Yes. No. FUCK. I don’t know.
“I want to make sure we’re clear about what this is. And what it isn’t.”
“We’re clear. You’ve been very clear, actually. No relationships. No feelings. Just sex and food.” She smiles at me, sweet and fucking infuriating. “As amazing as a life of being ass-fucked every time I try to make dinner sounds, I think I’ll be okay when it’s over.”
When it’s over.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I snap.
“I just mean I know this isn’t forever. I know you’re here because you need a place to hide out. I know you’re not interested in anything more than what we’re doing. So I’m not going to be heartbroken when you leave. You won’t have a stalker.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, like she’s talking about the weather, like the idea of me leaving doesn’t affect her at all. I watch her carefully, looking for any sign that she’s lying, but there’s nothing but calm acceptance.
“So it’s not over,” I say slowly. “Yet.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
She shrugs and bends down to pick up a fallen towel, and I’m instantly hard. Fuck. Every time I see her ass, I lose my God damn mind.
Is this part of her game? Or is she really this okay with being used?
“Why do you think you get to decide?” I sneer at her.
She straightens, towel in hand. “Decide what?”
“When this is over. You think that’s your call?”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I—”
I’m on her before she can finish, hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. “You don’t get to decide shit, Sophia. I decide when I’m done with you. You understand?”
Her pulse jumps in her throat. “Sì, signore.”
I shove her to her knees, hand still tangled in her hair. She goes down easily, eagerly, those big brown eyes looking up at me with something that looks like—what? Trust? Surrender? Manipulation? I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t anymore.
“Open your mouth,” I growl, already pulling my cock free with my other hand.
She obeys immediately, lips parting, tongue out, ready for me.
I hate that I can’t tell if she wants this or if she’s just giving me what I want so she can glean whatever information she can to give back to her father.
I push into her mouth hard, watching her eyes water as I hit the back of her throat. She doesn’t gag, just takes it, hands resting on her thighs, letting me use her.
“You never came with Rocco,” I say, fucking her mouth in slow, deliberate strokes. “You never came with any of them.”
She makes a soft sound of agreement around my cock.
“But you kept fucking them anyway. Kept cooking for them. Kept letting them use you.”
Another sound. Her eyes are streaming now, mascara running, spit dripping down her chin. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Why?” I demand, pulling out so she can answer. “Why let them use you if you’re not even getting off?”
She gasps for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Because—” Another breath. “Because it felt good to be wanted. To take care of someone. To be with someone—”
I shove back into her mouth, cutting off her words.
Because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about how she confuses being used with being cared for, how she thinks cooking for some asshole and letting him fuck her is the same as having someone who actually gives a shit about her.
