Chapter8 Please. Don't stop

Aliya POV

"Stay away from Volkov," he finally said as we pulled into our driveway. "I mean it, Aliya. He's not the kind of man you should be associating with."

"We were just talking," I protested.

"I don't care what you were doing." He turned to face me, his eyes blazing. "He's dangerous. Manipulative. And I won't have my wife anywhere near him."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. "Remember who your mate is, Aliya. Remember who you belong to."

As we entered the elevator to our penthouse, Marcus suddenly pushed me against the wall, his mouth crashing down on mine in a bruising kiss. It was possessive, claiming, a clear mark of ownership rather than affection.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

Standing there, her face pale with shock, was Sarah. Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of Marcus kissing me, her mouth falling open in surprise and something that looked like betrayal.

I had been struggling violently against Marcus's forceful kiss, but when I saw Sarah, I suddenly stopped resisting. Marcus, on the other hand, acted like he'd been caught red-handed, stammering explanations to Sarah.

I wrapped my arms around Marcus and pulled him closer. "What's wrong? We're legitimate mates. What's inappropriate about kissing?"

Marcus looked genuinely flustered for a moment, but then his expression smoothed into that practiced charm I knew so well. He placed his hand over mine where it rested on his chest, the gesture looking tender and natural.

"You're absolutely right, my love," he said, his voice warm with affection. "I suppose I'm just not used to such public displays." He turned to Sarah with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse us. I'm still adjusting to married life."

I turned to Sarah with a sweet smile. "My mate is so considerate. He gets modest when other people see us being affectionate. Don't mind him."

Sarah's face turned an alarming shade of green, her hands clenching at her sides.

I maintained my intimate position with Marcus, letting my fingers trace along his lapel as if I couldn't keep my hands off him. Marcus covered my hand with his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss that looked perfectly romantic to any observer.

"Darling mate," I said softly, "it's getting late. Let's go to bed." Then I looked back at Sarah with feigned concern. "Oh, you're still here? Are you planning to come sleep at our place too?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, I could use a place to stay tonight. My apartment's being fumigated."

"Of course, Sarah. You're always welcome here." He squeezed my waist gently. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Absolutely," I said graciously, though inside I was thrilled. "The guest room is all yours."

Marcus guided me toward our bedroom with his hand on the small of my back, every gesture screaming devoted husband. Once we were alone, he maintained the act perfectly, even helping me out of my jacket with tender care.

"You've had such a long day," he murmured.

An hour later, I was lying on our bed while Marcus reluctantly massaged my shoulders. I'd convinced him it would help me relax after the stressful Council meeting.

"A little lighter," I moaned softly, making sure my voice carried through the thin walls. "Oh, that feels so good."

Marcus's hands were skilled and gentle, though I could see the tension in his jaw. Still, he played his part perfectly, leaning down to whisper sweet nothings that sounded incredibly intimate.

"Just relax, my darling," he murmured against my ear, his voice pitched perfectly for Sarah to overhear. "Let me take care of you."

I let out another breathy sigh. "Right there, yes, just like that."

Marcus continued the massage with practiced ease, occasionally dropping soft kisses on my shoulder that would sound like something much more intimate to anyone listening. His performance was flawless, the picture of a devoted mate attending to his beloved.

"Please," I whispered, arching my back slightly. "Don't stop."

Right on cue, there was a soft knock at our door.

"Aliya? Marcus?" Sarah's voice came through the wood, carefully controlled. "I can't sleep. Mind if I come in for a chat?"

Marcus answered before I could, his voice slightly breathless in exactly the right way. "Sorry, Sarah. We're having some private time together. Maybe ask Maria to make you some warm milk?"

I heard her footsteps pause, then reluctantly retreat down the hallway.

Marcus continued the massage without missing a beat, adding little endearments that made it sound like we were in the throes of passion. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, just loud enough. "I love you so much."

Despite knowing it was all an act, I had to admire his skill. Any eavesdropper would be convinced we were having the most romantic evening of our lives.

"That's perfect," I sighed, closing my eyes and letting my voice carry that satisfied tone. "You're amazing at this, my love."

Marcus pressed a gentle kiss to my neck, the gesture visible in the mirror where Sarah might catch a glimpse if she were peeking. His hand smoothed over my hair with such tenderness that for a moment, I almost forgot it was all pretense.

"Anything for you," he murmured, his voice carrying genuine warmth that made the performance even more convincing.

We kept up the charade for another twenty minutes, Marcus playing the devoted mate to perfection. His touches remained appropriate but looked intimate, his whispered words sounded like love confessions.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed and in excellent spirits. I'd slept like a baby while poor Sarah had probably spent the entire night imagining Marcus and me having passionate romance.

When I came downstairs for breakfast, I found Sarah at the kitchen island, looking absolutely miserable. Dark circles under her eyes made her look like she hadn't slept at all, and her usually perfect hair was disheveled.

"Good morning, Sarah," I said cheerfully, finally acknowledging our houseguest. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine," she muttered, not meeting my eyes.

I cheerfully said goodbye to her, picked up my keys, and walked toward the garage.

But as I approached my car, two figures emerged from behind the neighboring vehicles. They moved fast, and before I could react, cold metal pressed against my ribs.

"Don't move if you want to live," the larger one growled.

Rogues. I could smell the wildness on them, the scent of wolves who'd been living rough for too long.

"Don't even think about screaming," the second one warned, grabbing my arm. "We've got silver weapons, and we're not afraid to use them."

They hauled me toward a beat-up SUV parked at the edge of the lot. My heart pounded as they shoved me into the backseat and immediately cuffed my hands with silver shackles. The metal burned against my skin, making me gasp.

"Try anything funny and we'll kill you right now," the larger Rogue said, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Make any wrong moves and we'll kill you right here!"