Possessive Mark's

Clara let out a groan as she woke up feeling her body sore from yesterday's activity. She tried to shift her weight but a sharp, deep ache tore through her entire lower body, making a soft grunt escape her lips. Her thigh felt weak, her muscles entirely spent and her core throbbing with a heavy, lingering warmth.

Slowly, she forced her eyelids open, and the bright sun from the window pierced her eyes, making her half close her eyes. The bright sun illuminated the bedroom making it look warm.

Clara glanced at the digital clock on the night stand and gasped. The time was 1:16 pm. She couldn't believe she slept for the whole night and even half a day. She groaned as she stood up from the bed, her whole body aching badly.

Memory after memory of the previous night came rushing back like a chaotic, hot tidal wave, from the living room wall, the weight of Arthur's body on her, his raw unfiltered energy and the way he carried her into his bedroom and claimed her until her voice became hoarse. He had made sure he left no space on her skin as it was filled with his touch and kissed.

Pushing the silky duvet aside, she looked at her body and as expected it was filled with hickeys and a dark purple bruised mark on her waist, a sign of how he possessively held her, on her collarbone was filled with love bites and the soft swell of her breast

Beside her the space was empty and cold as if no one slept there, but the rumpled duvet is a testament someone did.

A familiar scent of expensive cologne, fresh cedar, and rich coffee drifted into the room from the adjoining master bath. Clara carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her knees trembling slightly as her feet touched the cold hardwood floor. She practically had to hold onto the wall for support as she walked toward the open bathroom door.

The moment she stepped inside, the warm, thick steam enveloped her aching body, carrying the soothing scent of lavender and eucalyptus oils.

Arthur had already prepared a massive, deep porcelain bathtub for her. The water was perfectly hot, covered in a thick layer of luxurious bubbles. Resting on a sleek wooden tray across the tub was a fresh cup of steaming black coffee, a tall glass of iced mango juice, and a plate of golden-brown French toast drizzled with maple syrup alongside fresh berries.

Next to the tray lay a neatly folded, incredibly plush black silk robe and a small, handwritten note in that elegant, sharp cursive she recognized instantly.

“You slept like a log, little birdie. I had to restrain myself from waking you up for a second round. Eat everything, soak until your body stops aching, and don't think about James. I’ve already taken care of your schedule for today. You’re mine to look after now.”

— A, your favorite uncle.

Clara’s heart did a violent flip in her chest. A deep, involuntary blush crept from her cheeks all the way down to her chest. The sheer contrast of this man was dizzying. One moment he was ruthless, and the next, he was meticulously preparing a luxury bath and breakfast for her because he knew he had used her body too roughly.

With a soft sigh, she slid into the hot water. The immediate relief to her sore muscles made her head loll back against the bath pillow, a breathless moan escaping her lips.

As she took a sip of the warm coffee, she realized something profound. For six years with James, she had been a ghost, invisible, unappreciated, and treated like a stepping stone. But in less than forty-eight hours, Arthur Hawthorne had completely upended her world. She couldn't help but feel restless. On one side was her fiance and the other his uncle, she felt conflicted that she didn't notice the door open and Arthur was already before her.

“Look who finally decided to rejoin the living," Arthur murmured, “Thinking about me, little birdie?” he asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. Clara blushed, realizing he saw her completely spaced out, “ stop jumping out on me at every turn,” she said but her voice came out cracked and painful. She pouted at Arthur as her eyes instantly filled up with tears leaving Arthur conflicted. He was at a loss on what to do seeing she was about to cry. “ Okay birdie I was wrong please don't cry,” he pleaded urgently, “ It hurts so much,” she said as the tears fell as Arthur tried consoling her.

Twenty minutes later, After she stopped crying and feeling thoroughly relaxed and significantly less sore, Clara wrapped herself in the heavy black silk robe. It was far too large for her, the hem dragging on the floor and the sleeves swallowing her hands, but the scent of Arthur embedded in the fabric made her feel intensely secure. He had gone out a few minutes ago because he was still cooking and he only came to check if she was awake only to make her cry.

She walked out into the main pavilion of the house, her bare feet making no sound. As she approached the living room,

She found Arthur.

He was sitting on the leather sofa, dressed in a crisp, unbuttoned white corporate shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the dark, intricate tattoos that crept down his wrists.

He was focused on a sleek black laptop, his jaw clenched, radiating a cold, business-like aura.

But the moment the rustle of her silk robe hit his ears, his demeanor melted. He snapped the laptop shut and looked up, his dark eyes instantly tracking her from head to toe, lingering on the exposed skin of her collarbone where his marks were prominently displayed. She looked so delicious just by looking at her and Arthur felt his member react but he had to control himself. “ How are you feeling now? Lunch's ready, go and eat without me I'll be right there,” he told her as he quickly turned back to his laptop trying hard to stop himself from ripping the robe off her and going for another round.