Page 25

PSYCHO

I dig my fingers into her ass cheeks, sure to leave marks, pull her up, and slam her back down, burying my cock to the hilt. Every whimper escaping from her lips only spurs me on. I fuck her like I hate her, but she doesn’t get the message. Digging her hands into my hair, she pulls my head down, pressing her lips to mine with a sweet little moan. Her velvet tongue slides against mine, her fingers dig into my scalp, and I swallow down her cries, as her pussy clenches down on my cock.

She feels amazing, but it’s not enough. Moving my hands behind her back, I lower her to the ground, kneel between her thighs, and continue fucking her. Anastasia lies on the ground, looking fucking breathtaking, taking my cock like a goddamn queen. Every time I’m inside her, I know I’ll want her again, and it’s fucking with my head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and I know damn well, I’m the only one that can put a stop to this. I’ve told myself multiple times to just fucking end it.

“Massimo,” she says in a breathy moan, as she digs her nails into the skull tattoo on my chest.

So fucking beautiful. She lies on the grass underneath me, with her dark hair splayed around her, eyes wide with lust, and lips parted with heavy breaths. How can my enemy look so fucking perfect like this?

Her eyes roll back into her head, and her back arches off the ground, as a strangled scream comes from her throat. Jesus Christ, this woman does things no woman should be capable of. My head screams at me, ‘she should be dead’.

Leaning over her, a hand on either side of her, I continue fucking her, dragging my pelvis over her clit with every thrust, and I’m rewarded with a sweet mewling sound from her slender throat.

“Massimo,” she cries out, and the familiarity sends shivers down my spine. I stare into her eyes, and her pussy squeezes my length again, taking my orgasm, and my thoughts, from me.

I grunt out my pleasure as I fill her with my cum, and she hums her appreciation, knocking me off kilter once again. Do I want to kill her? I don’t. Not really, but she can’t know that. There’s some confused part of me that wants to protect her, and I don’t know why. That’s not an option. Black and white, I remind myself. She came after us, and has to be punished. Knowing damn well it won’t only be her that suffers doesn’t change a goddamn thing.

My head tells me to take her back inside, and lock her in the room again. Space. We need a lot of it, because she’s fucking with me. Confusing me. Making me see her as more than my goddamn enemy. She can’t ever be anything other than that.

Black and white, I remind myself, for the umpteenth time in the last hour.

Opening my mouth to speak, my mouth defies my brain.

“Let’s get some lunch. We’ll eat on the patio.”

I help her up, and stare at the blush forming on her cheeks, with the slight lift of her lips, as I tuck myself back inside my pants.

“Thank you,” she says, with a soft sweetness that makes me rub at the ache in my chest.

She walks over, grabs her panties off the ground, and pulls them on under her dress. I don’t take my eyes off her. I can’t. Anastasia is too fucking beautiful. Gorgeous in an almost painful way. It’s not a good thing. Instead, it causes the fury to travel through my veins, and makes me want to hurt her. Really fucking hurt her.

I grab her arm, pull her through the garden, and around to the other side of the house, where the patio is.

“You’re hurting me,” she complains, while trying to get out of my grip.

Nodding to the chair, I order her, “Sit.”

She places her hands on her hips, and tilts her head at me in annoyance. Her gaze is full of anger, pulling me in, trapping me in place. Anastasia is not the one with no escape. I am. If I don’t do something drastic to alter this course, I’m going to live to see my own goddamn ending.

Pretty little ruiner, I think to myself.

My gaze travels the length of her body, taking in every soft curve, as my cock swells in my pants, wanting her again already. Snapping my eyes back to her face, I swallow hard, as I meet her eyes again.

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

Anastasia takes a seat at the black, wrought- iron table with a heavy sigh. I know she’s wondering why I have to be such an asshole, but I have my reasons. It’s the only way.

My chef comes to the table and takes our order. She orders parmesan chicken, and I choose seared scallops with a pomegranate glaze. Oscar brings us both a glass of white wine, and I watch her as she sips it.

“Mmm.”

I palm my face as I try to control the twitching in my pants.

The sweet smile on her full lips does nothing to talk my cock down.

“Thank you for this, Massimo.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s just lunch.”

She shakes her head in disagreement, as she reaches across the table and rakes her nails along the inside of my forearm.

Fuck.

“It’s not just anything. Thank you.”

Oscar brings our food, and she looks up at him sweetly, speaking her thanks.

We start eating, and she speaks with a far-away gaze to her eyes. She’s looking directly at me, but she’s lost in the past.

“My mom used to make this every Sunday. Before I lost her. We were happy, and she was always smiling. I would watch her cook, while she sang her favorite song at the top of her lungs.”

I can’t help but be drawn into her musings.

“What song?”

She smiles softly.

“Bella Ciao. Do you know it?”

I do know it, but I shake my head.

She sings quietly, as her embarrassment shows on her skin, turning her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink.

“O Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao.”

Anastasia giggles, as her cheeks turn from pink to crimson.

“Your name is Russian, but you’re Italian?”

She tilts her head to the side, and gazes at me for a moment, before she responds.

“It actually comes from the Greek word anastasis, which means resurrection.”

Shrugging her shoulders before continuing, she looks at me pointedly, and it feels like her statement means more than the words she says.

“It’s just a name. Like Massimo.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Or Psycho. You could live without it. If you decided your name was William, it wouldn’t change the person you are. People become far too attached to names, and it’s insignificant. It’s the least important thing about any person.”

The sadness in her eyes makes me think of my father, even though it’s a completely different situation. He’s dead, and her mother is lost.

“Is she under medical care?”

She wipes a tear from her cheek, and nods slowly.

“Yes, but she won’t take her medication. My mother eats only enough to survive. There’s little they can do for her. If she stops eating altogether, they can put a tube in her stomach, but all they can do is keep her breathing. Sometimes I wonder if I’m helping by keeping her alive? What’s the point, if you’re going to live like that? She isn’t even living. Only existing.”

I swallow down a bite of my scallops, as I watch her eat her food.

“She wasn’t always like this, though? It sounds like you have good memories of her from your childhood.”

A sad expression crosses her face, as she sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is resting on her beautiful shoulders.

“When my father was alive, it wasn’t like this. The day he died, I think she did too. At least the part that matters. The heart. The soul. After we buried him, she never recovered.”

I think of my mother, and the constant traveling she has done. We all think it’s her way of coping with the loss of my father, but I prefer that over a lifeless existence.

“If you give me her address, I’ll send a specialist to see her.”

I already have her mother’s information, but I don’t feel the need to tell her that.

She tilts her head back, and stares at me with an emotion filled gaze.

“Seriously? Why? Why would you do that?”

I don’t have a fucking answer to that question, because I don’t know. Her eyes become teary, and it’s too much to think about, so I revert back to the asshole I am.

“Say fucking thank you, Anastasia. It doesn’t matter why, if I can get someone to help her. Stop being an ungrateful bitch.”

She bristles at my words, and bites her thank you, before focusing on her meal.