Page 88 of Forbidden Eyes

“Now, Fia.”

I’d like to say I don’t watch her move over to it, don’t watch the way her hips curve and sway with each step, as if her body was built for my eyes, and mine alone. It’s like slow fucking motion to me. Every step, every muscle flowing after the next. Toned. Curved. She’s still got marks on her neck and shoulder, marks I put there with my teeth. Damn, I want more of that. I want hours of it, weeks. We barely even got into the rougher stuff, the fun. There’s still so much to learn. About me. What I could do to her body. The pleasure I’d take in enjoying every inch of her.

Her finger depresses the button. Once. Twice. It’s like a goddamn countdown for the animal in me who doesn’t give one fuck for anything outside this room. I snarl at the feeling, trying to temper it back down, but my dick’s ruling my head again with her in my space. As always. Stupidly. By three I’m raging inside, desperately trying to remember the right thing to do. It’s gone, though. Lost in a fog of need and want.

She sits on the side of the pool again, legs quietly slipping into the water. Some part of me just wants to look at her there, imprint the memory before I go. So beautiful, too beautiful for her own good, and certainly for me. My scar seems to tighten up on me, making me rub at it in the hope of easing the ache. Another metaphor in my life. Scarred versus perfection. She is, too. Enough attitude that I’m interested in her fight, enough fragility that I care about her thoughts. When the fuck did that happen?

“So…” she says, watching me.

I smirk. I can’t help it. She’s never been one to wait for me to begin something. Always getting in my face, bringing the fight straight at me. I swim over to her, unable, or perhaps not caring enough to stay away any longer. For now, in here, we’re alone. I reach for her legs the second I can, lifting myself to stand so I can drag her down into the water. She grabs onto my shoulders at the force I use, legs automatically wrapping around my waist.

“I came here to talk,” she says breathlessly.

“No you didn’t. You came here to get me to fuck you again.” It’s worked. My fingers pull her closer to me, pushing her down slightly until she’s resting on my dick. “You don’t need a bikini to talk.”

Coy eyes and parted lips tell me everything I need to know. Talking isn’t worth shit, anyway. We both know this shouldn’t be happening. I certainly do. I’m lost, though. Desperate for one last time inside her.

“I thought…”

“Fuck thought.”

My mouth is on hers before she’s even tried to respond, savouring the taste I’ve starved myself of. She’s everything she was last time and more. Sweet as fuck, her body clawing at mine to get closer than we are. And this time I’m not stopping from going too far. She’ll feel all of me, remember it for the rest of her goddamned life. My hands tear at the strings on the bikini panties, gripping and ripping at them until they break. She gasps into my mouth, her head breaking away. I nip down her neck, pushing the top half of the bikini material out of the way so I can get at those nipples, and bite them until she screams. The second I latch onto one of them, she does. It’s loud enough that I smother her mouth to stop the sound, tearing at the nipple as I turn her away from me and lean her over the side.

My dick rears in my hand as I get it out and widen her legs. In, that’s all I want. As hard as I want. No foreplay. She came here to fuck; that’s what she’s getting. I reach in between her legs, the hand that was smothering her mouth brought round to hold her head in place on the tiles.

“Carter?” she mumbles, hands gripping the edge.

I’m not listening. Can’t. I just need to fuck her out of me, and then we can both get on with our lives. My fingers run through her, two of them sinking deep before I reach for my dick and angle in. She squirms and thrashes, her neck trying to move from where I’m holding it. It excites me more than I already am, reminding me of times on the boat, her pleas for me to go harder.

“Please, Carter…”

I surge into her at the sound of my name. Everything stills for a second as I hold onto her and watch the water slosh over her back. So deep. So fucking tight. I inhale a breath of my own, listening to her moan, and lean over to get in closer. Never wanted close before her, but it's all I damn well want now. All the way in and stay there. It makes me shunt in further, kicking her stance wider and angling her so I can get in deeper. Fuck. My vision blurs at the feel of it, the pressure around me.

“You wanna talk? Try it now,” I snap, pissed at her effect on me. I pull out and drive back in again severely, causing a yelp from her. "Where's the attitude gone, Fia?"

She doesn’t say a goddamn word. She whimpers beautifully, letting out more moans and groans. And that’s just what I want from her now—those sounds and the feel of her around me. I fuck in again, barely able to stop the load that wants to shoot out of me. No barrier this time. Nothing in the way. Everything in me aches to fill her, my legs shaking and body vibrating. My hand grabs for her pussy and my fingers press harshly against her flesh that I’m already too familiar with.

The pressure of her around me, the touch of her skin—it’s all too much.

I rage into her again, hips not giving a fuck if she’s ready for this kind of battery or not and let go of her head to push her closer to the edge she’s hanging onto. I hoist her to a better angle, so I can get in so deep it hurts her. I want that again, want her to hurt and not walk straight for days after this. That’s what I am, what I have always been regardless of whatever’s come over me since meeting her.

She pants and moans, and I watch her fingers whitening on the tiles, both hands trying to claw for purchase. I’m not helping this time, not giving her something to hold onto. I’m fucking, that’s all. Being me. I grit my teeth and grunt, slamming myself into her with as much power as I can. Tighter. Closer. To the point where there’s no room between us at all. She gets squashed against the side, her head turning to try kissing me, to make this something it isn't. I push her head away, not wanting to look at her or let her inside my head. I can't, won’t.

She wanted to fuck. We're fucking.

The sound and feel of her coming around my dick spurs me on to my own end. It’s rapid and rampant, not one part of me caring about pulling out of her. I forge in, over and over again, letting everything build uncontrollably as my head tips back. I should pull out. I know that, but I’m desperate to leave some of myself inside her, desperate to mark what’s mine.

“Carter!” she yells out.

That’s it. That one scream echoes around the space and I’m coming. My fingers tighten on her hip, gripping her back to me as my mind wishes this were something it isn’t. I lean forward, lips touching her back as I hold my breath through the beginning of it and enjoy the ride. I can feel it churning through me, my hips forcing the feeling faster and deeper to its final moment. Everything moulds and blends. The scent of her, the taste. Fuck. Perfect. Fucking perfection. My teeth dig in, needing a true taste of her again before whatever chivalry I have in me wakes the fuck up and rips my dick out of her.

Come pumps from me onto her back under the water, my hands holding her exactly where I need her so I can rub the last of it out. She wheezes and coughs out a breath, fingers loosening on the tiles as I release my teeth’s grip on her. One lick up her spine, one final taste, my forehead resting on her, and I back away into the water on unsteady legs to head for the steps and get my breath back. Done.

Over.

I tuck my dick away and stare over to her, watching and scowling as she looks at me, surprise in her eyes. Good. She could do with understanding what a heartless asshole I am. It’ll be easier for her that way, easier to get over whatever love she thinks she feels.

“This will never happen again,” I say, reaching for a towel. I dry my hair off as I walk by her to head for my clothes, then wipe it across my chest. My eyes turn away from her at the same time as I do, retracting all connection so I can say the last of it. “Get dressed, Sophia. Go back to your family. We're done. Over.”