"Aiden..." I shake my head, eyes fixed anywhere but the gorgeous man next to me.
His hand grips my chin tightly, just enough to make me avert my eyes to his.
"You know you want this as much as I fucking do. I want you to be mine. I want to be the...
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I fall off of his naked body, landing on my back beside him, panting heavily. My chest heaves up and down as I breath hastily after coming down from another mind blowing orgasm, but I'm sure he can't see it inside my darkly lit room. That would be so embarrassing! He would think of me as an eighty year old lady with bad stamina instead of a read head, eighteen year old.
I shake of my weird thoughts. This always happens after angry sex with him.
"Stai bene, bella?" His attractively, raspy voice whispers as he pulls me into his side with his muscled arm. (You okay, beautiful?)
I give him a curt nod and look up at my white ceiling. Another fight. Another disagreement. Another day that I know I'll cry myself to sleep, because I know that the previous argument isn't over. I feel it inside me, my body is still full of tension.
So is the atmosphere around us.
We both hoped that everything would be over if he fucked me, consumed by rage and passion. But we both knew that it wouldn't be over so easily.
The feelings I feel when he's away from me, when he's with me, aren't feelings I should feel for my fuck body.
We got together once. That didn't last long. I caught some girl kissing him.
He wasn't kissing her back. I knew that. I was there, but the argue to start a fight didn't leave my body.
That night we broke up. And I couldn't look into the eyes of my best friend for days.
I felt guilty. I felt sad. But when we had sex some days after, I was fine again.
Until he told me that I couldn't be more than just a fuck.
Actually, we still fuck. On regular basis, so I couldn't be more than several fucks.
Yup. That's the right way to describe it.
Friends. Lovers. Strangers. Lovers and fuck buddies. That has been the cycle of the relationship we've had. Still have.
"I want you to understand why you can't come." He whispers, trailing his finger down the side of my arm.
"I can't," I respond back quietly and turn my head to the side as I watch his face.
Straight nose, slightly stubbled jaw. Big eyes, identical to Avery's. Perfectly shaped eyebrows, pink, plump lips, high cheekbones.
"This is not a game Summer. It's the mafia. I can't have you by my side at the ball." His voice is harsh as he stands up from the bed, pulling his black boxers on quickly. I steady myself on my elbows and look at him with my mouth agape. No my mouth is not agape because of the rippling muscles, his body is built of.
