Chapter Seven: Blurred Lines

Marco didn't answer Mary. He didn't even look at her. Instead the hulking ex-convict turned his smoldering gaze on David Rizzio. Poor Davy was white as a ghost and shaking from head to toe. He had just wrecked Marco's car, and he clearly expected the big man to break him in two.

"Got a cell phone, buddy?" Marco's voice was deep and menacing in the humid darkness. Mary didn't like the way he talked to Davy, nearly scaring him to death. Yet she couldn't help feeling a little slick between her thighs. She thought of all the times Marco had massaged her at the club.

"Cell phone, right." Davy fumbled in his pockets for a phone, his fingers trembling as he opened the device and dialed. Marco fed him the number and told him exactly what to say.

"Nick's garage closes at eight, but he'll be waiting when you get there. His guys will work on it over night and it'll be good as new in the morning."

"And you'll send me the bill." Mary spoke up sharply, annoyed at being ignored by Marco. It was her car, after all.

"Nick owes me one," Marco grunted. "We keep the cops out of this, and you pretend your boyfriend borrowed your car."

"David is not my boyfriend!" Mary's cheeks turned bright pink. "I mean, we're not . . . we don't . . . what I mean is that we wanted to see where you live, Mr. Maselli, so we could be sure you're really the poor ex-convict you pretend to be, and not just a dirty spy working for my cousin Elizabeth."

"Well, finally you're getting wise." Instead of being outraged, Marco looked amused. His big, dark hands came to rest on the passenger side door of Mary's little Italian sports car. "Care to come up to my apartment? You can see for yourself whether I'm getting rich off of Elizabeth O'Hara's generosity."

"Mary, it's not safe!" David Rizzio squeaked. "Think how it would look if . . . if anyone were to find out that you and Mr. Maselli . . . your image as CEO of a major corporation . . ."

"Take care of my car, Davy," Mary said gently. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at the board meeting."

"But Mary, it's nearly midnight!"

"Yeah," Marco said, helping Mary out of the car. "And this is a dangerous neighborhood. Drive safe, Jiminy Cricket."

Mary giggled as her good friend Davy carefully edged the battered sports car back onto the road. "You must let me pay for the damage to your car, at least," she said to Marco. "That is your car we ran into, isn't it?"

"It's a piece of crap," Marco grunted. Unexpectedly he turned to Mary, resting the pad of his thumb on the soft swell of her lower lip. "I warned you to keep away from me," he said, his voice going rough and slightly husky. "This isn't a high school date where I kiss you and drop you off by ten o'clock. Tonight we go all the way."

"All the way," Mary echoed. Now that she was alone with Marco, her nerves were a bit jittery. She felt dizzy, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. A song from the radio, "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thick, kept running through her head. She stumbled on the steps, and Marco took her arm.

"Easy," he told her. "Just take it nice and easy. I'll be giving you some commands when we get inside. All you have to do is follow my lead and let me take total control."

Mary wasn't sure which came first, the blindfold or the handcuffs. She heard the cuffs snap into place and knew she was in Marco's bedroom, but she couldn't see any of her surroundings. It was terrifying and humiliating and exciting.

"You're cuffed to the bedpost," Marco whispered into her ear. His blunt, powerful fingers were already undressing her. Mary couldn't see a thing, but she could feel the cool air on her skin and the whisper of her garments falling to the floor.

"I wish I could be facing you and not the bedpost," she complained. "How can I make love to a stupid bedpost?"

Marco gave her bottom a light smack with his bare hand. "Now you've got to remember you're a slave, and I command your body. You don't kiss me or touch me or come under my hands until I give you permission."

"What if I don't come at all?" Mary gasped. That little smack on her behind got her attention. She wondered if there would be more to come.

"Your body belongs to me now," Marco told her. She heard the snap of rubber gloves but didn't understand the meaning. "I decide how and when you come."

"But I don't like . . . oh!" Mary felt a jolt of unfamiliar sensation as Marco's fingers slid inside her. He was using his gloved hands to explore her intimately from both the front and rear. It was jarring and unfamiliar, totally unlike the tenderness of making love. It was disgusting. And amazing.

"That's my girl," Marco soothed, as Mary began sliding against his fingers. At the same time her bare breasts were brushing against the bedpost. It was just starting to become enjoyable when he smacked her bottom good and hard.

"Marco!" Mary was hurt, almost shocked. The sudden pain in her behind was not so bad. The deep burn was rather nice. But he'd left her hanging when she was just on the tip of something wonderful.

"Master," Marco corrected, in a disappointed schoolteacher type of voice. "When we're alone together I'm your master."

"Master, Marco, whatever. Just get on with it!" Mary was never this rude in public, with friends or with business associates. Even when she was shaking with anger she never showed it. Marco just pulled that out of her somehow.

"Master!" This time he really smacked her good. It burned!

"Master!" Mary shouted right back at him, loving the forbidden burn of anger in her throat. And the other burn too.

After a moment Marco went back to work. But this time Mary knew better than to trust the soothing stroke of his fingers. She knew that he was challenging her, daring her to relax. And she fought against the slick, slippery pleasure, fought with every ounce of strength in her body. But it was no use. Little by little she weakened. It would be so nice to relax her muscles, to let Marco to give her just a tiny taste of what she wanted. She wouldn't give in, of course. She'd just open herself a little deeper, a little wider, a little more . . .

"Oh, no you don't!" Another hard slap, right where it counted, shattering all her dreams.

"Master, please!" This time Mary gave in at once, like it was automatic. Instead of mouthing off she burst into tears.

"This can go on all night," said Marco's voice. He didn't sound angry. He sounded like a man just stating the facts.

"I'll be good, master, I promise to be good! Only please, please . . ." Mary sank to her knees, her will crushed and utterly defeated. It was hard to remember that this was only a game, that Marco was not all powerful. The line between reality and make believe had somehow gotten blurred.

Marco was unsnapping her cuffs now, and carrying her to the bed. Mary wanted to order him to take off her blindfold. She wanted to do something to show she was still the boss. But even when he put her down on the bed and removed it for her, all she could do was lie there and look up at him.

And tremble in his arms.