Chapter 11

                                    

                                          
"What the fúck are you doing?" It was a whisper, but a harsh, rage-filled one, laced with his usual huskiness. I found him beyond alluring, but that tone, suddenly, has scared me. 
                          
And aroused me at the same time. He could convey anger in a really daunting way when he wanted to-that seemed to be a fact that I was constantly coming across. 
                          
"You don't like it, Enzo?" I breathed, cocking my head to the side as I gazed at him, wide-eyed and innocent, while my fingers moved in a tantalizingly slow motion against his crotch. My fingers slid back and fourth, just as he did to me. 
                          
Like when he tore his finger away and left me hanging, breathless, cheeks tainted pink and my heart pounding with anger and sadness. Bítch.
                          
"Remember when you did this to me?" I asked softly, voicing my thoughts. Slowly, I lifted my right leg and draped it ever so casually over his left- I could feel the muscles in his thighs flexing. His body stiffened immediately, and the sudden jerking moment in his cóck did not go unnoticed.
                          
"Remember when you touched me?" I purred, my fingers moving in tiny circular movements against him. "You already cheated, sir. There's no going back now." I said, not expecting a reply, since he seemed to be too anxious to respond. His eyes kept flickering back and fourth between my leg, my face and his díck, which was straining against his jeans. That didn't look comfortable. 
                          
"What's the matter?" I teased. "Looks like you need to release yourself."
                          
Before I could pipe another word, Mr. Rossi forcefully grabbed my hand and slammed it back down on my leg. 
                          
"That's enough," he growled. "Not now. Not ever. My wife is across from me. My daughter is at this table with me. What kind of parent could raise such an adulterous girl?" 
                          
My eyebrows scrunched together, anger evident in my voice. "Are you fúcking kidding me? I saw you looking at me from across the room at the party yesterday. Don't you dare try to play innocent. You touched my pússy. You stuck your finger inside of me. I'm not delusional."
                          
His mouth opened and closed a few times, his hands clenching firmly around the silverware in his grasp. 
                          
After a long pause, he spoke again. "Can't you see I don't want you? Why won't you take no for an answer?"
                          
I smiled mockingly at him. "Don't start that shít with me. If you didn't truly want me, your cóck wouldn't be hard right now. I won't take no for an answer because I know it's a lie."
                          
He turned away angrily and continued to eat his pancakes. I sat there, my hand splayed on my leg, empty. I didn't want to hate him- all I ever wanted was to fúck him. 
                          
But now? His mind doesn't want me, but his body clearly does. And that statement itself angered me beyond belief.
                          
The rest of the breakfast was uneventful. My mind fluttered from angry thought to angry thought, each one making my hand twitch, as if I physically wanted to punch him for not wanting me. I sat there like a child who couldn't get her way, a frown etched onto my face. 
                          
My goal seemed to be altered. I was to be fúcked by him, and I was to prove to him that all men are the same. All men, including this one who claims to be "loyal." I didn't care about the repercussions that could follow with my actions. I was simply going to do it the hard way, whether or not he liked it. 
                          
All men want sex- it's an undeniable part of them, a way to function. It is a male instinct, a need, to look at a girl and have their eyes drawn to their breasts or their bottom. 
                          
As far as I know, all males have másturbated before. Clearly, masturbation for a man is to replicate what their cóck would feel like if it were to slide into a woman's vágina. 
                          
What, exactly, is the problem? He wants a release, and I want to provide him that, while getting myself off at the same time. It's a win-win, and quite frankly, it's also a rather kind favor I'd be participating in. 
                          
I learned that myself after my father fúcked a hooker, clad in garters and lace and everything my mother would have despised. I saw my own father come inside of her.
                          
All men are the same, right? My father is supposed to be a role-model to me. And by seeing that at such a young age, I've learned that sex is natural. My father didn't love her- he wanted a release. And that's exactly what Mr. Rossi wants. A release. He just doesn't see it as natural. 
                          
The girls began to clean up and head back upstairs, some gathering their suitcases and preparing to leave. I stayed back with Teresa to help her clean up. 
                          
Mr. Rossi and Angelica were speaking quietly, but as I was gathering the plates, Teresa's voice intervened. 
                          
"Daddy?" She asked. "Can Madelyn come with us to grandmas this year?"
                          
A thick silence polluted the room, and I stopped in my tracks, my hands gripping the plates, a bead of sweat forming on my forehead. I would be pissed if I couldn't go. 
                          
That's actually an understatement. To go for weeks without seeing him and still lacking the chance to fúck him would drive me to the brink of madness. 
                          
"Of course, honey-"
                          
"Wait a second," Mr. Rossi's voice interrupted his wife. "She doesn't want to spend her Christmas with her family?" 
                          
Another silence followed, which I assumed was of Teresa shrugging or shaking her head to indicate that she didn't know. "All I know is that she's lonely on Christmas. We have a lot of fun, don't you think it'd be a really kind gesture to do that for her?" 
                          
"I think it would be awesome. Enzo, what do you think?" Angelica said, her annoyingly graceful voice soothing me. At this moment, for I assure you it is rare, I liked her. She was so oblivious- she hadn't a clue of my objective.
                          
Another silence, another loud thump of my heart. "I guess so." 
                          
And then, with excitement and euphoria clogging my veins, I dropped the plates, a loud crash clattering, pieces littering the floor. 
                          
"Oh fúck-"
                          
Teresa skipped over to me, squeals escaping her lips, while, albeit my consuming fire of anger and arousal for Mr. Rossi, and the shock from dropping the plates, I let out a squeal as well. In a way, I was excited, and not only because of him. 
                          
"I'm sorry," I apologized, a relaxed laugh escaping. "I got too excited when he said I could go."
                          
Teresa looked down at the mess. "It's no problem, my dad will clean it up," she said, smiling at me. "I'm really excited."
                          
"Me too. He'll have a lot to clean up." 
                          
He'll have a lot to clean up, alright. Especially after he fúcks me, where his ejaculatión will be scattered across my inner thighs and all over my breasts.
                          
You're in for one hell of a ride, Mr. Rossi.