He scrubs a hand over his face and I know I'm on dangerous ground.
"Go." His voice is quiet, deadly. "I'm not in the right frame of mind. I'll hurt you."
I study him for a moment, trying to gauge how close to the edge he really is. Gabriele is drowning. I can see it.
The last thing I want is to be used and discarded but right now I’m the closest thing he has to solid ground. I’ve helped him through crises before. This is no different. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I need to do something to bring Gabriele back to me. We were getting somewhere and I can’t let that slip away. I’m tenacious, I remind myself. When I want something, I don’t stop until I get it.
Though I know I’m playing with fire and likely to get burned, I know what I have to do. Reaching back, I lower the zipper of my dress.
"Katya."
I should heed the warning in his voice but I don't.
Three days of being ignored have made me desperate for attention, no matter what form it comes in. I wriggle out of my dress and let it drop to the floor. I stand before him in my black lace bra and panties, waiting for him to react.
Gabriele stalks closer, a predator closing in. He grabs my ponytail and jerks my head back.
"Why can't you be good?" he murmurs. He bends his head and kisses my exposed throat. "Why can't you do as you're told?"
"I can," I say defiantly. "When I like what I'm being told."
Gabriele kisses my throat. I moan as he finds a particularly sensitive spot. He releases my hair and steps back. As he crouches, I hold my breath. He leans closer, his warm breath whispering over me. Then, suddenly, he gets to his feet and shoves my dress at me. Shocked, I take it.
"Get dressed and get out of here, Katya. This is your last warning."
"Gabriele." Whether I want it to or not, my voice is pleading.
"And stop trying to use your body to sway me. You're my wife, not some shlyukha."
It's the first Russian word I've heard crossing his lips and he used it to call me a whore.
Enraged, I pull back my hand and slap him hard across the face. The crack resonates through the room. For several long heartbeats, Gabriele and I stare at each other.
Then I whirl and storm from the room. I march toward the stairs, past Maria who gasps in shock. Heavy footsteps echo on the tile behind me.
Gabriele shouts something in Italian, not directed at me but at Santo who chooses this moment to pop his head out through the living room door. He casts me a horrified glance and retreats.
Picking up my pace, I hurry toward the stairs. I make it almost to the top when Gabriele catches me. He grabs my ankles, pulling me down. My hands shoot out to break my fall but I still come down with a thud.
Gabriele presses along the length of my back.
"Is this what you want, Katya?" He slides a hand around to cup my feminine mound. "Is this what you need?"
As he runs his finger over my slit, I can't help but moan. He never fails to turn me on. Even when he’s being like this, I want him with a hunger I fear I’ll never satisfy. I'm not about to admit that, but he doesn't need words. My body betrays me.
With a feral snarl, he rips my panties away. His weight lifts from me just long enough for him to free himself from his clothing.
Bracing himself on his hands, he impales me with his cock. There's nothing tender in his touch as he holds me down and pumps his hips to thrust deep inside me.
This is a masterclass in brutal possession. He fucks me like he hates me and it still turns me on. There must be something short-circuiting in my brain because the rougher he handles me, the more I like it.
My body hums with pleasure as he fucks me on the stairs where anyone could walk by. As he continues to hammer into me, I curl my fingers around the edge of the stair above me and bow my head. Gabriele pulls my hips back to meet his thrusts. There's nothing for me to do but hang on.
Even as it crosses my mind that I'll be sore for days after this, I feel the familiar stirrings of ecstasy inside me. It swirls around my womb and fans out across my body. My pussy clenches and I moan as Gabriele carries me ever closer to the edge.
He slides a hand beneath me and unerringly finds my clit. It's swollen, throbbing, in desperate need of attention he's only too willing to give. He isn't gentle as he takes the sensitive bud between his fingers and pinches.
