“He doesn’t have mange. He’s a sphynx. That breed of cat is hairless. Guess you could say I like my pussy bald.”
Mila belts out a laugh and rolls her eyes, giving Lucifer another once-over and moving along with the house tour.
Before going back to the bedroom, the last room she comes to is my Nonna’s library. I stay away from it. There are too many memories from my childhood that I don’t want to bring to the surface.
Mila opens the door, and I fight the urge to pull her back and direct her to bed, leaving this room locked behind the door, as it should be. The light flickers from long inactivity as she flips the switch. My body stiffens, not allowing me to cross the threshold while she explores.
I settle for leaning against the doorjamb, crossing my arms, and fixing my stare on the old carpet.
“What’s the matter? Can’t read or something?” Mila asks, running a finger along the dusty bookshelf.
My gaze snaps up at her comment. I watch as she pulls out a book and thumbs through the pages. My Nonna loved poetry, riddles, and classic literature. This room isn’t big, but the way the old bookshelves wrap around the walls from floor to ceiling still houses at least a thousand books. Boxes and old pictures litter the floor so that I can keep them out of sight.
“I can read just fine. It’s not something that I enjoy. My sister uses this room and cleans it, but she’s never home, and I don’t normally invade her space.”
Xana loves this room and the memories it holds. I settle for this rather than telling her I can’t handle the pain this room invokes.
Mila puts the book back where she got it, and her eyes dart to the wall next to the door when she turns to face me. Her gaze meets mine, then goes back to that spot I didn’t want to face. She steps up to the one thing I wanted to avoid here.
An enlarged photograph from my parents’ wedding.
I remember the picture vividly. Not the day, just the image. I was only two years old. My dad holds me on his left hip while my mother kisses his cheek, and Nonna kisses mine from his other side. The look on my face was pure and happy, much different from the man he grew up to be.
Mila’s fingers close in to touch the picture, and my hand snaps out, closing around her wrist and stopping her. My jaw hurts from how tightly I’m clenching it. Mila watches me, not out of fear but curiosity and slight shock.
She takes a step back, and I release her hand, appreciating that she’s not asking the questions burning in her eyes.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say, pushing off the door and giving her my back to signal that we’re done here.
There are parts of myself I don’t think I can ever share with someone. Mila going into the library was enough to send me into a fury. The urge to lash out and drag her away from it was almost impossible to resist, but I don’t want her to see me that way.
As some monster.
Mila shuts the door and walks ahead toward my bedroom. The tension between us is thick enough to choke on. Neither of us speaks as I follow her to my bed, and I clear my throat after she stares silently at me for a few moments.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.
Instantly I regret the way the words sound as they roll off my tongue. Mila pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly holding back a smart comment.
Though aggressive, the motion goes straight to my dick. I step into her, expecting her to turn away based on the irritated look on her beautiful face. Placing my hand on the back of her head, I pull her against me and crash my lips into hers. I want to feel something other than the overwhelming emotions I wasn’t prepared for tonight.
This kiss is different from the others we’ve shared. This time it’s not about making her feel something for me, but for me to feel something that’s not pain.
She doesn’t know my story and all the death I’ve endured since I was five years old. She doesn’t know why I didn’t want to step into that room or allow her to touch the picture. But she knows whatever she unleashed by opening that door also opened a wound.
Mila lets me use her body like a balm for the pain and reminder of how alone I actually am. For how alone I’ve been for so fucking long now. She allows me to dominate her mouth, wrestling my tongue with the same ferocity I’m wrestling hers. I lose track of time between tongues and teeth and lips. A growl rumbles in my chest when she fists my hair, pulling me closer, and when she pulls away, I fight against saying fuck it and fucking her, anyway.
Her lips trace rough kisses along my jaw and down my neck. Mila bites and sucks at my skin as her mouth travels down my chest, licking the plane between my constricting abs. My mind snaps back into focus when her knees hit the carpet, and I look down at her.
She takes in my body, rubbing her hands along the muscles of my torso. Crooking her fingers, she digs her long, sharp nails down my sides, letting them rest at my hips. With lust-filled eyes, she meets my gaze.
“Mila,” I rasp, transfixed by the way her throat bobs as she swallows.
“Is this okay?” Mila asks, the question almost forced, as it pained her to ask for my permission.
I shake my head no and watch her plump lips purse in annoyance at my rejection. Smirking, I wrap her hair around my hand and yank her head back.
“Is what okay?”