A/N: Oh my blessed precious readers...you got me to 100 reviews. You know what that means....celebration time. This chapter is one of the hardest ones I've ever written. I don't know if it shows. Hopefully I hid all the seams, rips, and tears. You can let me know at the bottom. By the way, for those of you who've been asking, Dark!Marshall is currently on backorder. When he's in stock again, we will begin filling all those requests in the order in which they were received (but, honey, you know I get mine first, right?)....

You consider me the young apprentice

Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes.

Hypnotized by you if I should linger

Staring at the ring around your finger....

Mephistopheles is not your name,

But I know what you're up to just the same.

I will listen hard to your tuition,

And you will see it come to it's fruition....

I will turn your face to alabaster,

Then you'll find your servant is your master,

And you'll be wrapped around my finger.

I'll be wrapped around your finger.

You'll be wrapped around my finger.

I'll be wrapped around your finger.....

"Wrapped Around Your Finger" ~ Sting / the Police

I.

Her awareness of everything just....stopped....her mind cycling idle with those whispered words in her ear....mine tonight...mine tonight...mine tonight.... Even as a tiny portion of her brain sputtered in rebellion at the assumption in those words, itched to claw and slap at him for them, a larger portion purred and went liquid at the heat, the raw need that erupted beneath the command. The words spun and circled and she was drowning in them, in the suddenly hypnotic blue of his eyes as he lowered his mouth to kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands leaving her face to curl around her shoulders, to pull her up against him hard.

Somehow he turned her, and they were stumbling down the hall to his room, Marshall again stalking her backwards, stripping off her coat as he went, pulling her sweater up, off, tossing it carelessly behind him. She was clawing at his shirt, too, fumbling for the first time she could remember in years with a man's clothing, unable to make her fingers work with the surety she was used to in this situation, opening only a few buttons, and then he was pushing her back against the wall of the short passage, his mouth devouring hers.

"Mine," he murmured huskily, his voice low and rough, "...going to take what I want how I want it..."

Wait...going to take?.... Her mind barely had time to process the slightest quiver of alarm before she felt his hands skating down her body, felt him ripping down the zipper on her jeans and suddenly he was on his knees before her, pulling the denim down over her hips with one hard fast tug, hooking her underwear with them, and then he was shoving her legs apart, and.... Oh my God, going to take.... Her hips bucked in reaction, her hands twisting into his hair as his tongue flicked, his lips teased, pulling painfully hard against the sensation of it, against the suddenness of it. One of his hands cupped the bare cheek of her derrière, fingers spreading to grip possessively, pull her closer so he could continue the pleasurable onslaught.

How can this be Marshall? How can this be my partner? How can this be... Her mind was splintering, shattering, astonished at the demand of him, the surety with which he handled her body, with which he took and gave..... Nothing in their previous encounters had prepared her for this. Fleeting images of the other times they'd been together when he'd been so careful with her, touched her like she was fragile came to her. This time, however, he was unrestrained, uncontrolled, no gentleness or hesitation. Here there were shades of the Marshall who kicked in doors, who faced down armed gang members with his gun still firmly holstered and a smile on his face. The sheer audacity of his sudden change in behavior was arousing her every bit as fast as the pleasure he was giving her with his hands and mouth. Within moments, she was coming, a hoarse cry wrung from her throat, knees going weak.

Marshall was on his feet pressing his mouth over hers immediately, and she could taste herself on his lips, his tongue as it swept across hers. She leaned against him, groaning softly, and he wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her slightly. She wrapped one leg awkwardly around his waist as best she could with her jeans still tangled around her boots and lower legs, and he carried her the last few steps through the bedroom door as she tried to make sense of the world again.

Inside, she managed to recover enough to help him strip off the remnants of their clothing, and then he laid her down like an offering on an altar. He stood by the side of the bed a moment, just looking at her with hunger heating his eyes before he slowly crawled up her body from the foot of the bed.

"Marshall," she whispered, wanting the promise she saw there, needing him again suddenly, body aching for the weight of him, reaching out to run her hands up the muscles of his back, pulling him down to her. "Marshall," she said again, in her voice hunger and something else....

Almost immediately at the sound of his name falling from her lips, his hands gentled, and his kisses, while still full of need, began to lose some of that dangerous edge to them. She brought her hands up to cup his face as he began to kiss her, but something caught his eye as she did so, and he caught her hand in his own, pinned it down, feral again.

He raised his head and looked down at her with savage eyes, nimble fingers seeking and finding the engagement ring that had glinted in the soft light of his room, that he'd just felt pressed against his cheek. "This goes," he growled.

"Marshall, what the hell..." she began weakly as he drew it off her hand, flung it toward the door. She heard it hit the hardwood floors with a tiny tinkling sound, felt alarm, irritation, and something a little like awe mix and rise at his unexpected action. He brought his mouth back to her ear before whispering harshly, "You won't be with me again with that thing on your hand. There won't be three of us in this bed again tonight." And he sealed whatever protest she might have made with his kisses until she was dizzy with them. His mouth sought, found her breast, and she gasped and arched to the mouth that hungrily suckled, to the aggressive nip of his teeth, the hot swirl of his tongue.

She could feel him pressed hard against her, feel his hips hitching impatiently. He smoothed his hand down her side to encourage her hip to wrap around his waist. As she shifted, he came in contact with where she opened wet and swollen for him and he groaned against her breast. He raised his head to seek her mouth again, and as he traced the seam of her lips, slipped his tongue into her mouth, he began to rock his hips slowly, sliding against her without entry. He ground his hips against hers, making sure the slow friction teased her with every stroke until she was writhing beneath him, obscenities and pleas coming from her lips.

"Damn you, Marshall, do it already..."

He laughed a little, wickedly, continued the slow torture. She made an inarticulate noise as he leaned down to circle her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

"Going to kill you, Marshall..."

She used her training, desperately flipped him over, intending to take what she needed from him as she had from so many men when she got ready, only to have him reverse the maneuver, pin her beneath him anew, hands held again in one of his large ones.

"No. If you want this tonight, there's a price." He kissed her lingeringly. "I'll give you everything you want, Mare. But to get this," and he was there, teasingly poised at the entrance, "you're going to have to admit it tonight." He sucked her bottom lip. "Going to have to say my name, tell me this is what you want."

"Damn you...." She put her nails into the hands that were restraining hers.

He laughed softly, brokenly, lowered his forehead to rest against hers, flexed his hips so he ground against her slowly, powerfully, "Of that, I have no doubts at all... Say it, Mary. Tell me you want me, want this...." The last was whispered against her lips, a hint of pleading in his tone.

Mary suddenly understood it all. She placed a gentle hand against his cheek, forcing him to focus, so he could see her eyes, "Yes, ...I ...want you. Now, Marshall, do it." And she arched beneath him.

He dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a moan as the words tumbled from her lips, and then his mouth was on hers, hard, devouring, all patience and hesitation gone with her words. His hands slipped down to her hips to hold them steady and he was inside her in a hard fast thrust. She cried out at the feeling of him filling her, and he began to move.

"Wishes and commands....Oh, I'll give you yours, Mare. Going to fuck you so hard you won't know your own name. Won't be able to remember anybody else's. Ever. Going to make you mine. Mine. Going to take you. Keep you. Take ...and ….hold... Take...and...Mine..."

His words, obscene, harsh, and somehow desperate were muttered in her ear, against her lips, against her breasts between kisses and pounding thrusts and somehow only served to amplify the intensity of this joining. Faster than she could have believed possible, she was arced under him, back bowing, hips stuttering, orgasm ripping through her. His hips frantically pulsed against hers and then he was following her, collapsing on top of her, a heavy weight pinning her to the bed.

II.

Mary woke to a gray and leaden winter morning light streaming through the windows of Marshall's room. She was warm wrapped in the many layers of bedding there. She stretched luxuriously, feeling lingering tiny twinges of a body well-used from the night before. She rolled over suddenly, aware that she was alone in the big bed. Where is he? She ran a hand over his pillow to find the light blue sheets cool to the touch. For another moment, she lay listening to the sounds of the house, trying to locate him that way. The only sounds were the noises all houses make, the refrigerator compressor whirring, the almost inaudible hum of electricity being used by countless things.

Mary sat up, swung her feet to the cool floorboards, crossed the room to pluck Marshall's big robe off a hook on the back of his closet door, and wrapped herself in it. There's no Marshall noise. Where the hell is he? Did he do something stupid like go sleep in the living room for some reason? She padded down the short hall into the living room, but the house was empty. There was no sign of him anywhere.

In frustration, she went into the kitchen, looked around, and it was there that she found the note. It was sitting on the countertop of the central island like a display in a museum. The only light in the whole house that was on was the workstation light hanging over it. Her engagement ring was sitting on top of it perfectly centered, diamonds gleaming softly. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and a growing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she walked over to pick up the small piece of notepaper. The writing was brief and poignant, perfectly Marshall. She read it three times despite its brevity, unable to take in its meaning, unable to process it, and then she wadded it up and threw it across the room.

"You son of a bitch! You cowardly bastard! I don't think so!"

She stormed out of the kitchen to retrieve her clothing from the bedroom and had to return to the kitchen to pick up the ring which was still wobbling gently on the countertop. As she went out, she stooped to pick up the crumpled ball of paper, and as she went back to get dressed, her frantic hands smoothed out the wrinkles and folded it up to keep. They were not done with this. Not by a long shot.