Page 155 of Bitter Poetry
My eyes track her. Damn, she has a nice ass, and legs, and that hair. I just want to sink my fingers into it and fuck her again.
She exits my room and sight.
The guest bedroom door slams a moment later.
I wince. Jesus. What the fuck was that? I mentally skim over what just happened, trying to make sense of it and give up. “I’m taking off every fucking door in this apartment,” I mutter to myself. Raking a hand through my hair, I pitch off the bed and stumble through to the bathroom. My dick looks like someone murdered it… I take a leak, throw on a pair of sweatpants, and head to the main living area. This shit is wild. I need a coffee before I go for round two.
I do a double-take when I find Christian sitting casually on my couch, thumbing through his cell phone. He’s wearing a suit. Somewhere along the last year, he’s changed, or maybe I’m merely seeing him clearly for the first time.
As a man.
As an enforcer.
He’s not my baby brother anymore and hasn’t been for a while.
“Morning,’ he says cheerfully. He nods his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “You two already hit the heady heights of domestic bliss? That was quick.”
“Fuck off, Chris,” I say, too tired to put any heat into it. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I carry on to the kitchen area, finding the coffee is already made.
I grunt at the presumptuous prick making himself at home while I’ve been banging Carmela, and pour myself a cup.
“Ettore sent me to liaise with you in the search for Carmela. I’m a dutiful soldier, so I came over early.”
I snort a laugh… then roll back.
“How did you even get in?”
He puts his hand to his chest and gives me a fake wounded look. “I’m not giving up all my trade secrets. Also, the dark web is very educational. Remember?”
“Whatever.” I rub absently at my right cheek. It’s stinging where she slapped me. Makes me want to toss her on the bed and fuck her all over again.
His eyes narrow. “Why are you rubbing your cheek like that?”
I’m still thinking about kicking Christian out and fucking my woman, so his question throws me for a moment. “Carmela slapped me.”
“The fuck?” he mutters, scowling and radiating pissed. “I can’t believe she slapped you. Her anger was supposed to be all mine.”
“Well, she’s on her period, and some asshole abducted her yesterday, so she has a lot of issues to work through.”
He suddenly grins and leans back on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. “So, you’ve not gotten into her panties, then? That’s a shame.”
Maybe he hasn’t been here as long as I thought… I don’t say anything, confident that my expression corrects his assumption. It wipes the smile right off his face.
My opportunity to get one over on my brother is curtailed when the she-devil appears. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing yoga pants and a cropped top. “What is he doing here?”
“Morning, Carmela.” Christian plasters on a smile. His ability to project different emotions at the flick of a switch is something to behold.
“Go to hell, Christian.”
I snort a laugh.
My amusement fades as she rounds on me purposefully, coming right up to me and poking me in the chest.
“You think I’m just going to fall into your arms, Dante?” She sneers. “I’d rather fuck Christian.”
“Babe, you know our hate fucks are on another level,” Christian says. “But Dante’s feelings are going to be hurt.”
I put my coffee down—just in case she slaps me again—take her bony little finger and lift it to my lips. It momentarily stuns her, and I make a mental note, even though I doubt she’ll fall for that trick again. “She was screaming my name and coming all over my dick right before she slapped me.”
