Over the noise, I can hear the click of her heels. She wants me. She wants this. She needs me and I fucking need her too. Standing just inside the door, I wait for her to appear. When she does, I jerk her in before slamming it shut and pushing her against the wall.
She grips the back of my neck, pulling my mouth down to hers. I groan at the feel of her warm tongue brushing over mine. My hands move up her hips, pulling her dress around her waist and ripping her panties from her body.
There are no words. No pleas, demands, games, deals, challenges . . . No Mafia, clubs, daddies, brothers, goons, or whores. It’s just me and her and the desire to fuck like crazy animals—just like we first did, and exactly how we want it.
The closest thing to us is a dresser. I lift her on it before pulling my dick from my jeans. She whimpers at the sight of it. I drag my fingers down my tongue, wetting them before rubbing them across her pussy that is already drenched.
“Fuck,” I growl, lifting her from the dresser and sinking my cock inside her. Her breath catches in her throat as I fill her completely. Her eyes widen with shock and pleasure and before she can adapt, I’m pulling out and driving in again.
“Is this how you want me to fuck you?” I growl, knowing she won’t be able to answer. Her moans are guttural. Her eyes roll back in her head. Those sexy heels are scarring my ass. And I fucking love it.
I fuck her against the wall, on the dresser, then throw her on the bed, roll her to her knees, slap her ass, and fuck her from behind. My hands grip her ass, opening her up completely so I can see every inch of her. I want to kiss her everywhere. I want to put my tongue on every inch of her body, starting with her pussy. I want to devour her until she is moaning and coming from every place I touch her with my mouth, my hands, and my cock.
Flipping her back, I lift her again in my arms, wanting to feel the weight of her on me. Slamming her back against the wall, I dig my fingers into her thighs—leaving my mark. Scarring her and reminding her I’ve been here. I fuck her like I hate her. Like I’m punishing her for lying to me. For not being who she said she was. And she gives it back to me tenfold.
She’s pulling my hair, biting my neck, moving her hips with mine. Her nails claw at my skin—she’s trying to hurt me. She wants me to fuck her like I hate her, because right now, she just wants to hate me too. She hates me for lying. Hates me for living. Hates me for giving her exactly what she needs. And hates herself for wanting it.
“I’m coming inside you,” I growl. I have to do this. I want her pussy to smell like me. To taste like me. And every time she moves, I want her to feel me inside her, even when my cock is not.
“You’re fucking right you are,” she growls back.
Driving into her harder, I tilt my hips until I’m hitting that spot that has her eyes rolling back in her head. Her legs are locked around me. Her back is against the wall. And without breaking stride, I move my hand up her stomach and across her chest until my fingers are wrapped around her throat.
With a small squeeze, her voice catches as she comes all over my cock. I can feel the walls of her pussy throbbing with every beat of her heart. Then I’m filling her—burying my face in her neck to soften my roar. My cock pulsates as I release all my doubt, frustration, and tension inside her.
Relaxing my grip on her throat, she lets out a loud breath, panting in my ear, and her fingers knot in my hair. I lean into her, letting the wall support both our weight. When her ankles unlock at my back, I have to catch her to keep from falling. Slowly, I pull my face from her neck and meet her eyes. They’re watery, red, heavy, and full of satisfaction.
She’s panting in my face. I’m panting in hers. We’d just said everything we needed to without saying anything at all. This is our connection. This is our relationship. It’s crazy, unpredictable, and totally fucked up. But it works for us.
“I have a meeting,” she tells me, but I know it’s hard for her to think about anything with my dick still inside her.
“I don’t give a shit about your meeting,” I say, my voice low and very, very serious.
“Tell me you’ll see me tonight.” Her demand isn’t negotiable. And it’s my pleasure.
“I’ll see you tonight.” I keep my eyes on hers as I pull out of her, then set her on her feet. I pull a bandana from my back pocket and slide it between her legs. The intimate gesture has her eyes softening as she lets out a small sigh. I take longer than I should, and wait until her breathing picks up before I pull away—stuffing the bandana back in my pocket along with what’s left of the panties laying at her feet. Straightening, she starts to collect herself—adjusting her dress and taming her just-fucked hair. Walking to the dresser, I rummage around until I find some eye drops and a comb and hand them to her. Zipping up my jeans, I watch her in silence as she transforms from a sexy vixen back into the distant woman she was at the warehouse.