Dirty Look - Dark Desires

He sits on the corner of his desk, one leg extended up along the top of it in a position which opens his crotch. I try to keep my eyes on his face, and not the taut fabric tent which hides the hardness I felt pressed against me last night.

“Yesterday evening did not go well,” he says in the understatement of the year.

“Yeah, no fucking kidding.”

“Stop cursing, Mia... you sound like…”

“You?” I finish his sentence. “I sound like you. You swear all the time. But it’s one rule for you and one for me, isn't it. You’re a hypocrite, and a bootlicker. And…”

“Mia,” he growls. “If anyone else spoke to me the way you are right now, I’d flay them alive. You know that, don't you?”

“Do I know you're violent? Sure. I know that. Do you expect me to be impressed? Scared? What? I've been around violent men my whole life, and contrary to your ideas about me, Enzo, I do know what this world is like. I don't want to be a part of it anymore.”

He shakes his head. "It's not that easy, Mia. You can't just go to college, hook up with a drug dealer and be free. You have Russo blood. That comes with responsibilities."

“My father already gave me the speech you're giving me," I tell him. "What do you want from me, Enzo?”

I know in my gut that this isn’t fair. This man in front of me holds all the cards. He's twice my age. He knows what being in love is like. He knows what making love is like. I don’t know either of those things, but I know I was on the precipice of both before he shoved me back out of the way.

I want to be taken seriously. I want to be a woman of the world. I want to be desired, pursued, respected. But Enzo makes me feel like the baby I am. I hate that. I hate that right now, my lower lip is starting to quiver, and my eyes are filling with those horrible tears that come from the fact he hurt my feelings. He made me all vulnerable, and he left me to go to sleep all alone, and now I don't know if I’ll ever be able to trust him again. We can’t do this. That’s what he said. He took everything away from me in four words.

“Mia…"

I pull away from him when he reaches for me. His embrace would have meant something yesterday, but not now. I am my father’s daughter, and once you fail me, I don't fucking forget it.Chapter 10Enzo

She’s hurt.

I should be determined to keep her safe no matter what, and if that means she gets hurt in the process, it’s an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence.

But she trusted me. She let her guard down and trusted me, and I fucked that up.

“Come here,” I say gently. I hurt her. I fucked this up. It’s on me to make it better. I want to hold her, tell her I’m sorry, bring her back to my apartment and cook her dinner and make slow, sweet love to her until the sun rises.

But what I want, and what has to happen, are two very different things.

“Actually, no,” she says, her eyes cold and hard. But I’ve seen those eyes grow soft. I’ve seen the way she bites her lip shyly, and fiddles with her hair, how her voice softens when she’s excited and how eager she is for someone to take care of her, to listen to her, to take her seriously.

“Mia,” I say, my tone laced with warning this time, and for one split second, it gets her attention. She needs me to take charge, even if she fights within herself every time.

When she gets to her feet and marches toward the door I follow her.

I’m not going to let her go. She won’t control this situation, because I have a fucking job to do, and goddammit, I’m going to do it. If she leaves now, who knows what kind of shit she’ll get into. Drugs with Davo, drinking with her friends, something reckless and thoughtless so she feels that rush of excitement again.

The same rush I could give her over my knee. Under my body. Tied to my bedposts.

Fuck.

“Mia, stop.”

She turns and looks at me over her shoulder, stares at my hand on her arm, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “We can’t do this,” she says, throwing my words back at me like a javelin.

I release her.

She opens the door, and she’s gone.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I slam my fist on my desk, pencils and paperclips scattering like dice on a craps table. She might walk away, but she can’t hide from me. I’ve still got my trackers on her. I pull out my screen, glaring at it. A text from Emilio.