Page 157 of Bitter Poetry
I also want to slap him again to see what he will do.
It’s pretty messed up, but so am I.
He kisses me briefly, barely a peck before straightening and checking his watch.
My eyes narrow. “Where are you going? Are you going to see her?”
He lifts his attention from his watch and looks me in the eye. “Yes.”
My nostrils flare.
He huffs out an exasperated breath. “Don’t start this shit. I’ve already explained that I need to see her regularly for appearance’s sake.”
I go to get up. He takes me by the throat and shoves me back into the couch. I go wild. He captures my wrists before I can land a blow. He might as well have poured liquid lust into my veins. I wrestle one wrist free, and my hand is on his belt, trying to get it undone.
His cell rings. He curses and then grunts as the buckle comes loose.
“If you want fucking, baby, you only have to ask.” He grasps my ankle, yanking me to the edge of the seat, and drops to his knees. The ringing cuts off abruptly but immediately starts again.
“Damn it!”
I giggle. It sounds a little crazy. He scowls at me even as he rips my yoga pants and panties down and off one leg. I’m not ‘plugged’ as he calls it, having just had a shower in the guest bathroom, while my products are in his bathroom. There’s a little blood on my panties.
I know the moment he sees it because he freezes and groans before he pushes two fingers inside me like he’s checking to be sure. “This should not arouse me as much as it does,” he mutters, and shoving his pants past his hips, fills me in a single glorious thrust.
I’m all sore inside with my period and from earlier, and I love how it feels.
His cell stops ringing. “Hold my shirt up. I just fucking showered, and I don’t want any blood on it.”
I do as he says, feeling amiable now he’s inside of me, and better still when he begins pounding me into the couch the way that I need. “You’re getting it on your dick,” I point out between a gasp for breath and a moan.
“Stop talking and take my dick like the filthy girl you are. I don’t care about your blood on it. I’m a sick fuck that likes it there.”
His fingers are biting into my hips so hard that I know they will leave a mark.
I love that my blood is on him. I don’t want him to wash it off.
His cell begins to ring again.
Another giggle bubbles up—it changes to a low groan when he shifts his grip and mashes his thumb over my clit. The stark, determined lines of his face, the way all the little nerves zing the length of my channel as he shuttles in and out, and the spark of too-intense pleasure as he roughly swipes his thumb back and forth over my sensitive clit send me straight into orbit. My pussy clamps over him so hard I see stars, and then I do for real as the hot waves of pleasure rip through my core.
He follows me straight over, pinning me to the couch with his cock, his breathing a harsh saw next to my ear.
“I need to get out of this apartment before I lose my damn mind,” he mutters.
He pulls out. I’m too sated to care if I make a mess over his couch. Then he peels himself away, plants a kiss on my forehead, and staggers up where he sets his clothing straight.
His cell must have stopped ringing. I didn’t even notice.
The heady glow doesn’t last long. I snap my legs closed. “I hate you.”
“Don’t start this again, Carmela. My dick is raw, and you’ve got to be sore. Not sure either of us is up for another round. I fucking hate her. She’s a bitch, and every moment in her presence is a moment too long.” He reaches into his breast pocket and passes me a cell phone.
“It has my number and Leon’s. It won’t call anyone else, so don’t bother trying. You’re missing. Certain individuals are on the warpath. I need to speak to Leon and Christian. At some point, I also need to check on Helena, but only to make sure she is not going to add any trouble to an already volatile situation. I’ll call you when I leave her, okay?”
“Thank you.” I want to ask about Ettore. About my father and Jessica. About a million and one things.
But his cell starts ringing, and this time, he answers it.
