Chapter 12: Witnessing Domination
Isabella praised the dawn of a new week. The weekend of heartache, hope and debauchery had finally ended. Monday was a blur. A breakfast of knowing looks with Sofia. A day of teaching, with her pebbled bosom pressing against her blazer, and her control tops pressing against her mound, left her aroused but uncomfortable.
Returning from work, Isabella barely had enough time to dress for Marco's 'date' with Donna.
Marco leaned against the doorframe of Isabella’s bedroom, arms crossed, watching her struggle with the zipper of her dress. The smirk on his lips was infuriatingly casual. "Seriously, Marco? I can't believe you're making me drive!" She blared.
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Honestly, I thought you'd be begging me to stay away from Donna."
Isabella yanked the zipper up with a sharp tug, refusing to look at him. "Just get in the car, Marco." She snatched her purse off the bed, brushing past him. "And try not to act like a complete ass."
He laughed, following her down the hall, his footsteps heavy behind her. "No promises." The amusement in his voice made her jaw tighten. "But I'll try to keep the 'ass' level to a minimum, just for you."
The Civic’s engine sputtered to life, the familiar hum doing nothing to ease the tension thickening between them. Marco sprawled in the passenger seat, one arm draped over the window, fingers tapping against the door. He reached for the radio, flipping through stations before landing on something obnoxiously upbeat—bass thumping, lyrics vapid. Exactly the kind of thing Sofia would sing along to in the shower.
Isabella tightened her grip on the wheel. "So," she said, forcing her voice steady, "what exactly are you planning to do with Donna?"
Marco shrugged, watching the streetlights flicker past. "Just gonna see where things go." A slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe have a little fun."
"Fun?" She scoffed, flicking the turn signal harder than necessary. "You're going to use her, Marco. Just like you said."
"Maybe." He turned his head, eyes locking onto hers. The intensity in his gaze sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "But maybe she'll use me too." He leaned back, stretching his legs. "It's a two-way street, Isabella."
The gates of Donna’s estate loomed ahead, wrought iron and imposing. Isabella pulled up to the curb, the Civic’s engine idling unevenly. Before she could shift into park, Marco unbuckled his seatbelt. "Wait here."
She blinked. "What? Why?"
He didn’t answer right away, just held her gaze, something dark and unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "I want you to see this." His voice was low, deliberate. "I want you to know what you're missing."
Then he was out of the car, striding toward the grand front door like he owned the place. The doorbell chimed, crisp and expensive, echoing through the night.
Donna answered almost immediately, her blonde hair gleaming under the porch light. "Darling, you're here!" She pulled Marco inside without hesitation, her laughter bright and careless. The door shut behind them with a soft, final click.
Isabella sat frozen, hands still gripping the wheel. The silence in the car was deafening. Anger coiled hot in her chest, but beneath it—something else. Something she didn’t want to name.
Her knuckles ached from how hard she was holding on. What the hell had she just walked into?
And why did it feel like this was only the beginning?
The Civic's engine ticked as it cooled, the sound unnaturally loud in the empty driveway. Isabella flexed her fingers against the steering wheel, the leather creaking under her grip. Through the windshield, Donna's estate loomed—three stories of ivy-covered brick and leaded glass windows glowing gold against the night.
She should leave.
Marco's words slithered through her mind: I want you to know what you're missing. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, the ghost of his fingers still lingering on her skin from last night. The car door handle was cold under her palm when she finally pushed it open.
Gravel crunched under her heels as she walked toward the entrance. Each step sent vibrations up her calves, her pulse thudding in time with the distant bassline of music spilling from an upstairs window. The massive oak door swung inward before she could knock.
"Madam Rossi." The doorman's bow was stiff, his gloved hand gesturing her inside. "We've been expecting you."
Isabella's mouth went dry. "Have you now?"
The foyer smelled of lemon polish and something darker underneath—sandalwood, maybe, and the metallic tang of anticipation. Her reflection warped in the polished marble floor as she followed him past twin suits of armor, their hollow visors watching her progress.
"Your companions are in the main study," the doorman said without turning around. His shoes made no sound on the runner carpet.
Isabella forced a laugh. "Let me guess—Donna wants me to watch?"
The man paused at a set of carved double doors. Light bled through the seams, casting his profile in sharp relief when he finally looked at her. "She was quite insistent."
The knob turned under his hand.
Inside, Marco had Donna bent over the desk, her designer dress rucked up around her hips. One of his hands fisted in her platinum hair while the other worked between her thighs, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. Donna's mouth was open around a soundless gasp, her manicured nails scrabbling against the wood grain.
"Took you long enough," Marco drawled without looking up. He pressed harder, making Donna arch off the desk. "Thought you'd chickened out."
Isabella's knees threatened to buckle. The air smelled like sex and expensive perfume, thick enough to choke on. She should turn around. She should scream. Instead, her traitorous body swayed forward, drawn to the heat radiating off their tangled limbs.
Donna lifted her head, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. "You—ah!—you should see your face right now." A broken laugh escaped her as Marco's thumb found some hidden spot that made her toes curl. "Like a fucking nun at a gangbang."
Marco's grin was all teeth. With his free hand, he hooked his fingers into Donna's lace panties and tore them sideways with a sharp snap of elastic. The sound echoed off the bookshelves.
"Well, Isabella?" He spread Donna open with two fingers, glistening pink flesh on display. "You entertained yet?"
Donna moaned, pushing back against his hand. "Christ, don't stop—"
Isabella's breath hitched. Her own underwear was soaked through.
Marco's eyes never left hers as he slid three fingers into Donna with obscene ease. "Because we're just getting started."
Marco's fingers dug into Donna's hips as he pulled her flush against him, the wet sound of her arousal audible even over her ragged breathing.
Isabella's nails bit into her palms. The scent of Donna's perfume—something cloying and expensive—mixed with the musk of sweat and sex, thick enough to taste.
"You think this is some kind of game, Isabella?" Donna's voice was a ragged whisper, her lips curling around the words like they were poison. "He's just using you, you stupid—"
Marco's hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the insult mid-syllable. His fingers pressed hard enough to leave marks, the tendons in his forearm standing out in sharp relief. Donna's eyes widened, pupils dilating with something between fear and exhilaration.
Isabella flinched. Heat crawled up her neck, settling low in her stomach. The doorframe creaked under her grip, the wood biting into her fingers. She should walk away. She should scream. Instead, she stayed rooted in place, watching as Marco leaned down to whisper in Donna's ear.
"Don't you ever speak to her like that." His voice was velvet over steel, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on Isabella's arms stand up.
Donna whimpered, her body going pliant beneath his grip. A tear slipped down her cheek, cutting through her perfect makeup. Marco straightened, his gaze locking onto Isabella's. The corner of his mouth twitched—a challenge, an invitation.
Then he moved.
Fabric tore as he yanked Donna's dress down, the delicate straps snapping like twine. She gasped, her hands flying up to cover herself, but Marco caught her wrists in one fluid motion, pinning them above her head. The desk groaned under their combined weight as he shoved her onto her back, her bare skin sticking to the polished wood.
"Now," Marco murmured, unbuckling his belt with his free hand, "let's see how well you take a real pounding."
The metal clinked as it hit the floor. Isabella's breath hitched when he pushed his pants down, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, already leaking. Donna's thighs trembled, her breath coming in shallow pants.
Marco didn't give her time to adjust. He drove into her in one brutal thrust, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the bookshelves. Donna's scream was raw, her back arching off the desk. Marco didn't slow, didn't gentle his movements. His hips snapped forward again and again, each stroke deeper, harder, until Donna's cries turned ragged.
Isabella's knees threatened to buckle. Her own body throbbed in time with Marco's thrusts, her underwear soaked through. She imagined it was her pinned beneath him, his hands rough on her skin, his mouth hot against her throat.
Marco's rhythm stuttered, his muscles tensing. With a growl, he pulled out at the last second, his release splashing across Donna's stomach in thick, pearlescent streaks.
Donna gasped, her fingers scrambling to gather the spill, desperate to push it back inside. "No, no, no," she whimpered, her voice cracking. "Please—"
Marco stepped back, tucking himself away with a satisfied smirk. He didn't spare Donna a glance as she curled in on herself, her perfect hair a tangled mess, her makeup smeared.
Isabella exhaled shakily. The air smelled like salt and shame and something darker, something that coiled low in her belly.
"Clean it up." Marco's voice rang out toward Isabella.
She shook her head, not even able to utter a word.