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“You’re so tense,” Contessa says softly.
“Vera’s uncontrollable when she’s like this. I don’t like being out of control,” I explain shortly. “That’s all.”
Maybe it’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough.
Contessa interrupts me before I can get up and change clothes.
“Here, then,” she says urgently, the words all but a whisper as she holds my gaze. She hesitates a second, then twists off her shirt. In one motion, she has my attention. She slides off her shorts, too, leaving herself in just a lacy pair of underwear and dark stockings, with the diamond necklace that soaks up all the light in the room.
Like something out of a magazine spread, Contessa slides herself into my lap.
It doesn’t matter if I didn’t see it coming. The wanting smoothly shifts into gear, drowning out any surprise or suspicion.
Fuck, her eyes put those diamonds to shame.
“Find something else to be in control of in the meantime,” she whispers. Her bra unsnaps, breasts swelling free.
She offers herself up, offers me that gorgeous body like a medicine I can take.
She takes my hand, puts it around her delicate little throat, and closes my fingers around her neck.
Control.
My vision narrows, tension tightening in my thighs, my pulse pumping low at the base of my spine.
I scoff.
“Is that how you always want to fuck, girl? Always one of us pissed off, taking out our problems on your poor cunt?”
“It’s cheaper than therapy.”
“And it might actually fucking work,” I growl, chasing off that throbbing in my head with the taste of her sweet mouth. With one motion I have our roles switched, her pinned down beneath me. She tumbles against the mattress, gasping with anticipation as I get her beneath me, nails sliding across my skin.
She offers herself up to me like a hunted thing.
Even with a quarter million bouncing on her collarbones, my eyes snap to the steep plunge of her cleavage, the swell of her breasts. I hold her by the throat with one hand. I rub her breasts until her nipples are pink and straining, begging for more attention.
Contessa offers me control and I take it, even if I don’t really understand the why behind it. All those tedious, complicated questions are drowned out in the heat of my want for her, reducing its meaning down to pure, simple need.
I tease the little nubs of her nipples raw and aching, then salve them with my tongue.
She whines sweetly the longer I spend on her. She has the kind of tits you could drown in, so much real estate to leave my marks on. I map out the topography of her body with my mouth.
I reach the peak again and lave my tongue in circles around the bud, the way I know she wants me to do to her clit.
The girl always fucking underestimates me. Always thinks I’ll be simple and go right for her pussy, like an arrow to a target. She never seems to expect the side quests that have my lower teeth scraping against her nipple until her toes curl and her eyes glisten.
I take my time getting there, but finally, I slide my hand down to Contessa’s pelvis and her soft, freshly split cunt.
She runs her hands over her blazing pink tits, squirming with anticipation. I cut off her moan with the clench of my hand, making her eyelids flutter and her legs open wider.
I haven’t given her enough air to beg me, but she telegraphs it with her body—thighs apart, hips lifting, begging for attention.
She must still be sore from last night, and she still wants me to be rough with her.
Sometimes, I can’t decide if Contessa is brave or stupid. Or maybe, she’s like me. Maybe she’s just greedy, too.
There is always some part of me that wants her, some beast in me that never really sleeps.
