Arlo
The kiss consumes me. I release her wrists, letting my hands roam where they please, sliding down to grip her arse with a groan against her mouth.
She’s all curves, a body built to ruin a man’s restraint, and I could lose myself in her for hours without end.
She meets me with equal ferocity now, as if she’s already chosen, the rest of the world falling away until there is nothing left but the two of us.
As it once was.
The thought hits hard, bitter and uninvited. Loathing rises fast, but lust, and everything else I don’t want to feel, overruns it. I bite her lower lip, plush and swollen beneath my teeth.
Without even thinking, we’re moving, stumbling across the room, into the bathroom. Her hands fumble at my shirt until she finally tears it away.
I don’t break the kiss as I reach past her, twist the tap, water roaring to life. My fingers work her jeans open, sliding them down with one motion, her jumper gone the next.
I force myself to pull back, if only to look at her. She’s in a pink lace set, her nipples pressing through the fabric, the thong barely covering a damn thing. She’s every filthy dream brought to life, standing right in front of me.
Damn her.
With one hand at her back, I pull her hard against me in a sudden motion. Her chest collides with mine, full breasts crushed to my stomach, and the sight of it nearly undoes me.
I unclasp her bra with the same hand, discarding it without a thought, and when it comes to her panties I haven’t the patience, the lace tears easily in my grip. Her gasp is soft, startled, but she doesn’t stop me.
I shove out of my own jeans and boxers, then haul her up bridal style with one arm hooked beneath her thighs. She latches onto my neck, clinging to me.
I stride into the walk in shower.
The water pours over us from above, heat drenching us in seconds. I set her down, her legs unsteady as she clings to me. She lets out a hiss when her back meets the cold tile, and I’m on her immediately, mouth at her neck, biting, sucking, tasting her.
Her scent clouds everything, crawling into my head, driving me mad.
I grip her arse in both hands, squeezing hard, dragging her against me as my mouth finds her breast. My tongue circles her nipple before I take it between my teeth and bite down. If it were up to me, I’d have her marked all over, bitten and claimed.
I move to the other, licking, teasing, while one hand closes greedily around the weight of her breast. She moans softly, and it riles me. She’s too quiet.
I want her screaming my name.
I make her sit on the built in chair in the shower, grateful it’s there.
I drop to my knees, and my mouth finds her centre in seconds.
I devour her like a man starved, because I am.
Starved of Ophelia Bellanti for too long, and now that I have her, I won’t let go.
My tongue circles her clit and I groan when her taste hits me. I suck, I bite, and I push two fingers into her in one swift thrust.
She moans louder now, but still not enough. Her hands grip my hair, holding me exactly where she wants me. And I go willingly. Because even after everything, I’m weak.
Weak for her. And fuck it if I don’t hate myself for it.
I quicken my pace, my free hand closing around her breast, tugging her nipple between my fingers. She tightens around me, and then she breaks apart, coming hard against my mouth and hand.
But I don’t stop. I keep licking, drinking her in.
Finally releasing her, I watch as she looks up at me, desire blazing in her eyes. She looks satisfied, yet not nearly enough.
A smirk tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. That’s her. Always insatiable.
I pull her to her feet and our mouths collide again, frantic, hungry, our hands roaming greedily. Her fingers wrap around my cock and squeeze, and a groan escapes me before I can bite it back.
In the next breath, I spin her around roughly and head straight for the drawer beneath the sink. I find what I’m after, come back behind her, tear the wrapper open with my teeth and spit it aside before rolling the condom on.
“Hands on the wall,” I order.
She obeys.
“This is what you want?” I ask, my cock teasing at her entrance.
She nods, breathless. I land a hard slap against her arse. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
I slam into her hard, driving her tighter against the wall with each thrust. “Watch your head,” I grit out, my fist tangled in her hair, holding her steady.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” I rasp. “Squeezing me so damn well.”
I drive into her harder, faster, fucking her with abandon.
Her hands stay braced against the wall, but she turns her head toward me. I bend down, catch her lips in a kiss, feeling her clench around me.
“This means nothing,” I tell her, my voice harsh.
“Yes,” she throws back, her breath ragged.
“This isn’t love, or any other bullshit you’re thinking. This is a hard fuck to get you out of my system.”
“You talk too much,” she pants, her eyes flashing. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall for you.”
It should satisfy me. That’s what I want, isn’t it? Instead, rage twists inside me that she can say it so easily.
I crush her mouth with mine again just as I erupt, and she clenches one last time, coming apart on my cock. Our moans break into each other’s mouths.
We stay like that, breathing hard, before I finally pull out. I strip off the condom, toss it aside, and rinse quickly. The silence between us is thick, charged, our eyes locked and burning.
Once we’ve dried off and stepped back into her room, she turns for the closet, but I stop her.
“I’m not fucking done with you.”
I shove her onto the bed, she falls back, and I’m on her in an instant. Another condom on, I thrust into her again, driving deep into her tight heat as I catch both her wrists and pin them above her head.
When I feel her begin to clench, I pull out suddenly, making her whimper in protest.
“On all fours,” I order, dragging her into position. Her arse lifts perfectly, and the sight nearly undoes me. I grit my teeth, and slam back into her.
“Look in the mirror,” I rasp.
It takes her a second, but then she does, turning her gaze to the long glass at the side of the room. The reflection catches us both, her body open for me, my cock sliding into her, slow and merciless. She moans at the sight.
“Watch the way I fuck you.”
I quicken my pace, one hand at her clit, circling with just the right pressure, while the other grips her arse before sliding up to her breasts, rolling her nipple between my fingers until she’s writhing.
We don’t look away from the mirror. The sight of her taking me, the way I drive into her, it’s everything.
With one final thrust we come together, breathless and shaking, undone in each other.
We collapse onto the bed, breathless. The air between us shifts, weighted with something I refuse to name.
I strip the condom, toss it aside, and fetch a washcloth from the bathroom.
Returning, I wipe her down carefully. She’s a vision sprawled there, well and truly fucked.
Before my head can start spinning with thoughts I don’t want, I shove them down and slide into bed beside her.
This is where I ought to sneer, to spit some cutting line about how I despise her, then walk out.
It was meant to be what I said—a hard, quick fuck to rid her from my system.
And yet it’s backfired spectacularly.
She isn’t gone from me, she’s lodged deeper.
She snatches up the remote and flicks on some ridiculous vampire series, utter rubbish, and makes herself comfortable.
And because I’ve already crossed every line and rule tonight, what’s one more? I reach out, pull her against me, and her head rests warm and damp against my chest.
Cuddling. For fuck’s sake.
“This means nothing,” I mutter, the words falling from my mouth, like a broken record. Maybe I’m saying it more for myself than for her.
“I know,” she murmurs.
She suddenly tilts her face up to mine, eyes searching. “You and Zara…”
I don’t let her finish. A flicker at the corner of my mouth betrays me, an involuntary twitch. She sounds jealous, and I rather like it. It means she’s feeling something, even if she won’t name it.
“I haven’t touched her.”
“You kissed her.”
“No…” I don’t tell her that it started as a power play, dragging her onto my lap just to get a rise out of Ophelia, only for it to backfire when she tried to kiss me. I shoved her off, and she stumbled into the dirt, but Ophelia had already turned away by then. She never saw it.
“She means nothing,” I say quietly. “Never did. Never will. You don’t have to worry about her.”
“Promise?” she asks, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.
And before I can stop myself, I whisper it back, “Promise.” With the same unguarded edge leaking through my own voice.
She lays her head back on my chest and turns back to the flickering nonsense on the screen. Her breathing evens out, her weight soft and warm against me.
My head is a mess. All these feelings, all this irrationality, clashing like a war inside me.
But just for tonight, I let myself pretend. Pretend we are as we once were.
That I don’t hate her.
That she didn’t destroy me in the worst possible way.
Just for tonight, I pretend she’s my lover, not my enemy.
Tomorrow will come, another step toward my revenge, another day of hate.
But tonight… tonight we drop the lies. Tonight, we’re not at war.
Tonight, we love.