Marcellus's gaze lingered on Arabella's eyes, intense and unwavering. He knew full well that his actions were forcing her against her will. His heart pounded wildly, uneven and conflicted, a stark loneliness clawing at him. Deep down, he was acutely aware—they had no future together.
Youthful dreams, so vivid and beautiful, faded as quickly as they came, leaving only memories that could not be held onto.
Arabella's hands were restrained, but her legs were still free. She wrapped them around Marcellus's waist, attempting to constrict and overpower him. Yet, she lacked the strength. Marcellus was at his peak, and she was not, her effort only drawing their bodies into closer contact. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin, sending an involuntary shiver through her body.
Marcellus's lips trailed down from her eyes to the bridge of her nose, lingering on her lips with an increasing fervor. His breathing grew heavier as Arabella turned her head, trying to evade him. But he held her firmly, claiming her mouth in a forceful kiss, his hands wandering with unrelenting intent. Arabella's body softened under his grip, her gaze losing focus as she struggled to maintain control.
Marcellus's fingers changed direction, and one of Arabella's nipples was boldly and arrogantly rubbed, while the other was teased by being put into Marcellus's mouth.
Arabella's mind was clear, understanding the person lying on her was not Cyrus. However, the face she saw was so familiar, yet still stirred her heart. Her body burned with heat, the effects of AE's aphrodisiac surging uncontrollably. AE, known for its mastery in poison-making, rarely ventured into producing such a drug. Yet, when it did, the potency was akin to venom—addictive, ruthless, and overpowering. She had experienced it once before, deeply and unforgettable. She never imagined she would have to endure it a second time.
Her lower body felt empty and itchy, and she exuded a seductive air, even though her desire was burning like fire. However, Arabella's eyes were still clear, and she tightened her muscles, planning to strike Marcellus's solar plexus with her elbow to escape.
To her surprise, Marcellus was sly, lifting his head from between her breasts, his voice hoarse and with a seductive tone: "Bella-"
Arabella's body jolted before rage overtook her. With her bound hands clenched into fists, she aimed a vicious blow at Marcellus. Anticipating her reaction, he was ready—firmly locking her in his embrace and expertly neutralizing all her points of attack in one seamless move.
"Bella, I've missed you so much."
Unable to fight back, Arabella was seething, wanting desperately to curse him. Yet, being someone who rarely argued, all she could muster was a venomous retort: "You don't deserve to call me that."
"Not deserved?" Marcellus chuckled coldly, and with one hand, he slid down from Arabella's back to the wet and slippery crotch area, feeling delighted as he said, "If I'm not deserved, then why is it that your vagina is all wet?"
Arabella let out a lazy hum. "That's just AE's drug doing its job," she said casually.
Marcellus listened to her words, and in an act of retaliation, his fingers trailed along the damp path, gripping the soft and slippery clitoris with deliberate force, causing the clitoris to be pulled, which made Arabella's breathing heavier and her eyes filled with lust.
Aware of Arabella's sexual entanglement, Marcellus did not hesitate to extend his finger and rotate it inside her vagina, occasionally flicking the clitoris with his thumb. The delicate, flower-like clitoris immediately turned a rosy red, and the swollen, protruding vulva became fully engorged.
Her entire body felt as though all strength had drained away, leaving only the sound of his voice echoing in her ears. Arabella both loathed and was captivated by Marcellus's face—those sharp features, now softened with emotion, reminded her of Cyrus. His tender gaze and careful touch were hauntingly similar to how Cyrus once entwined his fingers with hers. She could hear the steady, vibrant thrum of his heartbeat against his broad chest, so full of life. It was as if Cyrus were alive again, murmuring softly in her ear, "Bella, I've missed you."
"I miss you—with longing and regret."
Arabella closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, displeasure was evident in her gaze. She sank her teeth into Marcellus's shoulder, a mocking smirk curling her lips. "I don't mind playing along with your substitute game," she sneered.
Marcellus, with the desire ignited at the brink of eruption, had no interest in engaging with Arabella's sharp-tongued provocations. She was in his arms—future or not, he cared only for the present. Whatever Arabella felt for Cyrus was no more than an illusion, fleeting and insubstantial. Here and now, it was him and her, locked in a brutal clash of flesh and desire, their emotions a tangled, inescapable web.
He grasped Arabella's vulnerable spot, tearing the discarded clothing into strips and tying her legs securely to the bedposts. His gaze darkened with intensity, as if consumed by an unrelenting desire to devour her whole. The fingers exploring Arabella's vagina went from two to three, stirring up arousal and love juices that soaked the fingers.
Pah-pah-pah!
Squelch, squelch—
A numbing pleasure, an intoxicating desire, with decadent sounds and lingering sensations that ensnared the senses.
Marcellus's penis had swelled and turned purple, and he had endured for a long time before finally feeling that Arabella's body was ready to receive him. He then thrust her hips forcefully.
Holding Arabella's slender waist and moving up and down, the moment he entered her, it made Marcellus tremble and unconsciously pushed deeper.He was insatiable, lowering his gaze to the place where they were joined together, a flush of red tinting the corners of his eyes.
Arabella was firmly restrained, her hands and feet completely under his control, yet she refused to yield. Her joints strained and creaked with her futile struggles as she wrestled with conflicting impulses—wanting to destroy Marcellus's face, yet unable to bring herself to do it. The world was vast, yet with Merrick gone, all that remained for her to hold onto was Marcellus wearing that familiar facade. Arabella had murderous intentions in her heart, but her body was clinging tightly to Marcellus's, and the feeling of their genitals rubbing against each other amplified their pleasure.
Sweat glistened on Arabella's forehead as she tilted her head back, caught in Marcellus's ravenous kisses, like a wild beast in heat. His strong, muscular body pressed tightly against her soft, fair skin. In the dimly lit room, a single table lamp cast a warm glow, weaving shadows across their bare bodies intertwined.
Marcellus raised one of Arabella's legs on his shoulder, his penis was swollen and red, and he thrust violently in and out of the wet pussy, turning the deep red into a mess of sticky fluid.
A seamlessly natural progression of the atmosphere.
Arabella no longer resisted. She had no reservations about her own body—what unsettled her was Marcellus himself. Yet the aphrodisiac stirred her heartstrings, and Marcellus's passionate form gradually merged with the image of Cyrus in her mind.
The final experience—after this fleeting dream, she would kill him. She wouldn't feel cheated.
Arabella arched her body upwards and grabbed Marcellus's hair, pressing his head against her chest. Marcellus noticed Arabella's initiative and cooperated, burying his head in Arabella's chest and licking from the outer side of her left breast, then making a complete circle around the nipple, and finally sucking hard on the tip of the nipple. He pushed in and out forcefully, searching for the sensitive spots below.
Marcellus turned Arabella around and raised his hand to slap his raised white ass a few times. Arabella swayed her hips, and in return, she swallowed the erect and upright penis all the way to the bottom.
Both let out a sigh of satisfaction. In this moment of intimacy, there was no longer enemy or ally, no victor or vanquished.
Arabella's hands were bound behind her back as Marcellus firmly gripped her shoulders. Moving rhythmically, he trailed fervent, lingering kisses down her spine, tracing a path all the way to her tailbone, and then pressed his penis firmly into the base of the tailbone. Marcellus's stamina was far beyond that of an ordinary man, exuding an overwhelming dominance as he maneuvered and thrust against Arabella's body. His waist moved with powerful force, each motion unrelenting, and the strength of his hands left lingering marks of intimacy wherever they roamed.
He was strong, but Arabella was no weaker. Over time, the drug's effect on her began to wane. However, what was done was done. At this moment, she turned her back to him, out of sight, out of mind. Her thoughts blossomed like vivid flowers, filled with just one name—Cyrus.
After semen being injected, Marcellus immediately rallied, pulling Arabella into the bathroom. With the shower spraying water over them, the two tangled together like writhing snakes, thrashing and entwining in the spacious tub.
Marcellus stood in the pool, lifting Arabella's arms and wrapping them around a nearby pipe. The water rippled around them as he gazed through the waves, watching himself knead her pale hips. The tender skin turned a flushed pink under his grip, igniting his desire completely. And he began to thrust more forcefully, taking advantage of the buoyancy of the water. Heavy breathing accompanied his aroused voice as he said, "It feels so good! Come on - spread your legs wider and let me really fxxck you." As he spoke, he continued his movement to Arabella, going up and down with each thrust, getting deeper and deeper inside Arabella's body with each stroke. Each time he pushed in harder, his sack hit Arabella's delicate thighs on the inside, causing red and white patches to appear.
The woman beneath him had a heart as hard and dark as stone, yet her body was fair and tender. The contrast between her fierce, unyielding soul and her soft, delicate flesh was irresistibly alluring, a maddening paradox that drew him in completely. His angelic brother had been tempted by Arabella, the devil. In contrast, he, a devil himself, and Arabella were clearly a match made in hell.
Marcellus felt that Arabella was about to have another orgasm again, so he immediately turned her back to the front. He had a wicked smile on his face as he bent down and deliberately bit and rubbed her nipple with his teeth, feeling the vagina below him tremble and contract one after another. A sense of satisfaction came to his eyes, which was the pleasure he had brought to Arabella, and had nothing to do with anyone else.
Arabella went to the peak twice, her body drowning in the overwhelming sensations, yet her mind remained sharp, calculating every opportunity to eliminate Marcellus. Her recovery was astonishing; though the drug's effects hit her hard, they faded just as quickly. She concealed the killing intent in her eyes, her body relaxing lazily as she leaned completely against Marcellus.
While Arabella and Marcellus were locked in a fierce battle on the bed, Bramwell and Caracal found themselves at a complete loss on the other end.
This was entirely contrary to Arabella's original plan—
Bramwell rubbed his temples, unsure of what kind of madness Marcellus was indulging in this time.
Caracal had changed his face again, this time assuming the identity of an international criminal investigation team member, appearing openly. Arabella's layered plans only assigned each person distinct tasks, leaving them directionless in the face of sudden chaos.
Taking advantage of the search operation, Caracal found an opportunity to approach Bramwell and asked, "Have you heard anything from Master Unknown?"
Lowering his voice, Bramwell shook his head. "Not yet. I suspect even Master Unknown didn't anticipate Marcellus would act this way."
"That man's insane. Does he really think he can keep Arabella locked up forever?"
Bramwell sighed. "We'll stick to the original plan. The goal was always to destabilize Scalien's situation, so the outcome is the same. Leak the news about the milk powder; at the very least, it'll throw Taras into disarray."
Caracal nodded, preparing to leave since prolonged contact with Bramwell was unwise, but paused when Bramwell asked, "Is faking physical conditions a required skill for you all?"
Caracal blinked in surprise before replying, "Yeah, why do you ask all of a sudden?"
"When you and Faceless Ghost studied under that old master, you learned seven or eight-tenths of his skills. What would full mastery look like?"
Caracal was puzzled by Bramwell's sudden interest in his skill and laughed. "Isn't it obvious? True mastery lies in being seamless, shadow-like, and endlessly adaptable. But it all comes down to recognition—probably only that old guy can tell the difference between me and Faceless Ghost. That's the ultimate skill."
The words were a wake-up call!
Bramwell couldn't help but chuckle softly and shook his head as he muttered to himself, "So that's how it is."
