Her pussy may not convulse around me now, but she’s tight as fuck and her wet heat welcomes every thrust like my cock has finally found its home. Mia’s cries grow more desperate and I fuck her harder, punishing her. Trying to punish her, anyway. I can’t see her face so I can’t tell what kind of cries these are—pleasure or displeasure. Approaching satisfaction, or soreness because I’ve used her too roughly too many times before.
To be honest, I don’t care right now. I’m pissed off that she’s holding back, holding onto some tether to Vince, refusing the give herself over to me in every way. I don’t care that she doesn’t know I want it—I do, and she isn’t giving it.
I bury myself deep, hissing and drawing her head back as I empty myself inside her sweet little cunt. Aw, fuck, yes.
She remains bent over while I brace a plant a hand on the shower wall, bracing my weight. Little white explosions are making it too hard to focus on anything. Fuck, her pussy is like a magical wonderland built specifically for my dick.
Now that I’m starting to come back around, I should probably assess the damage. If I’m going to keep her, we need to blow past this no orgasm shit. I don’t like that at all. I want to latch my mouth onto her pussy and eat her until she comes so hard, she nearly cries. Part of the fun of using her body is toying with her to give her pleasure, not just to use her as a fucking cum receptacle.
I expect her to be a little shaken, like last time I took a sharp turn toward aggression mid-fuck, but when she finally straightens and turns back to face me, she doesn’t look alarmed. A little breathless—her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath—but she’s not looking at me like I betrayed her, luring her in with tenderness and then fucking her like a raging beast. She’s watchful, wary of my mood, but when she sees I’m not in a rage, she offers a tentative smile.
Don’t know what she has to smile about; the damn girl won’t let me give her any orgasms.
Then she says the damndest thing. “Feel better?”
I roll my eyes at her. “I told you, I felt fine to begin with.”
“Mm hmm,” she murmurs, sliding me a decidedly unconvinced look before bending to retrieve her dropped shampoo bottle. “Your fronts are no good with me, Mateo Morelli. I see right through them.”
“You’re the most naïve person I’ve ever met; you can’t see through a pane glass window.”
She straightens and scowls at me. “Hey!”
“Truth hurts,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, opening the lid of her shampoo bottle and squeezing a dollop into the palm of her hand. “You’re so mean sometimes,” she states.
“Just being honest. You’re delusional if you think you see through me.”
Mia is decidedly unimpressed. She ducks under my arm to step under the spray as she lathers the shampoo in her hands and prepares to massage it through her scalp. “I’m sorry if it offends you so greatly that I see you feeling sad and want to cheer you up.”
“Well, for future reference, giving me your pussy is a great way to cheer me up, so file that away in the good idea folder.”
“If I don’t give it to you, you’ll just take it anyway,” she mutters.
My eyebrows rise at how casually she says that. “That’s true.”
She rolls her eyes at me, then turns back around and proceeds to wash her hair.
—
My day off passes too quickly. Maria brings up lunch and we finally take a little break from the bedroom, heading to my sitting room so we can eat on the couch. I don’t eat on couches, but Mia regales me with a story about her little brother spilling macaroni and cheese down inside the couch at their old house. It’s an incredibly stupid story—I don’t know why you would even allow a small child to eat macaroni and cheese on a couch to begin with—but her face is so animated as she tells it, her eyes sparkling at the memory, that I can’t help enjoying her delivery.
As casually as she can, while stabbing a bite of salad with her fork, she asks, “Do you think I could go see them soon?”
I spear a piece of steak from my own salad and feed it to her. She’s adequately surprised—and distracted. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Mm.” She nods her head, covering her mouth. “Yes, you’re right, that’s good dressing.”
I nod my head and go back to eating my food. She waits to see if I’ll answer her question, but when I don’t, she moves on to the next bit of inane chatter. Frankly, I just like the sound of her voice; I don’t care what she’s talking about.