She already knows I don’t do sweet nothings, and I don’t make love. So there wouldn’t be any unmet expectations. We’d make each other come and I could get the fuck out of here—hopefully with the reminder that there’s plenty of pussy in the world that doesn’t make me feel like there’s something wrong with me for wanting it.
“You look tense.” She lays her hand on my thigh, a half-inch from my cock. “I could help you with that.”
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? Her long red nails are practically scraping my cockhead through my jeans, and I don’t feel so much as a twitch. Normally I’d be halfway to hard right now,anticipating a hard, no-strings-attached fuck to work out the tension of the night, but there’s nothing.
I’ve been rabidly hard for days now, getting an erection every time I so much as get a whiff of Sienna’s shampoo and the sweet scent of her skin, and now that I’ve got a willing woman next to me, I’m soft as taffy.
She takes a sip of her drink, pursing her lips around the edge, and then leans in, her warm breath ghosting along the shell of my ear. “What do you say, Damian? I miss that big cock.” Her hand slides between my legs, her fingers searching out the ridge of my cock and not finding anything to run her nails across. “Did I ever tell you you’re the only man whose cum I like the taste of? Every time I’ve sucked you off I just can’t wait to get more.”
Her lips press against my skin, just behind my earlobe. “We could sneak back to the bathroom. I’ll get down on my knees for you if you promise to make me come once before we leave. And then you can fuck me back at my place?—”
What the hell is wrong with me?I feel almost repulsed by her touch, by the thickly sweet, artificial scent of her perfume, the waxy, powdery smell of her makeup. I’ve fucked this woman before and enjoyed it. I know just how filthy she can be, how she’ll let me do just about anything I want and get off on it, and not expect me to call her the next day. It’s always been good. So what’s missing?
And why can’t I stop thinking about Sienna’s delicate face and the pointed upturn of her chin when she glares at me, the soft fall of her strawberry-blonde hair, and the leaf-green of her eyes? Why can’t I stop wondering what it would taste like if I ran my tongue over her skin, stop thinking about how I could connect her freckles with one long lick, making her moan as I?—
My cock stirs to life. I feel a rush of desire, my shaft thickening along my leg, and Stella lets out a soft hum of pleasure as she runs her fingers along the ridge of it.
“There you are,” she murmurs. “God, I miss how this feels inside of me…”
I push away from her. “Not tonight,” I growl, reaching for the beer and taking a long drag off of it. “That’s not what I’m here for.”
She pulls back, clearly startled, and I can’t blame her. "Since when do you turn down a sure thing?"
I run a hand through my hair, glancing over at her with irritation. “Since I’m not in the mood to fuck tonight, Stella.”
She chuckles, pressing her hand against my thigh. “This tells me something different, handsome.”
“Leave me the fuck alone.” I twist away from her, grabbing the beer and downing it before yanking a twenty out of my pocket—ten times the cost of the beer, but I don’t care—and tossing it onto the bar for Neil. “See you, man.”
“Damian!” Stella sounds audibly upset, but I can’t bring myself to care. “Hey, fuck you!” she yells after me as I stride out of the bar, but I ignore her, walking quickly back to my car.
Well, I’ll probably never fuck her again.Or maybe she won’t care, once she’s had time to cool off. The thing is, I can’t bring myself to care whether I do or not. What’s worse, shewasa sure thing. A good time, no expectations, no need for anything other than mutual pleasure. And now I’ve gone and fucked that up.
Outside, the humid Miami air does nothing to help. If anything, it only makes me feel more agitated, sweat prickling at the back of my neck as I drive to another bar.
I hit up that one, and then two more. At all three, I get approached by women who make it more than clear that they’d be happy to take me home, or suck my cock in the bathroom, or bend over the hood of their car for me in the parking lot. None of them seem to want anything other than to get fucked by the muscular, tattooed, brutish guy who screamscriminal. They want to go home and tell their friends about the bad boy they fucked in a rundown bar bathroom, want something to giggle over at brunch later. I’ve never cared before, but suddenly all of it turns me off entirely.
I let a skinny blonde with a KISS tattoo and a black lace thong peeking above the edge of her shorts grind on me at the last bar, dancing to some Top 100 hit that I don’t know, and I consider trying.After all, I’m just a man. If I took her back to the bathroom and let her put my cock in her mouth, I’d get hard. I’d probably even come. But it’d just make me feel even more like shit than I already do, I realize, the moment before I also realize I can’t stop thinking about whether or not Sienna would be upset to see this girl grinding on me.
What the fuck?Why the hell would she care? It’s not like the marriage is real, except on paper. I didn’t so much as kiss her at the altar. Neither of us are wearing rings. She’s not going to change her goddamned name. I’m protecting her so that she doesn’t end up collateral damage in the ongoing problems between Konstantin and Giovanni Russo, and nothing more. I have no intention of touching her, no intention of making her my wife in reality. The marriage will be over as soon as the danger is.
So why does the thought of being with someone else feel like cheating?
By the time I peel myself away from the drunk blonde and head back out to the car to drive home, it’s past one in the morning, and my mood is darker than the parking lot around me. The estate is quiet when I pull through the gates, the mansion windows dark, and I can imagine that Sienna is asleep right now, tucked into her bed safely.
That’s all I should want.For her to feel safe, and secure, and not to feel hounded by her new husband, who can’t stop thinking about a woman who would only give herself to him out of a need to keep his protection. I should be disgusted with myself at the thought of anything more—Iam—but that doesn’t stop me from instantly growing aroused at the mental image of Sienna in bed.
The Russo threat won’t last for long,I tell myself as I park, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I let out a long exhale.And neither will this marriage.I didn’t expect her, didn’t see this coming, but once the marriage is dissolved and she’s gone, she’ll cease to be a problem for me. I’ll forget about her, and I’ll go back to cheap fucks in rundown bars, enjoying the pleasure of a meaningless orgasm without having to think about the fact that I’m technically married. Without this misplaced guilt that doesn’t make any fucking sense.
I can handle a few weeks of celibacy. Hell, I’ve gone longer than a few weeks before, just because I’ve been too fucking busy to get laid. I’ll keep my hands off of my new bride, and once she’s gone, everything will go back to normal.
That resolve lasts just long enough for me to walk into the foyer and see Sienna quietly padding toward the staircase in the low light, a thin ‘silk’ robe that’s probably actually polyester wrapped around her slender body. I have no idea what she’s wearing underneath it, but it can’t be much—it barely falls to the tops of her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs entirely bare, and I can see the shape of her small breasts beneath it.
I’m instantly rock-hard, my cock swelling with a speed that’s nearly painful as it jerks and strains against my fly, making me dizzy. I want to cross the room and grab her, flip her around against the banister and find that slick heat between her thighs, rut into her like an animal right here in the foyer. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my entire fucking life, and some primal, bestial part of my mind growls in the darkness that she’smine.
I found her. I saved her. Mine.
“Damian?” Sienna pauses, and I see that she’s barefoot, her toes curling against the cold marble. “You’re home late.”
