Fatale

An Explanation and A Switch

Shit. 

I stare at the phone in his hand, it's golden case so familiar. And then at his eyes, the anger in them so foreign. 

I start by playing dumb, my usual step one. 

"What's wrong, Marco?" I ask, brushing my hair across my shoulders, trying to hide the shaking of my hands. 

I've never been caught before. Usually, I have a calculated system with men, with how to fool them. But from the clench in his jaw and the slight red in his cheeks, I know I can't use a system. 

He scoffs slightly, throwing the phone over to me. It lands on the bed, already open to my text conversations with Damon. 

"So, you're working with my rival." He says, so matter-of-factly. The tone in his voice sends a sudden chill down my spine, the coolness in his tone so wrong and unknown. 

"Marco, you need to let me explain, please." I stand up from the bed, dropping the dictionary onto the sheets.

I walk towards him slightly, pleading at him with my eyes. 

"What is there to explain, Charlotte? It's all right there." 

"Does it also show that I never told him anything?" I'm getting angry now, defensive. I step closer to him. "It also doesn't show the many times I thought of calling him up and canceling this whole thing!" 

He rolls his eyes, moving around me to grab the phone. 

"Why should I believe you? I hardly know you." 

"Exactly! And I hardly know you, so how would I have been able to tell him anything? Damon never told me what he wanted me to find, he just wanted me to find something. And I regretted taking the deal the second I met you, Marco." 

Tears prick my eyes and I try to stop them from falling, to no avail. 

He doesn't look at me, just stands there, his fists clenched at his sides. 

"So I'm guessing you don't work as a hostess?" He says with a humorless chuckle. 

I shake my head, hugging my arms to my sides. 

"So what are you then? A spy? A whore?"

I laugh dryly, and shake my head. 

"I'm an informant, of sorts. I use 'feminine wiles' to get rich and drunk old men to admit to cheating on their wives or stealing money from their company. I'm hardly a spy."

"Then why did Damon hire you? Why not get one of his men?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that. Damon and I... we have a very difficult and confusing history." He looks up at me, anger immediately drifting into his eyes. "Not like that." I shake my head.

I take a deep breath. 

"My father was Nicholas Ferrero, he used to work with the Rivaldis, something I never knew until a few weeks ago. When I was seventeen, Damon Rivaldi murdered my father in front of me. He wasn't exactly a great father, so I didn't mourn. But I had no idea who had killed him until recently. Damon recognized me, asked me to meet him. He explained that he wanted me to get close to you, to scope you out, and report back to you. But that night, at the gala, I got too attached, and Damon realized that. He kept trying to get me from spending time with you, for whatever reason. I haven't spoken to him for two days, haven't thought about him for as long. I went out that night to have fun, to forget you both, and then you showed up and, well, you know the rest."

I inhale sharply, waiting for him to respond. But he just stands there, staring at the phone in his hands. 

"Marco, why aren't you asking me to leave?" I ask carefully, almost whispering. 

He shakes his head and sits down onto his desk chair, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

I can't help but think about how attractive he is in this moment, his hair absolutely a mess. 

"I don't know." He admits, rubbing a fist into his eyes. 

"It's because, for some stupid reason, you know you can trust me." I whisper back, moving towards the desk and standing across from him. "And for the same fucking idiotic reason, I trust you." 

"Charlotte, you have to realize what this looks like to me." He growls, and lets his head hang back. 

"I know, I know. I've been wanting to tell you, but I knew if I did...then I'd lose you." The tears are now spilling freely from my eyes and I swipe at them. 

"I don't have anyone in my life who I love, other than Fiona. I never had. I make a career out of seeing the worst in men, the worst in everyone. Of getting people to spill their darkest secrets and somehow keeping myself separate from them. I've met attractive men while working, some very charming. But you were the first one that I felt guilty for lying to, and I couldn't figure out why." 

He's staring at me, and pushes himself up from his chair. 

I back up slightly, my breath heavy just like his. We're an inch away. 

"I want you to promise me that you never told him anything, and that you never will." He says, his voice husky and dark, like whiskey. 

"I promise." I whisper back, tilting my chin up and meeting his eyes. He lifts his hand, his finger wiping away a stray tear from my cheek. 

"Charlotte, you're going to be my undoing." 

And that's the last thing he says before he kisses me. His lips press against mine, with mine, anger, confusion, frustration, and betrayal all held in a single touch. I return the kiss harshly, wrapping my arms around his neck, as if he's going to fall away. His tongue flicks against mine like a spark, and his hands find my thighs, hoisting them up. 

My legs now wrapped around his waist, his hands underneath the shirt I'm wearing, grasping. His touch is like fire, burning my skin deliciously as he traces his fingers against my inner thigh. His lips find my neck now, moving down to my chest, biting, no doubt leaving marks everywhere. 

I pull his lips back to mine and take his lower lip into my mouth, biting down. He growls and turns, throwing me down to the bed as I bounce down onto it. His eyes never leave mine, holding my gaze like a threat, a promise. 

I've never been so fully attracted to a man, so absorbed with his movements, so desperate for him to touch me. 

He lies on top of me, my legs curling around his, the rough scratch of his stubble against my cheek. 

He kisses up my neck, taking my ear in his teeth.

"Never betray me again, Charlotte, and you won't lose me." His voice sends a jolt down my spine, like liquid silk in my veins. 

"Sounds like a deal." I whisper back, flipping us so I'm straddling him, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. His hands go to my thighs, finger nails digging into my skin. 

I dip down, kissing his neck gently, teasingly, and I can hear his breathing, deep and hoarse. I smile to myself, knowing how much I affect him. 

I kiss down his chest, my hands trailing ahead of me, gripping onto the belt loops of his pants, my teeth slowly popping open the button of them, dragging down the zipper. 

His eyes can't look away, and I can feel his excitement. 

I'm about to pull down his boxers when the door bangs open, and I throw myself to the other side of the bed, flushing red. 

"Marco, we have a situation, now." A man stands at the door, guns in each hand, and a panicked look in his eyes. 

Marco looks over at me, and I nod, standing. 

Whatever's happening, I'm sure as hell not going to sit here and wait it out. 

So...now for a confession. I've never actually written a full sex scene before, and I'm super nervous to! Advice welcome.