“Please,” he begs, and starts removing my blouse from underneath my skirt, looking about ready to rip it off my body. He could be the dying man looking for one last chance at revenge, the way he’s so desperate to get me naked.
But then, he’s too concentrated on my rockin’ body, on exposing my tits, ass, and pussy instead of realizing that this face comes with that package. Maybe he’s even thinking of somebody else, instead of realizing it’s me.
“Kitten, please. I need this,” he says, but his hands have stopped moving on my skirt, about ready to bring the zipper down. I haven’t told him no, and I’m not resisting his advances. Hell, it’s taken awhile for us to get here, and now that we are… it just doesn’t feel right.
“Say my name.”
Dean’s eyes widen, his mouth pops open, and his tongue makes an appearance to lick them.
He has no idea how that’s affecting me. He has no freaking clue.
“Katarina DiNovro. I’m not drunk. I know who I’m with.”
The knots in my chest unwind themselves and I take a deep breath.
“Good. That’s good. There’s no need to rush, okay? We’ve got lots of time.”
He nods, swallowing hard, setting me away from him. “You’ve got anything to drink?” he asks, and I move to my wine cabinet, showing off a 2009 Liano that I think he’ll enjoy. “Don’t be stingy on the pouring, either.”
I fill a hefty glass, but watch him take his time in drinking it.
“I’m sorry about being so abrupt. I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“Did I tell you no?” I ask, closing my blouse.
Dean shrugs, takes another swallow of wine. He isn’t savouring it but instead looks like he’s forcing himself to keep it together and drink like a normal human being. He shakes his head.
“But you weren’t ripping my clothes off, either. So you weren’t into it.”
“Come sit down on the couch. There’s a game on. Just decompress a little. I’ll make us a frittata.”
“You’re being sweet to me and now I feel like an asshole. I want you, kitten, but not like this. Not when I’m torn up inside, and I can’t pay attention to you.”
Well, doesn’t that just light my fire.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” I move to the kitchen and start my business. I get the veggies cooking first, and the smell of frying them in butter consumes my apartment. Dean gives me a thumbs up from the couch.
My body’s on autopilot, because I’m pretty sure my brain has been switched off and my vagina is now running the show. My skin feels too tight, and I’m so wound up, breathing’s getting harder and my panties are too abrasive and not enough stimulation all at once.
Dean gets under my skin. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
“Here we go,” I say, bringing two plates over with cutlery wrapped in napkins under my arm. I settle beside him on the couch, wishing I could go change. Dean grabs his plate without any further prodding, and downs it like a starving man eating his last meal.
“Good?” I ask, eating my portion more slowly. “There’s more on the stove, if you want.”
Dean shakes his head after carefully wiping his mouth. He gulps down more wine, tossing his head back to finish the rest of it off. I’m about to ask him for a refill when he settles himself more deeply into the couch, and stares at the TV, watching the Habs losing.
“That was delicious,” he tells me, still looking at the screen. I nod my thanks, but I’m pretty sure it’s lost on him, though. I’m finding it hard to eat, and it’s never hard to eat. Dean does that to me.
“I really hate this sometimes,” he says, and looks over at me, his green eyes holding a wealth of pain. “I really hate you, and the way you’ve got me all twisted up inside.”
I chew slowly on my frittata, enjoying the mixture of flavours. It serves to distract me from the ache between my legs, and the way my skin is hyper-sensitive. The way I’m hanging onto his every word, waiting for the green light.
I set my plate on the coffee table, and move around so I’m facing him fully.
Dean comes into my space, one hand going to my cheek, tilting my head up slightly so our gazes can meet. “Fucking hell, I want you, Katarina. Badly, so, so badly.”
I want to make him feel better, wash away the pain of his day, of the anniversary of his father’s death when he didn’t even tell me about it. Yeah, I care for Dean, and I’m going to show him just how much.
I keep still, letting him make the first move. When you’re in pain, sometimes you want, no, need, distraction to drown it away, at least temporarily. Sometimes you need to hurt someone else, like it’s possible for them to steal the pain away for a few fleeting moments.