pinning it. I stick my ass out and shove violently against his hardening dick, but he seems to like that. He groans and chuckles. “Do you need to be punished?” he whispers.
God help me, I’m so wet I could collapse. I know he wants to spank me.
“You’re an animal.”
“Is that a yes?”
How messed up is this, really? On a scale of one to ten? How fucked is it that, despite everything, my pussy is crying out for his spanking?
“Yes,” I whisper, barely audible.
“Louder,” he commands. “Say it louder.”
“Yes!”
Thwack! The flesh-on-flesh sound fills the room. He doesn’t do it too hard, but this isn’t a playful little love tap, either. I fall forward and get a mouthful of sheet. He spanks me twice more. The beautiful sting of it moves down my thighs. My center burns, fueling my anger with a strange new mixture of lust and rage that is all for Carlo.
I spin, catching his wrist when he tries again. Then I pounce on top of him, wrapping my legs around his waist. Our lips smear at each other in crazy chaos and he ends up against the wall.
I reach down for his pants. He reaches down for my shorts and peels them away. I don’t know anything except the scent of his sweat and the feel of his body against mine. We’re both sweaty. We both want it.
I grab the thick base of him and clamber on top again. I’m not being gentle. I tear gouges down his neck with my fingernails.
“Fuck me, now,” I rasp in his ear. “Hard and fast. And then get the fuck out.”
He carries me to the bed, falling on top of me and sliding into me in one motion. I wind my hips, find the perfect angle, and then grab his face and turn it so that he’s not looking at me. He smirks, making a point of looking elsewhere as his thrusts get quicker, deeper, more savage.
I close my legs around him, pussy getting tight. My orgasm flares. It hits me with the sudden force of a gunshot.
I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and feel the hard press of his flesh. A choked moan falls out of my open mouth. The sheets stick to my back.
For long, long moments, I am lost.
When I come to again, Carlo is groaning from deep in his throat. His eyes are locked on me, blue-green, and for some reason I don’t push him away. I clasp his face as he finishes with one last brutal thrust.
But as soon as we’re done, I push him off and leap to my feet, grabbing for my shorts.
I’m waiting for him to taunt me. He could easily say: I thought you were never going to let me kiss you again, let alone fuck you.
But, mercifully, he says nothing, just quietly collects his clothes. It’s only when he’s at the door that he speaks. “Get a grip, Hazel, or there will be consequences.”
My retort is immediate. “Go fuck yourself, Carlo, or there will be consequences.”
He turns, half-smiling, and gives a subtle tilt of his head. “Why would I need to do that when I’ve got you to do it for me?”
With that, he leaves.
Asshole.
After a few days, Carlo is basically forced to give me a bit of leeway. Because I just won’t quit.
I trash my room twice more. Once, I even bust up the air-conditioning unit and try to crawl through it like I’m Tom Cruise’s stunt double. Another time, I unscrew the safety lock on the window with a butter knife from my evening meal, open the window all the way, and scale down the gutter pipe. That actually works, getting me into the garden, but Carlo wasn’t lying about the walls
Eventually, Carlo comes to me, looking grim. I’m glad he doesn’t try to kiss me, but also annoyed, too, because I’ve been dreaming of the handsome asshole every night and the idea that he can forget me more easily than I can forget him pisses me off.
“What do you want?” he asks me.
“For you to let me go,” I tell him.
He sighs, shaking his head. “Hazel, not until—”
“The war with the Irish is over. You’re one step above a broken record now.”
“What else?” he asks.
“I want to be able to continue my classes.” He’d let me email my boss, Mr. Jeffries, with an explanation of my sudden absence. I told him I’m away dealing with an unforeseen emergency. Maybe that isn’t far from the truth.