Page 62 of Prized Possession

Which is why I spend far too long making sure my make-up is just perfect, and the outfit I’ve chosen is one she’d approve of, instead of being my own preference. I stare at myself in the mirror, ignoring how deflated I look, but giving a nod of approval.

I make my way into the living room to wait for Marcus, only to find he’s already there. I expected to see him in the suit he normally wears around my family, so imagine my surprise to see he’s wearing black faded jeans that hug his arse and thighs in just the right way.

The tight black T-shirt clings to his body, but the leather jacket he’s wearing over the top is what makes me drool. Well, that and the biker boots.

He looks like danger and sin personified, and my stomach flips the more I look at him. His all dark attire compliments his floppy black hair, but it makes his bright blue eyes and plump pink lips stand out even more.

Fuck, he’s far too gorgeous for his own good.

While I’m unabashedly checking him out, he appears to be doing the same to me. Only, while I’m openly drooling over him, he looks to be a little confused. There’s no heat in his eyes, and it makes me squirm in a completely different way.

I want to break the weird tension, but I have no idea what to say. There’s no way to ask him if he likes what he sees without coming across as needy. Besides, it’s clear he doesn’t like what he sees, and that makes my heart sink.

“What are you wearing?” he asks. There’s no malice or disgust in his voice, just curiosity.

I look down, taking in the knee length black skirt that I’ve paired with matching black Mary Jane’s, nude-coloured tights underneath to give my pale legs a bit more colour, and the off-white blouse that has a soft floral pattern decorating it.

Everything is crisp and well pressed, fitting to my body in a way that shows off my figure without emphasising my curves—just the way I’ve always been told to dress when in the company of others.

“It’s one of the outfits my mother selected for me to wear when I meet with Scott. It’s supposed to show I’m feminine without clinging to me in a way that makes it obvious I’m too curvy,” I state, practically repeating my mother’s words back to him.

Marcus’ eyes darken, and an angry expression crosses his face as he begins stalking over to me. I stand still like a deer-in-headlights, and I really do feel like I’m being trapped by a predator.

I take a step back until I hit the wall behind me, giving me nowhere to go, and Marcus just keeps coming.

He stops mere inches from me, his body crowding mine, making me feel so fucking small, but I’m not even remotely scared. My heart is beating so loud, it’s a miracle he can’t hear it, but it’s not through fear.

“I’m only going to say this once, Chloe, so I want you to listen very fucking carefully. You are perfect. Don’t listen to a word your mother says. She’s just jealous that her daughter has such a fucking killer body and she doesn’t.

“Your curves are one of the best things about you, and when I finally am allowed to touch you, I plan to mark every one, holding on to them as I claimyou as mine. Do I make myself clear?” he growls, and I can’t keep the shit-eating grin from lighting up my face.

Did he really just say I’m perfect?Every girl wants to hear that, but for Marcus Morelli to be the one who says it, to little old me, I genuinely feel like I might faint from shock.

“Thank you,” I whisper, not really sure what else to say to him. There really are no words to adequately show this man just how grateful I am for what he just did.

“Don’t mention it. Now, what’s with the make-up?” he asks, and I can’t help my brow furrowing in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Before I’ve even got the sentence out, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me into the main apartment corridor, stopping in front of the large floor-length mirror that’s hanging on the wall in between two doors.

He places both hands on my shoulders and turns me until I’m standing in front of the mirror, and he’s behind me, his head towering over mine as we both stare at our reflections.

I take a moment to look, wondering what he means. My make-up looks flawless, and that confuses me further. The way he voiced the question made me think I had mascara smudges everywhere, or lipstick on my teeth, but there’s nothing I can see.

“What’s wrong with my make-up?”

He takes a moment, and it almost looks like he’s trying to find the right words, which makes me even more nervous. Marcus isn’t exactly known for his tact. He’s blunt and honest, so I’m not sure why he’s holding back.

“The last few days here, you’ve barely worn any make-up,” he starts, and I nod in agreement. I’m about to explain but he cuts me off and continues.

“Whenever I’ve seen you out and about, or at the club, your make-up always looks so different to how you’re wearing it now. I’m not really sure how to explain it, as make-up definitely isn’t my thing, but with the exception of your dark eyes and red lips, you barely look like you’re wearing anything.

“Whereas, right now, it’s clear you have a lot of make-up on, but they’re all quite neutral colours. It’s almost like you’re trying to make your face look natural but with a filter on.”

I listen to everything he’s saying, and he’s not wrong. My mother always says that women should look like they’re not wearing any make-up, opting for nudes and tan colours that give off a perfect, airbrushed finish, which is the look I opted for today, knowing I’d be judged by her.

When I choose my own make-up, Marcus is right, I tend to go for a reallydark smokey eye, usually with a metallic glittery finish to make my silver eyes pop. I add a little blush and highlighter so that my cheeks stand out, and a bright red lipstick to show off my plump lips, and that’s about it.

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