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As I taste her, I can't help but think about how much I love these encounters with her. The way they make me feel alive, like nothing else matters but this raw connection between us. But I'm not an idiot. I know that what this is between us is just pure lust. Two people who have been desperate for something rougher in their lives.
A little voice inside my head asks whether there's something more, but I push it aside.
"Enough," I growl eventually, pushing her off me. I turn her around, pinning her against the floor. Fumbling with my jeans for a moment, I manage to slip a condom on myself. She waits for me, clearly wanting it, but not wanting to say anything. I chuckle and line myself up, coating myself in her juices.
"Little rabbit's such a patient slut."
She tries to turn back around, as if to object to what I just called her but I don't give her the chance. I push down hard on her shoulder blades, forcing her into the bed, muffling her voice.
"Just be a good girl and don't argue," I say to her before entering her.
I thrust into her hard. I wrap my hand around her hair, pulling her back out of the sheets. She takes in a deep breath, as if she wasn't able to breathe before. I thrust back into her hard. She moans my name loudly, the sound echoing in the room, a mix of pleasure and anger.
"I hate you," she gasps out between moans.
"Keep telling yourself that, little rabbit," I chuckle darkly, continuing my relentless pace. "But the fact that my cock is buried inside of you tells me different."
In a move that surprises me, she lifts her foot and positions it against my hip bone. Before I can even wonder what she's doing she kicks back and I collapse backwards. She turns around and climbs on top of me, positioning herself and then slamming down on my cock. She rides me hard and I lay back and enjoy the view.
I can feel my end nearing and I don't want to give her this victory. Every encounter with her is like a battle for control and I wouldn't have it any other way. I buck my hips so that she loses her balance and throw her to the floor. As she tries to get up, I'm on her, entering her from behind, holding down the back of her head as I ram myself deeper and faster inside of her. I can feel her attempts to struggle die off and I know I've won.
I can't hold on any longer and I crash over the edge. Deep seated pleasure fills my body. It's always like this with her and never like this with anyone else. As I finish inside of her, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel her without a condom between us, but I quickly push that thought aside, because I'm not that dumb.
We both collapse onto the floor, breathing heavily, our bodies slick with sweat. The room is filled with tension, a mixture of lust and anger still lingering in the air.
The sweat cools on my skin as I try to catch my breath. Evelyn's breathing is just as ragged, and I feel a twisted sense of satisfaction at our mutual exhaustion. As we right our clothing, she glances over at me with those piercing blue eyes.
"You know, you don't need to use a condom," she says casually. "I'm on birth control."
"Never wanted kids, and I'm not taking any chances," I reply dismissively. "Besides, women lie all the time about that stuff."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Please, as if I'd ever want to raise a kid with you."
"Good," I mutter, feeling oddly relieved by her admission. There's something about Evelyn that makes me want to let my guard down, but I can't afford that kind of vulnerability.
A moment of silence hangs before she asks, "Why are we like this?"
I shrug. "Dunno. Probably something that went haywire during our childhoods."
"What was your childhood like?" she asks, still just looking up at the ceiling.
"What do you want to know?" I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Pretty standard. As you know, daddy dearest was a mafia don, so you can imagine how much of an asshole he was to pretty much all of us."
"I would've thought he'd be more loving, considering Italian men are all about their boys," she muses. "My father was never happy that he only had girls."
"Maybe in other families, but not mine," I say bitterly. "Dad drove us all really hard, and no one was allowed to step out of line – especially not me."
"Was that true for Teddy too? He always seemed so mischievous," she questions, curiosity clear in her tone.
"Teddy made himself scarce around our father," I confess, remembering how my brother would disappear whenever Dad was around. "But Dad never afforded me the same opportunities."
"How come?" she murmurs, looking thoughtful. I feel exposed, like she's peeling back layers I've spent years building up. But instead of pushing her away, I find myself wanting to share more with her. Evelyn has a way of getting under my skin like no one else ever has, and it terrifies me.
As we lay in silence, I wrestle with the conflicting emotions inside me. I roll over, my back facing her now. "I don't really want to talk about it," I mutter, but the silence that follows is heavy with unspoken words, begging me to continue.
My heart races, and for once, it's not due to the lingering adrenaline from our rough encounter. I've never had the chance to tell anyone about the things that irked me about my childhood. Hell, I've never wanted to.
"Look," I begin, my voice barely audible, "my dad had this idea in his head that I was the one who'd take over the family business one day. He didn't think Primo had what it took."
