The Confession in the Shadows

The rain hammered against the estate's eastern wing as Elena adjusted the night-vision camera on its tripod, her breath visible in the cold November air. The crew had finished their initial sweep and retreated to the main house for dinner, leaving her alone with the cobwebs and creaking floorboards. She swept her flashlight across a dusty portrait hanging askew on the wall—a severe-looking woman from another century, eyes seeming to follow movement. "Perfect location for hauntings," Elena muttered, consulting her tablet. The thermal sensors showed nothing but cold spots where the wind whipped through broken windows. A sound echoed down the hallway—footsteps, quick and deliberate, moving away from her position. Her professional skepticism warred with curiosity. Someone was definitely here besides her. Elena followed the sound into a storage room clogged with moldy furniture draped in white sheets. The footsteps had stopped, but she could feel a presence watching. She parted one of the dusty sheets and found herself face-to-face with a man—a tall figure with black hair slightly disheveled, dark brown eyes wide with alarm. "Who are you?" Elena demanded, her voice steady despite her racing heart. The groundskeeper—if that's what he was, given his worn work clothes—opened his mouth but no words emerged. He took a step back, colliding with a stack of boxes that clattered to the floor. "I'm Elena Torres," she continued, lowering her tablet slightly. "I'm here documenting paranormal activity for my show." She tilted her head, studying him. "You've been avoiding the crew all week." His tan skin had gone pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. He was lean but muscular, with calloused hands that suggested hard work rather than malice. "I—I don't..." Marcus finally stammered, and Elena noticed how his eyes couldn't quite meet hers before darting away again. "I'm sorry. I just... people make me nervous." Elena softened slightly, recognizing the signs of social anxiety in his body language—tensed shoulders, fidgeting hands, that inability to maintain eye contact. "It's okay. Just stay out of my camera ranges and we won't have any problems." She turned to leave but paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. There was something compelling about him—the way he seemed so out of place in this world, like a ghost himself. "What's your name?" "Marcus," he whispered. "Well, Marcus." Elena offered a small smile. "Try not to knock anything else over." As she walked back toward the main hallway, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was still watching her. She set up another camera near the old chapel doors, checking angles and battery life with practiced efficiency. The storm outside intensified, wind howling through gaps in the estate's aged walls. Then she heard it—a voice from deeper within the east wing. Marcus's voice, though he seemed to be talking to no one. "...can't stop thinking about you," he said softly, so quietly Elena had to strain to hear. "Every day I've watched you work... your focus, the way you move through these halls like you belong here more than anyone..." Elena froze, her hand hovering over a camera control. He was talking about her. "I know I shouldn't," Marcus continued, his voice trembling with emotion that made Elena's breath catch. "You probably think I'm just the weird groundskeeper hiding in the shadows. But when you look at me... even for just a second... it feels like the world makes sense." Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was wrong—completely unprofessional to eavesdrop on this vulnerable confession. But she couldn't move, couldn't break whatever spell held her frozen in place. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, and Elena heard the rustle of fabric as if he were touching something—a photograph? A memory? "Even covered in dust from these old halls, with your hair falling out of that ponytail... I find you irresistible." Thunder cracked overhead, shaking loose tiles from the roof. Rain intensified, drumming against broken windows like a thousand urgent fingers. Elena finally managed to move, her footsteps deliberate as she approached the source of his voice—a small sitting room she hadn't yet explored, dominated by an old wingback chair positioned before a cold fireplace. Marcus stood beside it, his back to her, shoulders shaking slightly. He turned at the sound of her approach, and in the dim light filtering through grimy windows, she saw tears tracking down his tan cheeks. "Elena?" His voice broke on her name. "I didn't know you were still here." They stared at each other—her professional skepticism crumbling beneath the weight of raw vulnerability in his eyes. The storm raged around them, cutting off their escape to the main house as wind screamed through the broken wing. "I heard what you said," Elena admitted quietly, her tablet forgotten in her hands. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop." Marcus's face flushed crimson, and he turned away, covering his eyes with one hand. "God, this is so embarrassing. Please forget it. I just... I've been alone for so long, and you came here like you owned these halls, like you weren't afraid of anything..." "I'm terrified right now," Elena said softly, surprising herself with the honesty. His hand dropped from his face, eyes widening as they met hers. "Of me?" "Of what it means that I heard you say those things and didn't immediately leave." She set her tablet down on a nearby table, its screen casting pale light across her face. "I have rules about this kind of thing." "Professional boundaries?" Marcus asked, his voice steadying slightly. "Yes." Elena took a step closer. "And I'm breaking every single one by staying in this room right now instead of walking away like I should." Thunder boomed again, and the lights flickered—backup generators struggling against the storm's fury. In the brief darkness, she heard Marcus move closer, felt his presence like heat radiating from her own body. "I'm sorry," he said when the lights returned, dimmer now. "I shouldn't have said anything. I just... I can't seem to stop myself around you." "Marcus—" "My name is really Marcus Webb," he interrupted, taking another step forward until they stood mere inches apart in the cramped space of the sitting room. "I've lived on this estate for three years, ever since my mother died and left me the groundskeeping position. I haven't talked to anyone besides myself in... I don't know how long." Elena's professional barriers were cracking like the estate's foundation under pressure she couldn't name. "Why tell me all of this?" "Because you're leaving in a few days," Marcus said, his dark eyes finally holding hers without flinching. "And I needed you to know that someone sees you. That when you look at thermal readings and camera footage searching for ghosts... there's something very real watching you instead." Her breath hitched. The storm outside reached a crescendo—wind shrieking through broken windows, rain beating against glass like an insistent demand. "I should go," Elena whispered, but made no move to leave. "Probably." Marcus raised one hand as if to touch her face, then let it fall. "But the main house is cutoff now—the bridge over the western moat flooded already according to my weather radio. You'd have to go through the conservatory and around the east gardens, and that path will be impassable soon." He was right—she could hear water rushing somewhere beyond their location, the estate's old drainage system overwhelmed by the deluge. "So I'm trapped here," Elena said, her voice barely audible over the storm. "With me." Marcus swallowed hard. "In this wing where no one will find us until tomorrow morning." The reality of their situation settled between them like dust from a disturbed shelf. They were alone—truly alone—in a crumbling estate as a hurricane-strength storm raged outside, cutting off all escape routes. Elena looked up at Marcus's face, close enough now that she could see individual droplets of rain that had somehow found their way through the gaps in the walls, clinging to his dark lashes. He was beautiful in an aching sort of way—hurt and hopeful simultaneously. "I have a confession too," Elena said quietly, her hand unconsciously moving toward him before stopping halfway. "I've noticed you watching me these past days. And I told myself it was because I needed to keep track of the groundskeeper's movements for my investigation." "But?" Marcus prompted softly. "But I'd find excuses to walk past your work areas." The admission burned in her throat like whiskey. "And when you avoided eye contact, part of me felt... disappointed? Like I wanted you to look at me the way you just did in that empty room." Marcus's breath caught. He was close enough now that she could feel his body heat, smell the earthy scent of rain and cut grass clinging to his work clothes. "Elena..." Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer. "Don't," she warned, but her hand finally completed its journey, fingertips brushing against his chest where his shirt was soaked through from some earlier exposure to weather. His heart hammered beneath her palm—matching the frantic rhythm of her own. "Why not?" Marcus asked, his other hand rising to mirror hers, resting on her shoulder. "You're leaving in three days. We'll never see each other again after this investigation." "Exactly why it's a terrible idea." But Elena didn't pull away from his touch; instead she leaned into it slightly, feeling the solid weight of him like an anchor in a storm that was both outside and within. "I know about terrible ideas," Marcus said, his thumb tracing small circles on her shoulder blade. "I've been living one for three years, hiding in this estate because talking to people terrifies me more than loneliness ever could." "What changed?" Elena asked, their faces now inches apart as they stood in the dimly lit room. "You did." The honesty in his voice was devastating. "You walked into these halls like you belonged here, and I saw what it might be like to not be invisible anymore." Elena's professional skepticism had completely dissolved—she couldn't remember why she'd ever thought this investigation was about ghosts when there was something very real standing before her, vulnerable and aching with need for connection. "Marcus," she started, but the lights flickered again and died completely, plunging them into darkness broken only by occasional flashes of lightning through grimy windows. She felt his hands find her face in the darkness, gentle as if she were something precious that might shatter. "Don't tell me to stop," he whispered. "Please." Elena's rational mind screamed at her to push him away, to maintain those professional boundaries she'd built so carefully over years of documentary work. But standing here in this crumbling estate during a storm that felt biblical, with his hands on her face and his breath warm against her lips—she realized how exhausting it had been pretending ghosts were more compelling than human connection. "I can't," Elena admitted into the darkness. "I don't want to." Thunder crashed overhead like judgment itself, but neither of them flinched. Marcus's thumb traced her lower lip in the darkness—gentle exploration that made her stomach tighten with anticipation. "Tell me what you need from me," he whispered. "Anything. I'll give you anything." Elena's hands moved to his waist, feeling the lean muscles beneath soaked fabric. "Time," she breathed. "I need more time than three days." "The storm might last through tomorrow," Marcus offered hopefully. "Then we have tonight." Elena felt her own boundaries crumbling like the estate around them—walls she'd built brick by brick coming down in moments of vulnerability and desire. "And tomorrow morning I'll pretend this never happened so I can finish my investigation." "And after that?" His voice was raw with hope and fear simultaneously. "After that we go back to being strangers who almost touched in the dark." Even saying it made her chest ache, but Elena knew they had no other option. She was leaving—this was temporary by definition. Marcus's hands slid from her face down to her shoulders, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together in the darkness. "Then let me be your ghost," he said softly. "Let me haunt these halls remembering what it felt like to hold you." Elena's professional skepticism made one final, desperate attempt to resurface—reminding her that this was wrong on so many levels. But desire and loneliness had been building inside her for years, and Marcus represented a crack in those carefully constructed walls she'd refused to acknowledge existed. "Show me your tower," Elena whispered. "The place where you live when no one else is watching." Marcus's breath hitched with surprise at the request—clearly he hadn't expected such boldness from someone who'd been maintaining professional distance all week. "It's not much," he warned, his hands still resting on her shoulders as if anchoring them both in reality. "Just a small room in the east tower where I can pretend I'm invisible." "Please." Elena reached up to touch his face now, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw in the darkness. "I want to see where you hide from the world." Marcus's hands moved to intertwine with hers—fingers threading together like a promise or a prayer. "It's a long walk through flooded hallways," he warned. "Then we'd better start now." Elena squeezed his hand. "Before I remember why this is a terrible idea." She heard him smile in the darkness, felt it in the way his thumb brushed across her knuckles. "Too late for that," Marcus said softly. "You already know it's terrible. The only question now is whether terrible is worth experiencing." "Lead the way," Elena whispered. Marcus took her hand and started moving through the dark hallway toward a servant's staircase she hadn't yet explored—his footsteps sure despite the darkness, clearly knowing every inch of these crumbling halls. As they navigated flooded corridors and debris-littered passages in near-total darkness punctuated by lightning flashes, Elena realized something terrifying: for the first time in years, her professional skepticism about ghosts was being replaced by certainty that she was walking toward something far more dangerous than any supernatural entity—she was walking toward a man who saw her in ways no one else had bothered to look. The storm raged around them as they climbed the spiral stairs toward Marcus's tower quarters, and Elena knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same after this night.

The storm had passed as suddenly as it arrived, leaving behind a rain-soaked world that gleamed under the emerging moonlight. Marcus led Elena down the spiral stairs with surprising gentleness, his hand steady on her waist—no longer the frantic grip of someone fleeing danger, but something else entirely. "You should get back to your team," he said quietly as they reached the ground floor, though his fingers hadn't loosened their hold on her. "They'll be worried." Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. The logical part of her brain—the part that had built walls around herself for years—screamed that she should go. Should return to her equipment and her cameras and her perfectly professional demeanor. But when she looked at Marcus in the dim light filtering through broken windows, all she saw was a man who had been watching her. Really *seeing* her. And she was tired of being alone. "Marcus—" "I know," he interrupted, his dark eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I know I should walk away from you right now. Should let you go back to your life where I don't exist." "Then why don't you?" A slow smile crossed his face—the first genuine expression she'd seen from him. "Because I'm tired of hiding." He pulled her close then, one hand tangling in her wet hair while the other pressed against the small of her back, drawing her flush against his lean frame. Elena gasped at the contact, at the heat radiating through their soaked clothing, at the way his body felt—solid and real and utterly unlike anything she'd experienced before. "I've wanted to do this since I first saw you setting up those cameras," Marcus admitted, his voice rough with emotion he'd clearly been suppressing for weeks. "Wanted to touch you, talk to you, know what it feels like when you look at me the way you're looking at me now." Elena's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "Then stop talking and do it." He didn't need further encouragement. Marcus crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle explorations she'd imagined. It was desperate, hungry—a man starved for contact finally allowed to taste what he'd been denying himself. His lips were firm against hers, coaxing them open with practiced ease as his tongue swept inside to tangle with her own. Elena moaned into his mouth, her entire body arching toward him as years of pent-up need came flooding to the surface. She tasted rain on his lips and something uniquely Marcus—something dark and intense that made her head spin. His hands moved from her hair to her face, cradling her gently even as his kiss deepened with each passing second. The stone wall behind them was cold against Elena's back when Marcus pressed her against it, the contrast between the chill against her shoulders and the heat of his body making her shiver. She could feel every contour of him through their wet clothing—the lean muscles of his chest, the hardness pressing against her thigh, the way his breath hitched when she rocked her hips forward. "I need more," Marcus gasped against her lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak before claiming her mouth again. His hands moved from her face down to her waist, then lower, gripping the curve of her ass and lifting her effortlessly. Elena wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation, grinding against the prominent bulge in his jeans. "Yes," she breathed into the kiss. "More." Marcus carried her through a doorway Elena didn't even register, too lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers to care where they were going. They stumbled into what appeared to be an old conservatory—a glass-ceilinged space that had somehow survived intact despite the manor's decay. Moonlight streamed through the windows overhead, casting everything in silver light while the scent of wet earth and growing things filled the air. He set her down against a stone wall covered in climbing ivy, his hands immediately moving to pull her soaked t-shirt over her head. Elena lifted her arms without protest, allowing him access as she fumbled with the buttons on his work shirt. The fabric came away easily, revealing the lean, muscular chest beneath—tan skin stretched over defined muscles that flexed when he moved. "God, you're beautiful," Marcus murmured, his eyes roaming over her bare breasts with such reverence that Elena felt heat pool low in her belly. Her nipples were already hard from cold and arousal, dark circles against pale skin, and they tightened further under his gaze as if begging for his touch. He obliged, cupping both breasts in his large hands and thumbing the peaks until Elena cried out sharply. "Marcus!" "Like that?" he asked, a wicked smile playing at his lips even as his thumbs continued their torturous circles. "I've been dreaming about what you'd sound like when I touched you." "More dreams than this," Elena panted, arching into his hands. "You need to—oh God—need your mouth on me." Marcus dropped to his knees without hesitation, his fingers making quick work of her jeans and underwear until they pooled around her ankles along with her boots. Elena stood before him completely exposed in the moonlight—vulnerable in a way she'd never allowed herself to be—and felt only heat coursing through her veins. "You're incredible," Marcus breathed against her inner thigh, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed his face against her center and inhaled deeply. "I can smell how much you want this." "Marcus, please—" He didn't make her wait any longer. His tongue was hot velvet against her sensitive flesh, licking slowly up through her folds with practiced expertise that made Elena's knees buckle. Marcus caught her weight easily, one hand supporting her rear while the other spread her open for better access as his mouth descended on her clit with focused intensity. "Fuck!" The exclamation tore from Elena's throat as pleasure shot through her like lightning—bright and sharp and utterly overwhelming. Marcus's tongue worked against her swollen nub in firm, rhythmic strokes while he hummed with satisfaction at her taste, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that had her clawing at his shoulders for purchase. He drove two fingers inside her then—a sudden, welcome intrusion that made Elena's inner walls clench around them eagerly. The combination of his mouth on her clit and fingers pumping steadily into her core was almost too much to bear; Elena felt the familiar tightening in her belly as orgasm began building with frightening speed. "Going to come for me?" Marcus asked against her, his words muffled but clear enough that Elena could hear the pride in his tone. "Want to feel you squeeze my fingers when you lose control." "Yes, yes, please—" The words dissolved into incoherent sounds as he increased both tempo and pressure, his tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while his fingers curled upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside her. The orgasm hit like a freight train—waves of pleasure washing over Elena so intensely that she saw stars dancing behind her closed eyelids. Her thighs trembled violently around Marcus's head as her hips jerked against his face involuntarily, riding his mouth through the climax with abandon. "Marcus! Marcus!" His name tore from her lips in desperate gasps as pleasure crested again and again—multiple waves of release that left her shaking and breathless and utterly spent. She could feel herself clenching rhythmically around his fingers still buried inside her, milking them as aftershocks rippled through her body. When the sensations finally began to fade, Elena slumped against the wall for support, her legs too weak to hold her upright on their own. Marcus extracted his fingers slowly—so slowly that Elena felt every millimeter of withdrawal—and brought them to his mouth to suck clean with obvious enjoyment. "Delicious," he murmured before standing and pulling her into an embrace that pressed her naked body against his still-clothed chest. "I could spend hours tasting you." Elena's heart was racing so hard she could barely catch her breath, but even through the post-orgasmic haze clouding her thoughts, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: this man had just shattered every wall she'd built around herself. And she wanted more.

Marcus's lips were still on hers as he guided her through the shadows of Thornwood Estate's corridors, his hand possessively gripping her waist. The tower stairs spiraled upward into darkness, and with each step, Elena felt the anticipation building between them—hot, heavy, inevitable. "Up here," Marcus breathed against her ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "My quarters. Where no one will find us." The door to his tower room creaked open, revealing a space that was surprisingly lived-in amid the estate's decay. A large wooden bed dominated the center of the room, its sheets already rumpled from earlier occupation. A single candle flickered on a small table beside it, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. But there was no time for sightseeing. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Marcus had her pinned against it, his body pressing hers into the solid wood with delicious force. His hands were everywhere—tangling in her still-damp hair, gripping her hips, sliding up to cup her breasts. Elena gasped as he squeezed them roughly, his thumbs brushing over her already-hard nipples. "Marcus," she moaned, arching into his touch. "I need you," he growled back, his voice strained with desperation. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his work shirt, finally tearing it open so hard that buttons scattered across the floor. Beneath was a lean, muscular chest dusted with dark hair, and Elena's hands were on him immediately—exploring the contours of his abdomen, scraping her nails lightly over his pectorals. He kicked off his boots while she worked at his belt buckle with trembling fingers. The leather came free, and she unzipped his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers to reveal his cock—hard and thick, jutting out from a nest of black curls. Elena's breath caught in her throat. "Look what you do to me," Marcus groaned, taking himself in hand and giving one slow stroke that made his knees shake slightly. "Every time I see you, every time I hear your voice through those walls... I've been touching myself thinking about this." The confession sent a jolt straight through Elena's core. She reached for him eagerly, wrapping both hands around his length and stroking in counterpoint—her thumbs brushing over the sensitive head on each upstroke while her other fingers squeezed gently along the shaft. "Elena," he panted, dropping his forehead to hers. "I can't wait any longer." He lifted her easily, positioning her against the door so that she was supported by it and his body. His cock pressed insistently at her entrance, already slick from her earlier arousal but now needing more—needing him inside. "Please," Elena begged, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer. "Now, Marcus. I need you inside me." With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Elena cried out sharply as he filled her completely—stretching her, possessing her in a way that made every nerve ending sing with pleasure and sensation. His cock hit some deep, sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl involuntarily. "Fuck," Marcus groaned, his voice tight with restraint. "You're so tight. So perfect." He pulled back slowly before slamming home again—harder this time—and established a rhythm that had them both gasping for breath within seconds. Each thrust was punctuated by the sound of their bodies meeting—the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing in the tower room. The door rattled slightly against its hinges from the impact, but neither of them cared. Elena's hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she met each movement with her own—rolling her hips to take him deeper. "Yes," she moaned, her head falling back to thump against the wood. "Harder. Don't stop." Marcus needed no encouragement. He increased his pace, driving into her with desperate urgency—as if he were trying to claim every inch of her, brand himself onto her very soul. The sensations built rapidly inside Elena; she could feel another orgasm coiling in her belly, tighter and more intense than the first. "I'm close," she gasped out. "Marcus, I'm going to come again." His response was to angle his hips differently on the next thrust—and suddenly he was hitting that spot over and over with perfect precision. Elena's vision went white as her climax crashed through her in waves—her pussy clenching around him rhythmically while her whole body shuddered with pleasure so intense it was almost painful. "Elena!" Marcus shouted, his movements becoming erratic. With three more hard thrusts, he buried himself deep inside her and came with a guttural moan—pumping his release into her in hot, thick spurts that triggered another smaller orgasm in Elena's oversensitive pussy. For several moments they stayed like that—Marcus supporting both their weights against the door while they caught their breath. His cock was still buried inside her, twitching occasionally with aftershocks of pleasure. "Bed," Marcus finally managed to gasp. "I'm not done with you yet." He carried her over without pulling out—still connected—and laid her down on his rumpled sheets. The candlelight cast shadows across Elena's body as she sprawled before him, flushed and sweaty and utterly spent but already wanting more. Marcus knelt between her legs, staring down at where they were still joined. He ran a hand over her thigh possessively before pulling out slowly—making both of them shudder at the sensation. "Turn over," he commanded softly. "I want to see you from behind." Elena rolled onto her stomach eagerly, propping herself up on her elbows while she presented herself to him—legs spread wide in invitation. Marcus crawled over her, pressing kisses along her spine as he positioned himself again at her entrance. This time when he entered her, it was slower—but no less intense. He gripped her hips firmly and began to move with long, deep strokes that seemed designed to hit every sensitive spot inside her all at once. Elena buried her face in the pillow to muffle her moans as he set a steady pace that built pleasure like a slow-burning fire. "Look at you," Marcus breathed reverently, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair and gently pulling so she tilted her head back. "Taking me so well. So beautiful." Elena could feel another climax building—slower this time but somehow more powerful as it swelled inside her with each of his deep thrusts. Her breasts pressed against the mattress, nipples hard and sensitive from friction. "Marcus," she moaned. "I need... I need..." "I know what you need," he growled softly before leaning down to bite gently at the junction of her neck and shoulder—marking her without breaking skin but claiming her nonetheless. His hand slid around to find her clit, rubbing it in slow circles that matched his thrusts. The dual stimulation sent Elena over the edge immediately. Her pussy clenched around him as she came with a long, low moan that went on and on while waves of pleasure rolled through her body. The intensity of it made tears prick at the corners of her eyes—but they were good tears, release after too much tension for far too long. Marcus followed soon after, his movements becoming jerky as he chased his own climax. With a rough shout, he came again—deeper this time somehow—and collapsed forward onto Elena's back while still buried inside her. They lay like that for several minutes before Marcus finally rolled off to the side, pulling Elena with him so they were tangled together on their sides. He spooned against her from behind, one arm draped over her waist possessively. "That was..." Elena started but couldn't find words adequate to describe what had just happened between them. "Amazing," Marcus finished for her. "You're amazing." They stayed like that in comfortable silence while both caught their breath. Outside the tower window, dawn was beginning to lighten the sky—turning from black to deep blue with hints of gray on the horizon. "We should probably get back before anyone notices we're gone," Elena said reluctantly even as she snuggled closer against Marcus's warmth. "Not yet," he murmured into her hair. "I'm not ready to share you yet." His hand slid up to cup her breast gently, thumb brushing over the nipple and making it harden again under his touch. Elena gasped softly at the sensation but made no move to pull away. Instead she arched slightly into his touch—inviting more even though she knew they should rest before starting again. Marcus took the invitation eagerly; within moments he was rolling her onto her back once more, positioning himself between her legs with a hungry look in those dark eyes that told Elena their night together wasn't anywhere close to over yet. As the first rays of sunlight began filtering through his window and across his bed, Marcus kissed Elena deeply while his cock found its home inside her again—and they lost themselves completely in each other beneath the awakening sky.