Donna

11

I FOLLOW HER SWAYING ASS AS SHE LEADS ME BY MY TIE TO the bedroom. I'm still somewhat covered in blood, but I can tell from that little spark in her eyes, that she likes it.

It shows I'm dangerous, that I'm bad, that I may be worse than she is. It shows I can protect her.

Now, I'm not a misogynistic prick, she can take care of herself, and I'd kill her like I would any man—

Maybe not exactly—

Point is, it's engrained in us, in most of nature that the male protects. Not that females can't. Not that she's not stronger than him. But it's natural.

And because she has abandonment issues, it's worse for her. But she's also paranoid as f**k, so she'll always strive to better, stronger, faster, smarter.

And most times she'll succeed. Her little hands that I know could crush the bones in mine, fingers my tie, glancing at me coyly.

When I raise an uninterested brow, she makes quick work of my tie and rips my shirt open. Buttons fly everywhere, and I glare down at her.

I tap her dress, and she gets rid of it. Grabbing her ass I haul her onto me, her legs crossed around my waist automatically, arms slinging on my shoulders. Watching me as I walk her to the bed.

“You're a crazy b***h aren't you?”

“You love it.”

“I didn't ask you that.”

Throwing her down, I grab her ankle drag her to the edge of the bed.

Then I slide her panties down, prop her legs up, kneel.

“Keep your legs up, don't move.”

I glare at her, examining her expression.

When I deem she knows I'm serious, I put my mouth on her cunt. She quivers, but I don't mind. As long as she doesn't put them down, I don't care.

So sweet... She tastes so sweet, I start eating her in earnest, I didn't know I was hungry until I tasted her.

Maybe I should've.

TWO WEEKS PASSED, PUTTING US AT THE MIDDLE OF DECEMBER. Christmas decorations were in full spring, everyone was pretending to jolly will hating each other's guts.

A lot happened in those two weeks. I got my goal; I knew her now. Probably better than herself. I don't mean stupid s**t like her favorite color, food, or movie (Black, Tiramisu, The Godfather), I mean important s**t.

Important enough to take her down. While the first world countries were celebrating, a holiday that has nothing to do with Christ but is called Christmas, a war started.

Between Roksana and I.

And consequently, between the Russians and Italians.

This war was complicated though, because we both kept sleeping with the enemy.

Around this time, I regretted f*****g her, and I formed a hatred for her. I never liked her, but I never really hated her either.

Until now.