Breakfast on Tuesday

21. Attached girl

Sex in the shower was not something I ever fantasized about. Mostly because the bathroom in my too expensive student room was smaller than a coffin. There was only one sink and right next to it was the toilet seat. Opposite the toilet was a small square, the shower.

Dante's shower was huge and he didn't hesitate to use every surface that was available to us. He ravished me on the shiny countertop and then took me standing up against a full-body mirror that looked like it was built into the wall.

"Cariño, you should be nicer to your friends", he said as he thrust deeply into me from behind. "I heard you shouting from the kitchen. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Eli deserved it."

I moaned and my lashes lowered when he urged me to widen my stance. My legs parted and I leaned more toward the mirror, my fingerprints smudging the otherwise spotless surface. My new position caused him to sink deeper inside of me, to touch parts of me I didn't think he could reach.

Like my heart.

Woah! Pump the brakes.

Way too soon, right?

I had completely forgotten about the transformative power of sex; the power it had to fuck you up emotionally; to screw - pun intended - with a girl's heart.

Dante's hand left my throat and pulled on my hair. "What do you deserve, Carla?"

"Everything that you're doing to me right now." I opened my eyes and his intense gaze collided with my sensual one in the mirror. His irises appeared greener in the reflecting glass, chiller somehow.

Cold.

Colder than the tiles surrounding us.

I broke eye contact when I noticed that all this was ever going to be for Dante was sex. There were no feelings involved on his side.

And here I was getting attached, clinging to Dante like a sloth on a branch with no intention of moving anytime soon even though the branch I was holding on to would soon break, and I would evidently end up on the ground with a broken neck.

It seemed like I was having a hilarious case of the Virgin Attachment Syndrome, a.k.a VAS.

Dante had talked about intimacy after sex like it was a guarantee but that wasn't always the case. He was here, inside me, touching me, kissing me, but there was nothing intimate about it.

He spanked my butt and then withdrew from me, leaving the impression of his erection tattooed on my walls like a brand. My pussy was never going to be the same again after this.

Without warning, he lifted me and carried me to the shower when my legs refused to cooperate. He joined me in the open space and turned on the water, his arousal thick and proud as he pressed his body against my ass.

The fine spray trickled down my head and face, drenching my hair until my curls were fully defined.

"Do you have a blowdryer?" I asked.

"Anna has one. You can borrow it." He spun me around and I wished he hadn't. I just wanted sex and looking into his eyes was anything but that.

It was impossible to look into his eyes and not feel something. To not want more. Because damn, I could see myself waking up to that angular face and those perfect lips tomorrow and the day after that... Perfect lips that were kissing me now, tongue sliding to part my lips and then plunging forward to poison me with the unforgettable taste of him.

Eyes that looked at me now, heat blazing from their core when he finally tore his lips from mine, my breasts his next target. He cupped them before his mouth descended first on one and then the other, his tongue flicking my nipple in between all the suckling and laving that was happening.