Why had I liked that so much? I should have been pissed, enraged that she would dare to do that to me, and in front of my father?
Now that I was lying here, the world spinning and fuzzy around me, she was really the only thing I could see. Her stupid face just smirked back at me. Mocking me. The more I thought about Elin, the more pissed I became.
What was it about her that was irritating me so much?
She doesn’t give a fuck who you are. She completely dismissed you. Thought whatever was on her fucking phone was more important than Gavriel Azzaro, the Owl’s Talon.
Rolling over, I groaned in frustration as I realized I was stroking my cock. Closing my eyes, I saw her staring at me as she slowly wrapped her lips around me and demanded my attention.
Flinging my eyes open, I shook my head to clear the thought of her. Only, I couldn’t. There was that look on her face, her eyes dismissive but yet still demanding my sole focus. It was much the same look she had given me when she’d declared she would be at the club on Thursday.
So why was the thought of her taking me over making me so hard? Why was the vision of her staring into my eyes, chin held high, causing me to stroke my cock like it was the only thing I needed in this world?
I could almost feel her sliding down onto my dick and riding me. Moaning, grabbing her tits, and pulling on her nipples.
Fuck. I was too drunk to be fantasizing about some woman who clearly didn't give two shits about who I was. About a woman I hated to my fucking core. And yet, I couldn't stop. My hand moved faster, gripping tighter as I imagined her wild hair falling around her face, those defiant eyes never leaving mine even as she took her pleasure.
I groaned, her name escaping my lips before I could stop it. “Elin!”
My heart hammered against my ribs as if it were trying to break free, each beat sending another pulse of heat straight to my groin. I thrust my hips upward, imagining her wet cunt surrounding me. In my mind, she was smirking down at me as she controlled the pace, lifting herself just enough to make me chase her—submit to her.
"Fuck," I hissed, my back arching off the mattress. Why was the thought of submitting to her making me so fucking turned on?
My pulse thundered in my ears as I drove my hips harder, faster, fucking up into the fantasy of her. I could almost feel her nails digging into my chest, hear her breathy moans as she took what she wanted from me. My heart stuttered when I pictured her throwing her head back, exposing the column of her throat—a throat I wanted to mark, to claim.
The rhythm of my strokes became erratic, desperate. My heart felt like it might explode, racing so fast I could barely breathe. Each thrust was accompanied by the image of her bouncing on top of me, those eyes never surrendering, even as pleasure overtook her.
I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to stifle another moan of her name. This was pathetic. I was Gavriel fucking Azzaro. Women begged for my attention, not the otherway around. Yet here I was, drunk and alone, pleasuring myself to the thought of a woman who'd barely acknowledged my existence.
"Goddamn it," I growled, my free hand fisting in the sheets as my hips bucked wildly. The pressure built at the base of my spine, coiling tighter and tighter. In my mind, she was leaning down now, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered filthy promises.
My heart skipped several beats before racing even faster, and I knew I wouldn't last much longer. Not with the phantom feeling of her clenching around me, milking me for everything I had to give.
Pleasure crashed through me, but it didn’t wash the pressure away. No, it just became a restless, skin-crawling itch that refused to fade. I was panting, brain still buzzing, my body twitching with aftershocks. My hand hung in the air, sticky, useless, and then I flung it aside, disgusted with myself. Quick, like I’d done this a thousand times. My fingers fumbled for the tissues on the nightstand. Even as I cleaned the mess off my stomach, every part of me recoiled at the smell of my cum, the damp tissue, the feel of cold sweat on my skin. I balled up the tissues and tried to toss them in the trash, but I didn’t even come close, they instead landing on the hardwood feet away. As my breath still slowly returned to normal, I couldn’t find the energy to care.
So, I just curled onto my side and stared at the wall, wishing the humiliation in my chest would fade, even a little. I was GavrielfuckingAzzaro. The nightmare of the Azzaro family. The man monsters ducked away from and women begged for, feared, worshipped.
Now here I was, alone in my bed, jerking off to the thought of a woman who looked right through me.
My teeth ground together so hard it hurt. Even after the orgasm, my cock twitched, half-hard and needy. My mind wouldn’t turn off. If anything, it was worse. Elin’s voice was in my ear. Her nails were in my chest. Her goddamn smile beamed at me behind my eyelids like I’d been branded.
I wanted to break something. Punch through the wall. But I couldn’t even move. I just let the shame of how she had somehow burrowed herself into the coldest parts of myself, settle over me. Rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I saw stars then rolled onto my stomach, trying to crush the memory of her under the pillow.
No use. The seconds dragged. Trenton’s nightlife drummed on: sirens, laughter, the distant pulse of bass leaking through the windows. My phone lit up on the nightstand with the third missed call from my father. Of course. He’d want answers, obedience, a reminder that I was his best monster, not some idiot fucking his hand to a girl who hated the air he breathed.
My phone went off again, saw it was Harley and answered it, groaning. “What could you possibly want, fucker?”
A deep chuckle flowed through the line. "Your father wants to know if you need a doctor."
"Tell him to fuck off," I growled.
"I'll take that as a no." He paused. "You still thinking about Elin?"
I didn't answer.
"Gav, are you seriously still obsessing over her?"
"I'm not obsessed," I snapped, but even I could hear the lie in my voice.
