Page 162 of Bitter Poetry

My mind tumbles back to the better part of Dante’s wedding day when he followed me up to my bedroom and fucked me there… Christian, casually sitting in the chair watching… asking him how I felt.

A hot tide rolls down my spine, and a savage contraction grips me low in my womb, bringing my pacing to a stop.

I want to laugh—I’m so confused.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. A small bandage on my arm covers the mark left by Cosmo. Outwardly, the rest of the scars are gone. It’s the internal ones that linger.

My eyes, though, look bright and alive in a way they haven’t in a long time.

He said he loved me.

Today, I accept that I love Dante. But I also love Christian. What I first felt for Dante was infatuation, and if events had followed their expected path, it could easily have become love. That never happened, and then Christian just swept in with his hate fucks, telling me to go ahead and slap him if I needed an outlet. And really, he’s the furthest thing from stable boyfriend material, even if I were not married.

He’s always been just there when I needed him.

He’s nowhere near as insensitive as he pretends to be.

In his unique way, I know he cares.

I’ve fallen in love with him, dangerous quirks and all.

I fell in love with him first.

And now I’ve fallen in love with Dante, who snuggles me sweetly and then fucks me like a savage.

I’ve been broken. The pieces don’t fit together the way they used to, and I don’t believe they ever will. But maybe they don’t need to. Not while I’m here in the eye of the storm. This, whatever this is, has an end date, but so does life, and that doesn’t stop us from living in between.

I finish up in the bathroom and slip back into bed.

He immediately slides his arm around me from behind and settles his palm over my stomach. I like his hand there, the feeling of him behind me. I slept as far away from Ettore as was possible in the bed—the nights when he never came home were the best. But this is new and nice.

It feels like home…

His hand shifts, burrowing under my T-shirt—his T-shirt—causing flutters to break out across my skin.

He said he wouldn’t fuck me, and I sense he meant it, so I just enjoy it.

I don’t want to sleep. I want to store this moment up, but I’m also tired, and it pulls me down.

The sensation of being penetrated catches me on the cusp… something too small to be a cock is my first groggy thought.

“What are you?—”

“Was that whining I heard?”

His voice close to my ear, the realization that his finger is inside me—that he has ‘unplugged me’ yet again—revs up my sensory centers so fast it leaves me a little dizzy in the wake.

“Yes, you’re damn right—” My words end on a gasp as he pushes a second finger inside, bringing a sense of fullness and kicking off a pulse of arousal. “God! What are?—”

“Is that you asking for more?”

I clamp my mouth shut. My pussy performs a slow spasm that his low chuckle says he felt.

“That’s my filthy girl. So glad we got that lesson out of the way.”

A fresh wave of arousal slams into me.Domination. How I have come to crave it. His words, the way he does what he wants, are like an incendiary lighting up my core.

He said he wouldn’t fuck me. Is this him breaking his promise to Christian?