Tangled In Strings

Chapter Thirteen

The front door slams, and I'm suddenly against it, Giovanni's hand pushed into my chest, now drifting up to clasp the back of my neck. I can hear his keys clatter against the ground faintly due to the heightened volume of our hoarse gasps.

I thought maybe the ride home would settle us both into a depressive state that would be more than understandable after such a failure, but instead, I found a bubbling anger boiling my blood, making the minutes seem like hours.

My head pounds as he slams me back into the door when I reach for him, and in return, as his mouth takes my own, I gather two fistfuls of his hair and pull, which send his head back with a moan. I take to his throat, biting down on the skin, soothing the burn with my tongue. Pain and pleasure.

His fingers tighten on the nape of my neck before suddenly releasing me, and it happens so fast. His hands, far stronger than my own, spin me like a rag doll, pinning me to the door, which buckles under our force. No foreplay. No dirty words. No coaxing touches.

He lifts the skirt of my dress roughly as I kick off my shoes, which slam into the door before scattering onto the ground. I hear his belt unbuckle, the soft rustling of clothing before he covers my hand against the door with his own, pressing his body up against mine, skin on skin.

He surges upward, penetrating me with a brutal thrust and a groan that sets fire to my insides. My toes strain as I feel his fingers painfully dig into my hip, setting an aching rhythm, guiding me back and forth onto his steely girth.

"Tell me if this is too much," he breathes against my shoulder. Dizzy, I settle my mouth over his hand, his wrist, his arm, sinking my teeth into the flesh, and I hear his moan.

"It's not enough." I want more.

And he gives it to me. He grabs onto my hair and pulls, and a keening sound leaves my lips as I'm suddenly immobilized, subject to his sweet torture.

"Yes," I breathe to myself, tensing every single time his cock nudges my cervix. My fingers curl into the crooks in the door, my knees buckling as my entire body shakes, overwhelmed by my own pleasure and fury. His driving hips never falter, building me to the brink, his tongue against the salty dampness that coats the skin of my back nearly throwing me over the edge.

We both begin to moan. His grip tightens on my hair, and I grimace at the pain of it, but am unwilling to tell him to let go. I want the roughness; I want to hurt.

"Fuck me. God, yes, Giovanni."

He gasps against me. "I'm close."

When his teeth graze and sink into my shoulder, my insides twist and explode with the cry I release. A few more pumps into my clenching sex, and he's spilling into me, pressing his forehead into my back with a sigh. His thrusts slow until we're both completely still and gasping.

When he lets my hair go, I feel the blood rush back to my skull. We both sink to the floor in exhaustion, our raging adrenaline leaving us abruptly. His floor is cold against my back as I suck in gulps of breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling, which is still spinning.

The longer I lie there, the easier it becomes to feel what my anger wasn't letting me before. It's then that I feel that my cheeks are wet. My eyes close, releasing a surge of tears that were at bay, and I press my fists to them, my chest expanding as I try to control whatever the hell is going on with me. The moment I feel his hands, now gentle and overly cautious, pulling me towards him, I feel inconsolable.

"Oh, fuck, Giovanni," I whisper agonizingly as he strokes my hair, my back, pulling me closer until our limbs are messily tangled. His mother's words are here, sunk deep into my skin, and I want to be sick.