Page 171 of Bitter Poetry
Enough is enough. My head drops back against the coffee table.
He chuckles.
I’m sure he’s chuckling at me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Okay, later.”
The cell phone clatters against the table next to me. “You okay, baby?”
Damn him, I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Fuck off unless you are going to fuck me.”
“I was going to offer to get you off, but if you’d prefer I didn’t…”
I growl and shove my fingers inside myself with a groan.
He catches my wrist pulling them straight back out. “That was very naughty, baby. You don’t get to come unless I say.”
I glare up at him. “That’s not a Christian rule,” I scoff.
He hauls me up to a sitting position and drops my T-shirt over my head, smothering me.
I splutter a protest.
He pulls it down over my head, but now I can’t see for my hair.
“You’re right. It’s a Dante rule.”
He’s dressing me, putting one arm then the other into sleeve holes.
“Do you want water?”
“No. I want to come.”
He cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Poor baby.”
He fumbles to close his fly, then lifts me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom… his bedroom.
“I’m not joking about needing to come.”
He’s still grinning. “I know you’re not. I can feel your rage.”
He drops me into bed.
“I’m sticky!”
“And I couldn’t give a fuck.” He begins stripping efficiently. “Wash it off and there will be trouble.”
He climbs into the bed behind me and hauls me close.
“Dante?” I sound whiny.
“Go to sleep, baby.”
“You can’t leave me like this.”
“I have, so that answers that.”
