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Her eyes claimed she wasn’t done, and while I centered my gaze on her turbulent greens, they drifted away along with her body.
At no time did our eyes pull away.
Hers, with a drive to prove.
Mine, of seeing her body lower slowly in front of me.
With her face mere inches away from the evidently hard dick I carried, my blood no longer pumped in lively anger. It reeled in need.
Katia’s hands reached blindly forward and roped around my right calf. They dropped in a chain of search, but it had been useless. Not long after, she skipped to the other leg, discovering the knife strapped around my ankle.
She smirked and returned to her feet, vibrating with confidence.
“How long have you carried a weapon, Lucca?”
Katia dropped a lit match, reigniting the wicked fire.
In one swift movement, I held her jaw, pulling her face to mine. Her lips parted, her posture straightened, and her chest pressed against mine.
“You defied me.” I lashed over her lips, tightening my grip.
The corner of her lip curled up. “You would’ve left me defenseless,” she confronted me. “Unarmed and easy to kill.” Her eyes peered down and back up to mine. “I did what I had to do in order to protect myself.”
My hand gave away its force, falling to her neck as I pondered her words. While I would have done the same, Katia did what she always does. Defy, manipulate,survive.
I pulled away from Katia. The woman whom I’d agreed to respect, protect, and hate. Hating her ways, her looks, her spirit, even if it was what I desired.
“You know I’m right.”
Her hand lifted, pushed, and aimed at my face, but I couldn’t allow her soft palm to reach my skin. Not when her tone had lowered, and her eyes softened with the promise of a caress.
A delicate embrace.
I stopped her before the chance was given, and with my hand secured to her wrist, I said, “Dinner should be served.”
Her eyes cast away from view as her head turned, keeping the tells of her thoughts.
Katia drew her hand away when I released my hold and bluntly caught my eyes. Indifference and poise was all they gave.
“Will you be joining me?”
“I have work.”
My tone was cold, distant.
I would reheat the food myself if necessary, if only to keep her from expecting nonsense out of me. Affection was not something I was willing to give or take. And every touch I gave her was either to pacify my demon or to play our sadistic game. One day, she would learn. Tonight, she could remind herself of it.
She nodded as if my answer wasn’t a poor attempt to stay away.
With no further attempt, Katia turned. Before she walked out the door she said, “Move your knight to F3,” and left.
Leaving me with an aching dick and the idea of a Vitelli carrying a knife in my home freely, I played the chess move she’d given me. I looked over the open board game by the table and took the offensive move, shifting the game.
A countermove.
I guess it was my turn to send California Katia’s wishes.
XVIII
