Talk about taking the romance out of it. If I’m going to make it fast like she wants, then I’m going to fucking do this the way that I want.
I get onto my knees, and I slam into her, gripping her hip with my left hand while wrapping her hair around my right fist. My thrusts are harder than usual, but she said record speed. She’s going to fucking get record speed.
“Fuck, Zep, you’re going to bruise my hip,” she mutters and tries to steady herself.
Good. If I leave bruises from our good time—literally—it’ll be marking her. In an unmistakable way. Letting everyone know she was with someone. Someone who loved her so hard he left a reminder of it while making her scream out his name.
“You want me to slow down?” I ask through gritted teeth. “I’m about to nut, but I can drag this out if you want.”
“Just fucking finish,” she mutters. Even as annoyed as she sounds, I feel it. Her muscles clenching around me as her second orgasm builds. “Fuck!”
“Chanel!” I choke out as I thrust a few more times, filling the condom.
The fifth one since she showed up on my front porch.
I barely have time to register the pleasure before she’s off my dick and fixing her clothes again. She smooths her dress angrily and glares as she slips on her shoes. “You did that on purpose.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie and pull the latex off.
“You want to make it known we were together. You purposefully tried to make me bruise.”
“If you want bruises, baby, I can make it so damn pleasurable that you’re begging for more,” I joke and grab my boxers. “I want you to stay, babe. Please?”
This woman has owned me for years, and she once again came to love me and leave me. Just like every time we’ve spent together for the past five years.
“You know I can’t,” she whispers. “Dorian’s waiting for me.”
Fuck Dorian. If he did his job as a man, she wouldn’t be knocking down my door every few weeks. “Where does he think you are?”
“I said I had to come back to handle some of the legal shit for Johnny.”
And the anger that simmered just below the surface she helped stave off comes rolling to a boil. Johnny. The man I knew as a father. The man our fucking rivals took from me.
Chanel sees this change in me, and she walks over to gently cup my face. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay, Zeppelin.”
“He’s fucking dead, Chanel,” I say, tearing my face from her hands. “What’s okay about that?”
“Zep—”
“They killed him and staged it to look like an accident. But I know the Venom killed him. They fucking did it, and when I find the proof I need, I’ll kill every last fucking one of them.”
Her hand takes mine, and she tugs until I look into her eyes. “I do not want to have to come home for your funeral, Zeppelin Molloy. You hear me? Don’t go doing anything stupid.”
Stupid. Avenging the death of the man I knew as a father and a mentor is stupid? Fuck off.
“I’m surprised Dorian let you off your leash. He really should’ve come with you if he’s so worried about you spending time with me. To get what you can’t get at home.”
It’s harsher than I intend, but I’m pissed. Beyond pissed.
She drops my hand and steps back. She looks genuinely offended. But between the grief of losing Johnny and her coming to fuck me and leave like normal, she has to understand that I’m not in any position to be jovial.
“I talked him out of it. If he came with me, this couldn’t happen,” Chanel says as she motions between us before pulling her purse over her shoulder.
Her panties are still on the floor. Where they’ll stay. Like always.
This time, the words stab at me. It’s what it’s always been, isn’t it? I’m good enough to fuck, but that’s it. I’m the one she calls when she’s in trouble and needs help, but I’m not the person she sees herself spending her life with.
I can’t tear my eyes away as she slips her engagement ring back on her finger. She probably thinks it’s respectful to take it off before riding me. So damn considerate, right?
