She palms my cock with all the care of a snotty little socialite handling her tiara. I can’t deny the softness in her fingers. Heat stirs in my blood at her touch, something I couldn’t accomplish myself.
I hate watching her. Her wide eyes drift up and down the shaft. She licks her lips. Then she curls her fingers around me fully and guides her hand back and forth. Damn...she studied those videos too fucking well.
One of my hands shoots back to find the wall, and I brace my palm flat against it while tension gathers in my abdomen, shooting down my spine. She’s not like the other handfuls of women I’ve had. She takes her time. She’s slow. Careful. Her pampered, prissy hands lavish attention on every inch of my length, and the greedy fucker’s hungry for it.
I inhale and breathe out through my teeth. I try to imagine that it’s anyone but her. Not Stacatto’s stuck-up whore. I don’t want her. I don’t want to taste her skin or bury myself between those stick-thin little thighs. I don’t want to rake my hands through her hair and hold her goddamn mouth in place while I pummel it. I don’t want...
I flinch when her other hand settles against my hip, using it for leverage while she increases her pace. Holy...fuck. She’s too fast. Not fast enough. I glance down to find that she’s already looking up, her gaze meeting mine. I don’t find shame stretching across that pale, battered face. There’s hell in her eyes: the inferno Stacatto put her in, and the new flames that she herself is willing to set. She’s beckoning for me to join her, become swallowed by the fire.
Espi. Espi. Espi. I chant his name like a fucking prayer to counter her. I’m doing this for him. Not because I want her. I don’t. She’s...
A fast learner. Her mouth twitches in only the slightest clue of her hesitation. Then she parts her lips wide and leans forward to take as much of the tip of me into her mouth as she can. Her tongue cradles the underside. She bobs her head slightly, mimicking the motion she’s only seen performed by porn stars. It works, however. I stiffen. I’m thicker. Her entire body trembles as she realizes what she’s done, but it’s too late. The hell she wants to burn in so badly...I’ll give it to her.
My entire vision goes red when I fist my hand in her hair, dragging her closer. She takes me deeper with a startled gasp, and the pathetic vibration travels all the way to my brain. My hips jerk, my cock twitching, aching to plunge into the wet heat of her mouth. Every stroke of her tongue paints my vision in slashes of red and amber.
Clenching my jaw, I shove her away, staggering against the wall. My cock twitches angrily in protest. Desires I’ve suppressed for too fucking long flare up, unwilling to be locked in their cage again. Five years. Five years. Five years. It’s a mantra that guides me when I reach down and clench the base of my shaft in a fist before I come too soon and end this fucked-up little party.
It’s been five years since my last roll in the hay. It’s the timespan that makes me react—not her. Not those goddamn fucking eyes or the faint glimmer in them that flares up as she falls back onto her ass, her lips parted and wet. It’s harder than I want to admit not to move forward and shove myself between them, rubbing out this searing, stupid physical reaction.
Arno can take his deals and shove them up his ass. I won’t go through with this. I open my mouth, aiming to tell her as much... “Get...get the condoms.”
She obeys on her hands and knees, nearly lunging across the floor to reach the box near the base of the bed. Her fingers shake as she gets the top open. She withdraws a square of foil and glances back at me.
I thrust my hand out, but before she can move, I jerk my chin toward the box again. “There’s lube,” I grit out. A customary sample size according to the box.
It’s a simple courtesy that I’m not sure why I grant to her. Her comfort or dignity doesn’t seem to matter to her one damn bit, but she fishes it out anyway, tucking the small packet in her other hand. I try not to react when she approaches me again, still on her fucking knees. She places the condom onto my palm, and I tear it open with my teeth. I have it on in seconds, held in place with one hand. It’s like I have to hold my fucking cock in place. It stirs while she eyes the lube in her grip.
Slowly, she nibbles a hole in the corner of the packaging with her teeth; those pornos taught her another trick. She lathers the substance onto her fingers and then brings them to the waistband of the thong Arno gave her to wear. She hesitates, uncertainty distorting her features. Then she tugs on the elastic with one hand and slides the two fingers of the other underneath...
“Fuck.” My head rears back, my eyes shutting as heat unfurls swiftly and centering between my legs. I’m thicker. Harder. My eyes fly open again and find her, carefully slicking the entrance of her cunt. In three unsteady steps, I’m in front of her while she scrambles to her feet. I reach out, intending to shove her back onto the bed, but she bats my hand away.
“No.” Her hand is on my chest before anger can even flare up. The fingers tremble as she pushes me back, causing her nails to graze the skin beneath the cotton of my shirt. I stiffen, prepared to shove her off. “I...I need to be in control.”
That’s right, a part of me remembers. This is her little game. I’m just a guest at this twisted tea party, merely meant to be manipulated into position for the best possible effect. She takes another tiny step toward me, her scent heavy on the air: blood, pain, and desperation. Then, before I even know it, I’m the one herded back onto the bed. My knees bend automatically when she flicks her wrist. Seconds before the curtain rises, Vinny Stacatto’s little whore gives me one last appraising glance.
Then she turns to the camera—her true co-star—and it’s show time. People say that men like me can change within the blink of an eye. We can go from contained to uncontrolled with little provocation. We shed our skins eagerly to become the monsters we only pretended not to be while out in public. It’s like hitting a switch almost; it’s that fucking simple.
Stacatto’s girl flips her own switch. She stands taller while her eyes hone in on the camera’s lens. She doesn’t hesitate to shed her underwear, revealing an ass stained blue, purple, and green with healing bruises. She inhales, and her entire body seems to recoil with the breath she takes.
That pathetic little princess is gone when she turns back to me. The creature, staring out from behind a sea of black hair, is a completely different animal entirely. I can’t ignore the part of me that stiffens and howls out in welcome as she mounts the bed on her hands and knees, waiting for me to do the same. There’s a hint of recognition in the way she takes her time slinking toward me, imagining her fiancé watching every move. There’s no shame. No barely concealed self-depreciation of a porn star. She’s in control. Hell, she’s drunk on it. A part of me knows exactly what she’s feeling: the instinctive need to scratch this dark, dangerous urge that won’t be satisfied until she’s sure Stacatto is punished. I can almost hear the insistent buzz emanating from the back of her head, swelling to a hum.
After all, it takes a wolf to know a wolf.