Marco had always been a wall. Quiet by nature, disciplined by design — a man so thoroughly trained in the art of containment that he moved through the world without a single visible crack. Emotions filed away. Reactions managed. Everything kept behind glass where it couldn't reach anyone.
She had accepted that version of him. She understood now that she'd been wrong. The man standing before her had no walls left. What remained was a relentless lover with dark eyes and absolutely no intention of showing her mercy. A man quite deliberately, quite consciously intent on dooming her.
And doing a thorough job of it.
When his pants dropped she forgot how to arrange her face. Her eyes went wide. God. He was honed to an unreasonable degree — every muscle carved, his body the physical evidence of a discipline she was currently very grateful for. Not an inch of him was accidental.
