Page 153 of Bitter Poetry
She strains against me.
“You know, this tussling just wakes up my dick and makes me determined to remind you of where you belong: under me, full of my cock.”
I lift my hips enough to get my hand between us so I can check if she’s... “Did you put the plug back in?”
“Plug!” She grunts. Her face is a picture of outrage. “What kind of man even likes fucking a woman when she’s on her period?”
“What kind of man doesn’t?” I counter. “I mean, blood is lubrication, right?”
“You’re sick.”
“Yeah? What does that make you, given you liked it so much last night?” I catch hold of that little string. I’m onto it now. You have to pull firmly, and it pops right out.
“God! You can’t?—”
“Correction, I definitely can.” I lower my mouth until it hovers over hers. She turns her head to the side. That’s fine by me. I lower my lips to her throat and suck against the skin.
Her breath hitches. She’s trembling underneath me. I think she likes this just fine.
“Don’t touch me.”
She squirms a little under me. But I like everything about this: her fire, the fight. It plays into my desire to seek retribution, to fuck my anger at Ettore out on her. I trail kisses down her throat, past the necklace that acts as my brand, over her collarbone to her breast. She huffs out a breath and tries to twist away.
I slow my movements, swirling my tongue around the stiff peak of her nipple, like I have all the time in the world, before I suck it into my mouth.
She huffs another breath and continues to strain for release.
I let her wear herself out while I continue exploring her. One breast then the other, watching the skin pucker, hearing her breathing turn choppy, catching those little moans she’s trying to hide. By the time I come up for air, her face is flushed, and her eyes are glassy.
“You’re perfect to me. Every inch of you. I haven’t fucked another woman since I took your virginity. Not one.”
Her wounded eyes say she doesn’t believe me. But I’m telling the truth. How could I when I knew Ettore was touching her…? And she didn’t want him to.
I roll her nipple between my fingers and thumb, keeping my eyes locked on hers. Her lips are parted. She’s staring at me like she wants to kill me… or consume me.
“You like this,” I observe. “You like this a lot, don’t you, my good girl?” I close my mouth over the distended peak again to prove my point. Only, this time, she fails to stifle her moan.
That sound finds a direct line to my dick. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
I lift my lips and cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “No, you don’t. No more than I hate you.”
“I don’t want you to see her.”
“I warned you, baby. But you had to push it, didn’t you?”
She shakes her head. But it’s too late. It’s time for her to learn I don’t make idle threats.
CARMELA
His lips curl up at the corners, but his eyes are extra dark and glitter with an unholy mixture of fury and lust.
Why did I say that? He said he didn’t want to talk about her. Neither do I. But it hurts that she has his name, and I find I can’t rein myself in.
He’s going to fuck me.
To punish me.
