Marko
"Cut”.
The director's voice rang for what would be the last time, and applause followed.
The moment was bittersweet, but the feel of Alba detaching from him as if he was plagued stung.
"Alb-"
"Don't...don't say anything, Marko. Let this end."
"I don’t want-"
"Don't want that?"
Again, she interrupted him, finishing his sentence when he did not wish her to.
"Marko, you called me a slut a few weeks ago, so let this 'slut' reform her ways, a safe distance from you.”
“I never said you were a slut.”
“No, you merely said that I spread my legs for anyone who gives me the time of day; if your argument is on semantics, try again."
Alba uttered as she moved from him, but her dress, the same ivory gown that stole his chest as she walked down the Aisle, making him wish that for a moment the scene was real and she was his bride, made her curse as she moved.
"God damn heels!"
She muttered before leaving him...again.
Should he manipulate her transport?
No, she might not fall for it this time.
Should he...hire someone to assault her and then act as her hero.
The consideration was so potent that he felt hopeful, but again, his psychologist rebuked such interventions because it doesn't give one's partner a chance to make a conscious decision.
How...disappointing.
***
The blandness of the day rang through his mind from the second his eyes struggled open.
Was there even a point to waking up?
He couldn't find one at the top of his head; even the morning sun rays were against him, burning so bitterly that he cursed himself for sleeping with the blinds open.
She wasn't picking up his calls; no, the calls were not even going through.
She said that she hadn’t blocked him, but...she had.
No one had ever drawn a line with him as firmly as she drew hers, and while he loved her firmness, it was getting irritating pretending to be more patient than he was.
His eyes flashed to the memory of her eye’s intensity, the silky gaze that shone brightly at him as she recited her lines with the depth of the actual ‘Alba’ of the script.
A groan escaped him at the stiffening of his manhood.
The was no point in staying in bed, so he peeled his blankets off his body and walked over to his bookshelf, twisted the head of a trophy-looking ornament before the bookshelf split open to reveal steps leading to a hidden room.
His only regret was that he did not put on his indoor slippers because the grey marble floor was cold.
Passing by the thousands of pictures plastered on his wall of Alba...specifically her eyes, he took the latest piece to examine it.
It was from her dinner date with Rhett after their appearance at Mariette’s talk show.
She wasn’t sleeping with him; the P. I. he placed on her confirmed that they went their separate ways.
Not that he wanted them to meet anyway, but he couldn’t agitate her more than he had.
His fingers stroked her golden gaze from the photograph before his hand reached for his c*ck.
He wanted to see them melt again.
The sound of a code entering the dial on his front door, followed by the slamming of the door, made him groan.
But it was only when loud steps nearing his room sounded that he rushed out of the hidden room and back to his bedroom.
"Oh, you are up? Your mum wanted me to check up on you."
Bridgette uttered, with her hands still on the door.
Unlike him, her outfit and expression were fresh and showed enthusiasm for the day.
He could have glared or uttered something sassy in return, but instead, he stared at the brown eyes that seemed to hold a sense of superiority over him.
He no longer felt anything under her gaze.
"What?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, and when he said nothing, she continued talking.
"Don't you have some award ceremony to attend today for the series you starred in? Or are you not attending, though that wouldn't be the first you missed."
Right!
Right, the ceremony! She will be there, won't she?
"Are you in a slump because you got dumped?"
"Dumped?"
He repeated the words, they sounded off in his mouth, but of course, he hadn't been 'dumped', it was...something else.
"That is what they call people whose partners prefer anyone else over them, right?"
"I have not been 'dumped' she just misunderstood my relationship with you."
Bridgette stilled before leaning on the frame of his door.
"Want me to help you?"
"Your presence will make things much worse."
"No, your silence is what's worsening things. I'll join you for the event and help you out—no need to thank me. Get dressed. We can explain our relationship together."
"Explain what exactly?"
"That you have an eye fetish."
"Then she'll think I'm interested in her because of her eyes?"
"Is that a bad thing?"
"She saw a picture of you and thought I was interested in her because she looks like you."
A frown touched her lips before she smiled.
"She sounds endearing...I want to dominate her."
"No. Plus, you have Mercy."
"Hmm, but we can make arrangements."
"I said no. I'll try talking to her, but if it doesn't work...I'll just take her."
"Right; once you have them, it’s easier to make them understand."
**
Of course, of course, whatever solution Bridgette came up with would be a dud. She was as poor as him in communicating.
"Al-"
He tried to call her again, but the look she offered him was one of disgust before she slinked over the sea of people.
She made it clear she was avoiding him, and...it was beginning to get on his nerves.
…just like that, the event ended without him managing a word in.
Hah...well, he did try, didn't he?
The after-party was in the director’s house; the only way to get her to attend was to confirm his non-attendance.
An easy task—all he needed to do was tell one person with a flair for gossip: Magnolia.
He isn’t coming. I repeat to myself as I splash some more warm water on my face. Ugh, what the hell was that sickly sweet champagne Magnolia guzzled down my throat in ‘celebration’? If she wants me to be drunk and embarrass myself, all she has to do is say that. A sigh escapes me at my tired expression in the bathroom mirror. My face is flushed, yet despite how tipsy I am, the hurt from seeing him arrive with his ‘ex-fiancée’ cut too deep to be blurred with liquor. Ever since the production ended, I woke up to sex dreams where Marko would bind me, trap me somewhere and have his way with me mercilessly. Of course, I would plead that he free me because, let’s face it, I would only plead that he does not touch me so that I could be regarded as sane. Because who in the hell would want to be bound and f*cked mercilessly by someone who all but regarded them as a slut? Guilt always devours me at the end of the vulgar dreams, I guess they are about to worsen now that he is with his ex-f
TRIGGER WARNING: CONSENT. The pounding in my head trembles my vision. Christ, I am never drinking again. My struggle to change my position and take advantage of the day is met with a familiar stiffness; only the rattling sounds binding me send my eyes wide open. An unfamiliar room, brightly lit with top wall windows that ensure I cannot see outside, but enough light enters that I can see thousands upon thousands of pictures of me lining the walls. Hah... what the hell? Panic sets in low in my belly as struggle finds my limbs. I do not wish to scream; who knows what I will alert, but the rattling of the cuffs binding my hands and feet to the bed must have awoken something because movement sounds from the other side, beyond the dark staired hallway. It would have been easy to sit upright had it only been my hands bound, but both my hands and feet were chained to the bed, holding me indecently in place and... My clothes are different. "You are up? Good, I brought you some food.
And that’s a wrap. The book will be marked as complete soon; I hope you loved both stories, the bonus ( ̄y▽ ̄)╭ ohohoho….. and the main story. Now on the meat of the matter, my next work will be out in late June or Mid-July titled: The Alpha's Ruby Obsession (I think, but most likely.) It will be 18+, not just because of the smut but because it is a little darker than this one, discussing themes to do with suicidal ideations and consent-non-consent relations, but don’t worry, I will tag the concerning chapters. It can be read as a stand-alone, but there are benefits to reading this book first. Lastly, this concerns my other book: Your last lie—please do not purchase it until perhaps next year (Late next year); it was my first book and thus very clumsy, I want to work on it, and if you have it in your library, you can remove it and select it later, the changes should reflect. Thank you for reading and voting for ‘Bound to My Wicked Stepbrother’. I would love to hear more from you; whe
“What number does this one make?”“It’s called dating, Violet.”I explain as I press my body to the glass counter containing potions with eye-catching titles like ‘relive your happiest moment’ or ‘spend five minutes with your lost loved ones’.Though the humans in the town would deem this shop a ‘mystic gothic store’, demeaning its actuality to belief, my best friend, Violet, is a real witch.My phone buzzes and a reminder for my upcoming date pops up.“Imagine having so many dates that you must put reminders on your phone lest you break the heart of someone’s son. Your confidence in still referring to that as dating is baffling.”I laugh sarcastically at her comment as she slides my order toward me in a glass box that I open instantly.She makes no secret of her disapproval of my consistent use of the concoctions she brews; she even changed their packaging from a warm orange liquid to a glittery dark blue that looked downright unpalatable.To emphasise my protest to her protest, I do
Had I smelled him before leaving the pack, I would never have taken more than two steps into this restaurant. But that’s the thing about glimpses into the future; information is never complete. So much for a unique wolf attribute. “Turn to me, Alba. I will not ask again.” This time, he speaks the words and waves off the server for privacy, privacy I could do well without. If I act any more suspiciously, he might catch on to the secrets I carry, so I turn and bow without meeting his gaze, yet even that minuscule act causes my animosity towards him to yield at the despicably enticing scent he exudes. “I greet his majesty, the Lycan King of Ketria.” I respond using the link he formed, and rather than free me from this hideous responsibility, he steps right before me and lifts my gaze from the inky blackness of his shoes to meet the silver of his eyes. Christ, but the man is the definition of perfection. His long white lashes and cropped silverish-white hair grant him an ethereal-l
My mouth widens at his question, I want to question his audacity, but his newfound nearness permits me to see the burning anger in his gaze under the streetlights.I have no obligation to answer him, yet my mind works feverishly at a defence.What is this incessant need to pacify him despite his anger being none of my responsibility? Especially when his scent remains the culprit to why my centre remains moist.I swallow dryly.The last thought triggers my awareness of his sexual magnetism, his large build that teases at the warmth of his hold, and the startling intensity of his gaze.I want to take a step back from him, but I am rooted in my spot by the part of me that longs to explore his features to discover how much I have missed in our time apart.I recoil at my thoughts by turning away from him, desperate for the space to collect myself, but his hand grabs my arm and pulls my body towards his.His hold is rough; why it thrills me can only be tied to my deviancy.“What is it about
Marko N. Ivanov “How could he do this? How could he do this to me?” Mother’s scream was audible through the halls, each question perfectly punctuated by the shattering of more hallway décor. With a mere announcement, the most regal wolf in the kingdom was reduced to hysterics—a sight he had never witnessed before. The butler was the first to shield Marko from the ferocious howls that followed. This act added to his tension by confirming that what was indeed wrong was diabolically irreparable. "Is there some sort of proof that they are mates?” His question came off with more emotion than he, as the heir to the throne, was permitted to portray. "His-" The butler hesitated, gazing left and right as though he was about to utter words that would endanger his life. “His majesty was the one to proclaim that, so we must believe his words. Even the elder council remains in disarray.” "What of mother? What becomes of her now?" That wasn’t what he wished to ask; what he meant to ask wa
"Did...did you just-" His heavy hand descends on my flesh once again before my question about the action’s occurrence solidifies. He...spanked me? The chain hanging from my freed hand is heavy; only his restrictive support permits it to stay above my head. Swinging it to his face is just as impossible as prying my hands from his hold. Again his hand falls upon my flesh, striking with such precision the spot that has just begun to heat as if intending my skin to blister. Why? Why does he only strike one place? "Are you ...in-insane?" Again, his hand falls on me, and a whimper escapes me this time. “Stop! You bast-!” Again…the same spot, effectively cutting my curse in its course. "Apologise." I don’t want to…! I struggle against his hold, and he seems to take that as my answer, so again, his hand falls on the precise sensitised spot that feels seconds away from searing. "Sorry." I utter quickly in such a low voice that his breathing could swallow its utterance. I did no