Freddie Bianchi and Juliette Dupont are polar opposites.
She's hot, he's cold. She makes jokes, he takes them to heart. He's only an inch taller than her, and she makes fun of him ever chance she gets.
He calls her a dumb blonde, and albeit she's he...
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His hands held onto my waist in a painful grip, his head thrown back as his top lip held onto his bottom lip, biting on it as he groaned from deep in his throat. He tilted his head down, looking at where we were connected with his brows together.
"Fuck," he drew out in a rasped voice. His large, calloused hand gripped handful of the hair at the back of my head, pulling my head back as he sat straighter, lathering my throat in sloppy kisses.
"Shit," I gasped as he thrusted up, "Fuck, I'm gonna come,"
"Yeah?" he whispered, his breath fanning against the wetness on my throat. "Look at me when you come, wanna see your eyes roll back,"
He released my hair and my head fell forward, my nails were digging into his chest, and then I smiled, "Bold of you to assume you can make my eyes roll back,"
His laugh was deep and lazy, and then he held my hopping hips still against him, and started thrusting up. Hard and fast, his eyes latched onto mine, watching me roll my eyes back and shatter to nothing in his hands.
"Good girl, come for me," He said, but his voice was wispy and breathless and it sent goose bumps over my skin. "Fuck, fuck-" his groan was loud and so deep and throaty. His thrusts turned sloppy, and his chest rose and fell quickly. It was a sight to behold.
I fell against him, and he put one hand on my head and the other below the oversized shirt that belonged to him. He rubbed my back, slowly, up and down, up and down and it made me want to cry.
We have started a routine over the last week.
It was either me at his place, or him at mine. We'd only stay for a minimal of two days, spend those two days fucking and bickering, and then we'd kiss goodbye and do it all over again.
It was just sex, I had to remind myself everytime we did it. It was just sex to him, which meant it was just sex to me. It had to be. It could never be more, even though I was painfully in love with him. And it was in times like these that I wondered if maybe, just a little, he liked me too.
I parted my lips to say something, but the ringing of my cellphone cut me off before I could.
"No," He immediately said, but I huffed out a laugh and kissed his jaw before I stood on shaky legs. I walked to the kitchen from the Livingroom, hearing his phone go off too. I didn't think anything off it, and watched him pull up his jeans as he walked towards it.
I swiped my thumb over the screen and held it to my ear.
"Fifteen minutes, Jones. Headquarters."
I felt the coldest, hardest chill shoot up my spine at the monotone voice.
A voice I hadn't heard in two years.
The tune of the call ending filled my ear, and I watched as Freddie tossed his phone onto the table with a frustrated sigh, and then he ran his hands over his face and put them on his hips. I lowered my phone and put it next to me, and then we stood there, awkwardly watching the other.
