Page 8 of Marcelo
Winnie
I gently push the door open, and there he is—Marcelo, looking every bit the tall, magnetic man that has haunted my thoughts. He leans against the desk. His usually pristine jet-black hair is tousled from the storm, the dampness accentuating the strength of his olive-toned jawline and the fire in those deep brown eyes. The wet fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest and sculpted arms. Seeing him like this—disheveled yet still exuding that disciplined charisma—is absolutely captivating.
The realization hits me hard: I'm not just attracted to Marcelo because of our situation; it’s also his raw physicality, the intensity in his gaze, and that underlying vulnerability I've only caught fleeting glimpses of.
“You doing okay?” I ask. “You disappeared before anyone could check on you.”
“I’m fine,” he answers, maybe too quickly.
Taking a shaky breath, I try to lighten the atmosphere. "Do you always chase after women in hurricanes, or am I just the lucky one?"
A hint of a smirk plays on his lips. "You make it sound like I do this often."
I step closer, the pull between us feeling almost palpable. "Just trying to figure out where I stand," my voice wavers, revealing the whirlwind of emotions threatening to take over.
"And where do you think you stand?" he asks, his voice deep, husky, a tone I've never heard before.
In an instant, the space between us disappears. His hand finds my waist, pulling me close with a desperation that reveals his suppressed longing. "That's what I'm here to find out," I whisper, and then his lips are on mine, consuming, passionate, with all the restraint we tried to find gone out the window.
His tongue invades my mouth as his hands grip my waist, his fingers digging into my skin with delicious intensity. I revel in the sensation, the contrasting blend of his military discipline and raw desire. He doesn't hold back, and I love it.
His lips leave mine for a moment, but it's only to trail hot kisses down my neck. My head falls back, giving him better access, and I whimper as his teeth graze my sensitive skin.
"You taste so damn good," he murmurs between kisses. “I’m going to devour you.”
We're drenched from the storm, our clothes clinging to us like second skins, and the room is filled with the intoxicating scent of rain-soaked desire. Marcelo's hands, firm and eager, find the hem of my wet t-shirt. He raises it over my head with a slow, teasing pull, revealing my lacy black bra. Rainwater traces tantalizing rivulets down my skin, following the path of his gaze.
His eyes are smoldering with desire as they lock onto my breasts. "You're so damn beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger as his fingers graze the curve of my breasts.
I'm not about to let him have all the fun. My hands slide beneath his soaked shirt, fingers tracing a path up his chiseled chest. I can feel the heat radiating from his body beneath the clinging fabric, driving me wild.
Marcelo's lips descend on one of my hardened nipples, his mouth hot and demanding. My back arches involuntarily, and a sultry moan escapes my lips, the sound echoing in the room. The juxtaposition of his disciplined exterior and the raw hunger in his eyes only fuels my desire.
"Don't stop,” I gasp, my fingers tangling in his wet hair.
He doesn’t. His lips leave a blazing trail down my drenched body, and I can feel the heat of his breath against my wet skin. My leggings cling to me, taunting me, as he hooks his fingers into their soaked waistband, deliberately pulling them down with an agonizingly slow, teasing motion before I finally kick them off.
With a surge of primal intensity, he lifts me onto the edge of the desk, his strong hands guiding me. Then, he kneels between my legs, lifting them over his shoulders. His tongue begins its fiery ascent up my quivering thigh. My breath hitches, my body arching toward him, aching for more. His fingers slide my panties to the side, and his breath ghosts across my exposed pussy, teasing, not quite touching.
"Marcelo," I whimper, my voice dripping with desperation, my fingers clenching the edge of the desk, knuckles white with anticipation.
His tongue slides between my folds, and I moan with pleasure, my hips rising to meet each thrust of his tongue. Somehow, he knows just where and how to touch me, drawing responses from me that I didn't know I was capable of. His fingers join in the dance, gently twirling around my clit until I'm quaking with anticipation.
Marcelo's tongue delves deeper, like a relentless explorer mapping out the contours of my most intimate places. And then, he slides two fingers inside me, pressing against certain spots as his tongue continues its tantalizing dance on the outside. I writhe against him as heat builds within me and my orgasm begins to crest.
As I reach the peak of ecstasy, Marcelo's name falls from my lips in a fervent chant. My body trembles and jerks with pure pleasure as wave after wave of bliss wash over me until I can’t take it anymore, my legs trying to close around his ears.
His tongue stills, and he pulls away with a satisfied smirk. He stands, hands coming to rest on my thighs. The lingering heat from our encounter wraps us like a cocoon, making the outside world seem distant. He brushes a rebellious strand of hair from my face, his fingertips grazing my cheek, causing my skin to sizzle in response.
"Winnie," he murmurs, his deep voice tinged with a raw edge.
The way his deep brown eyes meet mine holds an intensity that leaves me breathless, like we share a secret the world isn’t privy to. An undeniable draw, something raw and primal, pulls me to him. The physical intimacy we shared didn't just satiate a fleeting desire—it forged a deep connection that's both thrilling and terrifying. I'm caught in this heady mix of comfort and anticipation, eager to explore the uncharted territories of our relationship but also anxious about the vulnerabilities it uncovers.
There’s a side of him beneath that disciplined military exterior that he's let me glimpse—passionate, unguarded, almost tender. I yearn to know that side of him more, to peel back the layers.
But with every layer, there's also the risk of getting burned, of getting too close to a flame that's as wild as it is warm.
Even given the risk, I'm ready to dive back in, lose myself in him again.