shot and if you fight while on the compound, I'll kill the remaining people you love. Damon Salvatore is already taken care of, but there are enough people to convince you."

I don't say anything, I just glare.

"We'll start with Caroline Forbes, then we'll move to Liz Forbes, then…"

"Stop!" I shout. "What do you want?"

"You, broken."

I bow my head.

"Get on the bed, on your stomach with your arms outstretched, holding onto the duvet."

I do as he instructs. The silver chain follows me as I walk. The necklace he wrapped around my neck is not uncomfortable, but it's there. I feel it tug along with me as I crawl onto the silver-framed four-poster bed.

With my head to the white duvet, he crawls up behind me, his knees straddling my body. He takes something out of his pocket and leans over to show it to me. It's a penknife with an intricate silver handle. A small red ruby decorates the end of the sharp knife. "I bought this just for you," he breathes onto my skin.

"If you wanted to kill me, you would've done it already," I chastise.

Big. Mistake.

He moves down my body and positions himself over the right side of my body. Marco drags the blunt ruby studded end of the knife along my back, sending a chill throughout my body. In my hipbone, I feel the knife dig in. "I don't want to kill you, Elena," he says, muttering my name for the first time since I've known him. "However, I'll take pleasure in breaking you."

I feel his knife make another slash.

I don't cry out, instead, I fist the duvet. Tears build up as I feel the knife stroke into my skin. I breathe out slowly, trying to take my mind anywhere else so it doesn't register pain. When he's done, I feel his tongue on my skin before his thumb brushes the underside of the cut. "This will scar beautifully."

I don't dare turn around and look. His hand moves over my ass and slides down my slit. He chuckles darkly. I'm wet and he noticed.

Marco places his lips on my ass. "You are perfect."

"If I'm perfect, then why do you have to change me?"

His kiss turns into a bite, one that's sure to bruise. I scream out in pain, but then he soothes the throbbing pain with kisses. "I should rephrase. You. Are. Perfect. For. Me."

With each punctuation, he places a kiss on my ass. His fingers explore me and I can't help but let out a slow moan when two of his fingers enter me. "Stay on your stomach," he orders.

I stay. I don't move an inch. I feel the cold air as he leaves and I hear the clanking of his belt buckle, his zipper, cloth falling against skin, and the softness of fingers undoing buttons. Silence, then the bed dips and for the first time, I feel his warm naked skin on mine, blanketing my back. "I've been thinking about this since I first saw you," he whispers in my ear. "You were wearing your cross country uniform and you had on the tightest little red shorts. I thought of nothing else than marking you and making you mine."

His hot cock coats my cunt with pre-cum. I groan and arch my hips to get closer but feel the slap of his hand on my ass. "Stay still."

His fingers grab my hips, one hand digging painfully into the new cut, and he thrusts in me. I shout out while he groans. He holds my hips still, letting me adjust then slowly drags himself out and thrusts back into me. I stay still, letting him control my movements. I just enjoy the feeling of being filled and focus on the pleasure he's bringing me.

"You are so tight," he grunts. He slowly thrusts in and out and the only stimulation I get is from the strokes of his cock. I move my hand to touch my clit, but he slaps it away and positions my hand back to the duvet above my head. "You will come from my cock and only my cock."

That's never happened before and I highly doubt I would get away with faking an orgasm with Marco. Even Meg Ryan couldn't do that.

He withdraws from me and I whimper in his absence until he flips me over so I'm on my back, the chain moving right with me. This is worse because I have to look at him. His pale green eyes are heated and devour me whole.

Dammit.

I close my eyes, but he slaps my cheek. "Eyes, Viviana."

They flick open. I am vulnerable beneath him and it's an intensity I've never felt before. Marco lifts my right leg up so it's over his shoulder and drives into me, we both let out synchronous groans and I guess my expression does something to him because he kisses me with such passion, I give myself over to him. His tongue slides against mine, swallowing my moans and matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His muscles ripple beneath him. "Can I touch you?"

I take his nonanswer for a yes and run my fingers through his thick, silky hair, pressing his face to mine and devouring his tongue as he did mine. I fuck his tongue like I did his cock hours ago, in the middle of his office, all the while, arching my hips and giving as good as I get. As if his body on top of mine is a power struggle, Marco takes my arms and shoves them back over my head so I'm stretched out beneath him, interlocking my wrists. With his other hand, he bruisingly presses his palm on my lower abdomen. I bite into his shoulder, screaming while he continues his torturous massage.

"You are not the one in control," he points out.

I want to yell duh, but feel that that would not go over well.

He thrusts into me, arching his hips so his cock grazes along my clit. "Oh, my God," I moan.

He does it again.

And again.

And again.

I look toward the ceiling, staring at the geometric brass pattern above me and my chain hanging from it and connecting to my necklace. His lips press to the pulse point on my neck and sucks, while his magical cock luxuriously glides in and out of me. As Marco massages my core, I feel it tighten, the now damp duvet beneath me adding extra friction as I bow to him.

"Fuck," he shouts as he comes and at the same time, I gasp and biting into his bicep I come with him. I flush blooms through my skin from my core and it is luxurious. Marco continues to thrust into me, riding out our orgasm. "You're still milking my cock."

I have no words, instead, I focus on the chain keeping me in place, because it took the captivity and lock to get me here, right? I didn't feel a sense of relief when he showed me a picture of Caroline because it was only then that I knew I had no choice? Was I even repulsed by the unidentifiable marks he made on my body? I was wet after he marked me after he dug a knife into me. What is wrong with me?

Marco presses his lips to my cheek and whispers into my ear. "It's okay to like this. It's why you were made for me."

I move the leg once stretched before him and we both groan at the way his cock hits us. His cock hardens inside me. Marco leans his head against mine. "Use your hands," he utters softly.

I do.

I run them down his muscular back and press him closer to me while he sucks on my nipples, bruising them. With my thigh, I flip him on his back and he goes willingly. I grin, wiping my long chestnut hair out of my eyes and pressing my hands to his muscular chest to support myself, the ends of my long hair curtain around me, tickling his chest. "Admit it, you like me on top of you."

With his leg, he throws me off balance and knocks me on my back. "I've never lied about liking you, Elena."

He slipped, he called me Elena.

Again.

I pretend not to notice and instead squeal in surprise.

He rocks into me, pressing my lower back into the duvet. I kiss him all over, his shoulders, his chest, his chin, and mostly his mouth. I suck on his lip and devour his tongue. "You taste yummy," I say between kisses.

Marco growls and fucks me with such ferocity, I fear I may fall off the bed. We come again and as he slowly comes off of his orgasm, he soothingly rocks into me, placing sweet kisses all over me.

With his face on my left boob he mutters, "I am going to have so much fun with you."

"You don't want me sweet and submissive," I tell him. "You like who I am."

Marco is so strong and big, he effortlessly pulls out and flips me onto my stomach. Cum starts to leak out of me but he doesn't seem to mind. He's all business. I move my head so I can see what he's doing. He's walking to the same closet he pulled the collar from and takes out a whip. Like a real fucking whip. Like freaking Indiana Jones.

He holds the black leather whip in front of him and tests it out on the mattress. A sharp crack rings through the air. He's doing it to freak me out and it is freaking working.

Marco positions me so I'm on my stomach facing the metallic headboard and places soft leather cuffs he pulled out from beneath the bed and places them on my wrists. When I'm buckled in, he asks, "Why am I whipping you?"

My heart rate is so fast, I fear a heart attack.

"I won't ask again."

"I tried to take control," I confess.

"And how many lashes do you deserve?"

"Zero, because I was honest."

He laughs. "I'll add five for that. I'm giving you ten lashes."

Shit.

"Count," he orders.

The first lash cracks in the air and whips on my ass cheek. I scream cause damn. "One."

"Good," he mutters, rubbing his palm where he hit.

His whip goes up and he does it again, alternating spots his lash hits. "Two," I cry out.

After the first five, I feel like I'm being split open, but there's something about the pain that causes my body to react alternatively. By the ninth lash, I'm humping the bed, craving friction.

The lashes feel like knives slicing me in one fluid motion and after the first few, I started craving the rest. I shout out ten and Marco stops. He places the whip back in the cabinet and makes sure the chain is secure by tugging on it. I am admittedly distracted by his fully erect cock.

"If you come, I will know," he warns me. That's the first real blow. I whimper. "If you last the night, I'll give you a nice orgasm with breakfast."

Marco unbuckles my wrists and takes a bottle out of the bedside drawer. "This will help with the sting." He pours it onto my back and rubs it into my skin in soothing circles. I groan beneath his touch. "No coming," he warns.

I know and it sucks.

When he's done, he walks to the bathroom and comes back with a wet cloth. He cleans me up before placing a kiss on my lips. "What did I say?"

"No coming," I repeat.

I watch him dress and leave without looking at me once. The last thing I ate was the orange juice from this morning and hot cereal but I crave that look. The last look he always gave me before leaving, even when he thought I didn't catch it.

With Marco out of the room, I glance at the markings he made with his pin knife. Trickles of blood are smeared all over the duvet thanks to his recklessness or maybe he just likes it. I can't read it, so I get out of bed and on wobbly legs walk to the bathroom, the chain following me along the way. I walk over to the claw-footed bathtub and turn on the tap. I grab a hand towel and dampen it before wiping the blood off my wound. It stings but when I turn my full body to the mirror so I can see the damage, I don't focus on the welts all over my ass and legs, my eyes zero in on the name. Reyes.

It could be a tattoo, the penknife did a nice job of making sure Marco's slashes weren't jagged but quick and deep and small and located in a spot that is easily covered by bikini bottoms.

It'll scar.

I'll forever have a scar with his name on me. Imprinted whether I wanted him there or not.

I look through the cupboards for oils and find lavender scented ones and sprinkle some into the hot bathwater. If I pass out because the water is too hot, then so be it. There are enough cameras that let me know I'm watched. I pass out in the bath, doctors will be there in within seconds. I step in, lean against the back of the porcelain tub, and close my eyes.

I liked it.

I liked all of it.

What kind of person does that make me?

When I was fifteen, someone blindfolded me with a bandana and locked me in the custodial closet. The hands of my captor skated around my body like he owned me. If he stuck his fingers in my overall shorts, he would've seen how wet I was. The fear only heightened my arousal. I turned in that closet, ignoring the smells of bleach and ammonia, and leaned into my captor. I stuck my hands in his jeans and massaged his cock, while I leaned against his neck and pressed my lips to his smooth skin.

It wasn't until much later that I learned it was Damon I was stuck with. Damon and I were always sick and twisted. It's something we equally appreciated. He demanded I not wear panties with an outfit he picked out, I gladly complied, only later on to be ravished by him in an empty science classroom.

Sex has always been about pleasure and connection. Right now it's about power and control, which can be more pleasurable and solidify a connection. What are my alternatives? I was scamming before this and before that, I was a high school student. If I can just survive, an opportunity has to arise. Marco will let his guard down, he already has started to. I just have to wait for him to take me somewhere off the compound and then make my escape. I have money in a Swiss bank account. I have extra identification abroad, but I need my backpack. I got a good look at the grounds, but it's probably somewhere in his office. When I was reading Lord of the Rings, I saw a cabinet that had hitches on the other side, which means something else is in there other than binders and books.

I lean back in the scalding hot water. Is there going to come a time where I don't have to fight anymore? I just want to let go for a while and not always think of a plan. I guess I technically have to if I want to get in that cabinet and gain Marco's trust so I can leave.

Again, a plan.

I'm just so tired.

Tired of fighting.

Tired of thinking.

Tired of planning.

I picture Damon in his cell, probably pissing off his roommate, staring at a stained cream-colored ceiling while lying on scratchy sheets. In prison, for a crime he didn't commit. Getting ready to die. No, I know Damon. He's thinking of a plan. During Grayson's trial, we'd just moved to the South Side and I used to have to walk to school. We couldn't even afford bus fare and I had to sell the expensive bike I got as a gift just the year before. Selling that bike paid for cross country athletic fees. I used to have to wake up extra early to run/walk to school, and during the walk, kids enjoyed throwing trash out their window at me. I used to have to pack extra clothes in my bag. Those months before I could afford the bike I bought at a garage sale, Damon gave me a ride whenever he saw me. He'd mock me, he'd drop me off three blocks away from school, he'd order me not to speak in the car, but he'd give me a ride every single time he saw me walking along the road. I was at my lowest, he hated me but he still helped me. He cheated on me, mocked me, threw a celebration party to get me to leave town, but right now, he's at his lowest and I hope the backup plan I had before I was taken worked.

I close my eyes and feel myself nodding off.

Splashes of water wake me up, but not completely. I keep my eyes closed as I'm lifted in the air and cradled to a warm and familiar body. "I shouldn't have left," I hear him mutter.

"Damon?" I moan, tucking my head in his chest.

Silence.

A chill fills the air. I'm placed beneath a duvet on the bed and a second later, the door slams shut.

I stir when I feel arms wrap around me and a large hand pet my forehead. "Shhh," he soothes. "Go back to sleep."

I do, in his arms and wake up alone hours later.

My eyes watch the chain that hangs from the ceiling to the necklace around my throat. I tug on it to test it and as predicted, it's secure. Doesn't fucking budge. I get off the bed and walk around the room, exploring. In the middle of the room is the massive bed I slept in. There's a couch and a flat-screen on the opposite wall. I find the remote and as predicted, a library of pre-approved movies and a library of porn. Great. I turn off the television and continue to explore. The wardrobe Marco opened to retrieve my chain is locked with a device similar to the one he used to get into his office, a panel that can only be opened with his phone.

I could lift his keys but the problem with that is his compound is too big and there are too many guards. I go through the list of things I know about him. When I was in the cell, I knew he didn't want to kill me so I took a risk and played chicken with my life. I let myself dehydrate to the point of passing out knowing he'd have to intervene and make a move. He blinked and took me upstairs. Problem was, I was weak. He made sure of it. Even now, I'm starving. It also gave him the opportunity to show off his compound, show how many guards he has, he shot someone in front of me to show how serious he was, the salon was all about priming me for his pleasure. He probably took me to the doctor because he wanted to make sure I didn't have any diseases before he fucked me.

But what about his office? That's what I can't work out. He is kind and possessive and he wants to take care of me. He's also a drug lord. Maybe the duality messes with him and I'm a balance for that. He can whip me, mark me, mess with me, but I'm also someone he cares for- went out of his way to care for. There's absolutely no reason for him to hire tutors for me, but he does and is making sure I finish high school.

Then there's the Caroline problem. I don't do what he says and he kills Caroline and then Liz. Before I make any move, I'd have to contact Caroline first. How would that go over? Hi, Caroline! I'm not dead but you might be if I escape a drug lord who gives me mind-blowing orgasms? I don't think that'd go over well. I do have people I can contact to watch her. It'd mean dipping into the now multi-million dollar trust, but I'd need a computer and phone to do that. I need my backpack, but it's probably been destroyed.

I can't do anything until he trusts me. Fuck! How long will that take?

I continue to explore the room, but almost everything is locked up. Wisely so. I do find a mini-fridge and take a bottle of water out. I also find a bookshelf with Lord of the Rings on it, which means that was planned. Jesus. Manipulative bastard. I think I've met my match.

I hear the door unlock and I actually hope to see Marco, but it's Marta. "Whore," she says by way of greeting. "I am here to clean the sheets."

I glance at the bed and remember spots of blood are all over them. I didn't notice it earlier. It's probably from Marco's carving job. I put the book down. "I don't know if you noticed the chain hooked to my neck, but I'm not exactly choosing to be a whore."

"Whore," she spits.

Okay, then.

She starts removing the duvet and sheets. "Marco said you're family? How are you related to him?"

"We are not related," she scowls. "I took care of him after his parents died when he was just a boy."

Another orphan.

"Who was his guardian?"

Marta curses. "His Uncle Edgar."

"He bought you from his uncle?"

She starts speaking in Spanish, probably thinking I don't understand but I was paying attention to my tutors downstairs. From what I'm able to translate, his uncle is the devil and he bought Marta to protect her from his Uncle. Huh.

Right now, it's best if Marta doesn't know I can understand some Spanish, so I say, "Why do you think I'm a whore?"

She points to my nude body. More Spanish, this time she waves at me, spittle getting all over the sheets she's holding. She says he proposed to me when I'd already had sex and was a child. Okay, both things are true, but I was hardly a child. I was a very old seventeen and in my defense, thought I was eighteen.

How could she know that?

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh…how do I explain that?

"That video was done without my knowledge," I defend. "I was drugged and don't remember anything that happened."

She softens slightly but still scoffs. "Tú hablas español?"

"Un poco."

She nods in approval.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nods again while removing pillowcases.

"Marco brought me the most delicious porridge. Was that your recipe?"

"It is good for you. You are skin and bones, you need more."

"I'd love some if you have any."

She nods again and taking the bedclothes with her, leaves the room. The door clicks when she shuts it. I don't know why he locks me in here when I'm literally chained to the ceiling.

I'm about to start reading again when the door clicks open. I think it's Marta with food, but it's Marco, carrying my porridge. Wearing a crisp white shirt and navy slacks, he looks like he stepped out of GQ. Visions of his abs flexing as he thrust into me flash in my mind. Marco pulls out a cushioned grey velvet desk chair and sits, holding a steaming bowl of porridge. I know what he wants me to do.

I walk over slowly, letting the chain drag along with me, and drop to my knees, keeping my head bowed. "Open," he orders.

I tilt my head up and open my mouth, allowing him to feed me. It's so fucking good, I don't care. I'm used to this routine.

"Your nipples are pebbling," he mutters, feeding me another bite.

"Tell Marta her porridge is orgasmic," I say between bites.

He tsks. "No crass language from you."

"Does that go for in the bed too?"

I quirk an eyebrow and earn a half-smile. I made him laugh. He likes it when I make him laugh. I even think he likes it when I break the rules.

"In your exploration, this morning, did you realize there's no way for you to get out?"

My eyes flick to the red diode in the corner of the room. "Is Caroline okay?"

While I'm chewing on the bite Marco fed me, he pulls his phone out. I watch carefully, trying to discern his passcode. I catch the first number, 1. He shows me his phone, "Is that today's date?"

He nods. I've been here for three months. The picture is of Caroline walking to her car, wearing jeans and an MFHS shirt. Still full of school spirit. I almost laugh.

"How will I know she's still alive and I didn't screw it up?"

"You'll know and soon, you'll forget."

Very confident statement.

"Why do you like feeding me?"

He pauses feeding me. "I like taking care of you and it's romantic."

"Yesterday you said you liked my last name, tits, and ass."

"Language, Viviana," he chastises.

He didn't seem to mind it ten hours ago.

Marco's eyes zero in on my pebbled nipples. "Plus you like it."

Jerk.

Marco asks me to stand and turn. His hand grazes over his cut. He places his lips on the scar.

"On the bed, face down."

I walk to the bed and get in the same position I was in yesterday. I hear him walk over, straddle my body, and cut into me. This time, I scream out. I cry. I sob. I'm grateful Marta has yet to put on fresh sheets. I try to fight him off.

"Shhh," he soothes. "If you move, you'll mess up the writing."

Valid point. I'd hate for my scar to be worse. I rest my head against the mattress pad and try to think of other things. "Why are you doing this?"

His tongue licks up my blood. "You. Are. Mine."

"Freaking, duh," I yell.

He chuckles. "It is tradition."

"In hell?"

"In the cartel."

"So same difference."

"It is for your safety. If you get taken, they'll know who they messed with."

"Yeah, me! Elena Gilbert," I shout.

"Viviana," he warns.

"I'm sorry," I apologize because hell, I don't know what else he's planning. I come up with the most placating thing I can say. "You know me. They wouldn't and I am scary strong."

He slaps my butt then bites it. "Yeah, you are."

I gasp.

After a minute, while he's waiting for the blood to clot, I say something that's been on my mind. "I'm not going anywhere. You made your point. You have eyes on Caroline and I'm trapped on a stretch of land guarded by hundreds of your soldiers. Why am I chained up to this ceiling?"

"This has nothing to do with whether you'll leave or not," he replies.

He doesn't say anymore which means he already knows I can't leave. Huh.

"You are thinking too much."

Probably.

His arms reach beneath the bed and kneeling between my legs, he takes the cuffs attached beneath the bed and places one on each wrist so I'm splayed out like a T, face down, on the mattress.

"My mark needs to heal," he says, leaning over to my ear. "No coming and no moving."

"What about when Marta comes back to put on new sheets?"

He chuckles. "I'll tell her not to change them right now."

"How long are you going to be gone?"

"I don't know," he replies. "I have to make work phone calls."

I groan. I'm not uncomfortable, but laying this way for hours is going to be bad. "Make them in here!" I suggest. "Don't leave me."

I am so tired of being alone.

Marco places his lips on my shoulder. "I'll be back."

The second he leaves, my arms start to ache. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. He'll be back. He'll undo these bindings.

I lay like that for hours and I have to pee so bad.

Finally, Marco comes back. He straddles my back and checks on the wound then reaches around my back and touches my clit. I'm wet. Of course, I'm wet. Apparently, I am perverse.

"You didn't come."

Well, duh. What was I supposed to do? Hump the mattress cover?

He unbuckles my bindings, releasing me. So I don't end up back in them, I ask. "May I use the bathroom?"

He nods and I dart in the bathroom. Marco stands at the doorway, unbothered by my naked ass on the toilet.

"I'm going to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly."

"And let me guess, you'll be able to tell if I'm being dishonest?"

He nods severely and takes a washcloth and dampens it with warm water. After I'm done wiping myself and I've washed my hands, he tells me to turn and starts cleaning up his mark. I turn to look. With the penknife, he wrote his name, Marco Reyes, just above my ass, on my hip. It won't show in a bikini, but anyone who wants to get intimate wouldn't miss it.

I hate it.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you come to the states?"

"Don't you know? You picked me up, after all."

"I'd been watching you but we lost you in Germany. It wasn't until your passport was scanned that we knew where you were and I put someone on your flight."

Dammit. Uncle John warned me. It was why I tried not to fly.

I quickly think through the pros and cons of telling the truth. If I tell him, I might get information I've been craving for months. "I had information that could help Damon Salvatore's case."

Marco freezes. His hand in the middle of wiping blood. "After everything he did, you wanted to help him?"

I take a deep breath. "Can I confess something to you?"

Marco effortlessly lifts me up and places me on the counter. His hand falls down my body until it hits my hip. He grips, steadying me. "Go ahead."

He's staring at me with such intensity, that I know I have all his attention. I place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself. "Do you know my history?"

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"My dad, Grayson, was a doctor and sold prescription drugs to locals. Eventually, Domenico Moretti caught on and started making Grayson sell for him. Grayson used and got into trouble. Stefan Salvatore, Damon's brother, got prescription drugs from my dad's medicine cabinet, thanks to my own brother, Jeremy. High as a kite, Stefan and Jeremy decided to go for a joyride in one of Giuseppe Salvatore's cars. They got into a wreck and Stefan died. I was there moments after the accident and when asked about the drugs found in the car, said they were from Damon Salvatore, who'd been caught in the past for using. Damon's dad sent him to rehab to keep him out of jail, but he missed his brother's funeral in the process and never forgave me."

Marco brings me closer to him, so my legs are straddling his waist. "You were a kid," he says. "You did it to protect your family."

"It didn't work," I mutter, wiping tears from my eyes. "Jeremy committed suicide a day later and confessed everything in a note."

Marco does something I don't expect, he hugs me to him. After a few minutes of him rubbing calming circles on my back, he says, "Our first boy will be named Jeremy."

I screech and push him away, but it is only when I look into his eyes that I realize he's joking. "You have a morbid sense of humor."

He shrugs his shoulders. "I am in the import-export business."

Oh, boy. The level of delusion.

My hand reaches down and grabs his cock through his pants. "So," I whisper huskily. "How big is your territory?"

His lips capture mine, swallowing my cries as his hands grip my hips. "Bigger than everyone else's."

I chuckle between kisses. "Of course."

"You still have not told me why you came back."

I shrug, I don't like the look he's giving me. "It doesn't matter now. I'm here with you."

It's then that I realize I made a mistake. I didn't answer his question. Marco puts me on my feet and drags me to the bed. "Hands-on the mattress."

I place my hands on the mattress so I'm leaning over. I hear the click of a lock and know he's going to his cabinet of toys. He comes out with a U shaped black object with a gold ring around it. "Head down, Viviana. Stick your ass out a bit more."

I do as he tells me. He probes my sex. "You're nice and wet for me."

Marco takes the fat end of the object and inserts it into my cunt, then positions the thinner end at my clit. I moan the entire time, begging for stimulation- begging for something. "Stop wiggling," he chastises, slapping my ass. I practically come. Almost the right amount of stimulation. Dammit.

"Keep your hands on the bed. If you answer my questions honestly, you get to come. Say you understand."

My breathing is already shallow. This is going to suck. Probably worse than the whip. "I understand."

"The U vibrator inside you is controlled with my phone," I feel it turn on and let out a long moan. God, that's incredible.

"Don't come," he reminds me.

Evil. He's evil.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he raises his hand and slaps my ass.

"Why did you come back to the states?"

When I don't answer right away, he raises the intensity of the vibrator. I try to think of the drip, drip, drip of the pipes above me in the hell cell. Anything to prevent me from coming. Another slap. "Why did you come back to the states?"

Oh, yeah.

Just as the building tension in my body is about to release, Marco turns the vibrator back to a low hum, replaced by frustrating pain. "I could prove Damon's innocence."

Just as my breathing starts to even, he increases the intensity of the vibrations. I'm fisting the edge of the bed, trying to keep myself from coming. That tightness builds all over again, but it's sharper and faster. Marco slaps his palm on my ass. "How?"

Fuck! I try to take slow, deep breaths. "From a job!"

He brings the vibrator back to a low humming, which does not help. I am in hell. "I can't last," I tell him.

He leans over so I can feel the heat of his body and runs his palm soothingly down my spine. "You can, love." I bow to his touch, like a cat being stroked. "What was the job?"

"I had to lift new technology, a way to hack into CCTV footage."

"You made a copy?"

I lick my lips, trying to concentrate as he raises the intensity. All I can do is nod.

He slaps my ass again and I moan into the mattress. He's going to kill me. Surely.

"Answer me with words, Viviana."

"Yes!" I shout. "I have footage of Damon the night his dad was murdered. Proves he wasn't the one in the video they showed in court."

Another hard slap, so hard it knocks me into the mattress. "You traveled to the United States to help Damon Salvatore? You risked everything to help him?"

His words are full of calm rage.

I'm sobbing, trying so hard to keep the edge off. "Yes," I cry.

Marco lowers the level of the vibrations against my clit. He leans over again so I can feel the buttons of his dress shirt along my back. He bites my shoulder, sucking the spot to the point of bruising. "One more question."

I bite my lip and nod. "Okay."

"Do you still love him?"

"No," I reply without hesitation.

He takes out the vibrator and replaces it with his skilled fingers. I come undone immediately, a delicious wave of pleasure flows through my body. "Oh, God," I moan, as he continues to rub circles around my clit. He holds me around my stomach as I ride my orgasm and when I'm done, he props me back on the bed. Even though my heavy breathing, I hear him undo his buckle and unzip his pants. He repositions my feet, so I'm at a wider stance. Then he places a hand on my lower back, wordlessly encouraging me to arch my hips.

The tip of his cock lines up against me and he enters in one powerful thrust. He grips my hips and fucks me with such force, the mattress pad comes undone because I'm fisting it so hard.

There's something about him being fully clothed while naked beneath him. His boxer briefs rub against my thighs and ass. It's unplanned and hurried and I love every delicious second of it. Marco reaches around me and massages my lower abdomen before stroking my slit with one finger. I let out a slow groan and together, we come. I arch my back and twist my arm so it wraps around his neck and kiss his mouth, fucking his tongue like he's still fucking me. He didn't tell me to do it, but in the way he moans into my mouth, I know he approves.

When our breathing is even, he pulls himself out and puts his slacks back on. I lean on the bed, still not recovered. "Looks like I'm going to have to tell Marta you need a new mattress pad too."

"Great," I mutter, still panting. "Another excuse to call me a whore."

"Where's the footage?" He asks, completely distracting me.

I smile into the mattress, just what I wanted.

"In my backpack," I tell him. "Did you burn it when you took me?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's in my office."

Bingo.

Marco picks the vibrator off the floor and cleans it in the bathroom before putting it back in its box. The passcode on his phone is four digits. I have one, which happens to be the first digit.

Keeping me chained in here isn't going to work in his favor. Marco doesn't want a submissive mute, I'm sure of it. He thinks he wants to change me, but from what I've gathered, he doesn't. Sex games are one thing, but chained up, naked, and at his will is another. Fucked up slave shit is not my jam. Turning around to kiss him wasn't part of his plan or rules, but he liked it. He needs to know that, hopefully without risking Caroline's life.