How could you love somebody like him?

It was a true mystery to Giovanni. You never said it, never tried to make a move on him to take your relationship further than the casual fling it was.

But he could see it.

In your eyes, when he pinned you down late at night and you stared up at him. He could see the love in your eyes, the desire for tenderness, public shows of affection, the desire to be emotionally vulnerable.

It was a little sick how Giovanni enjoyed taking that soft yearning from your eyes with every rough touch, every whispered word, and twisting it into something ugly.

And when he was done he had to admit himself: he wouldn’t mind showing you gentle love. In another life maybe he would have.

But in this one Giovanni knew no amount of tenderness could replace the satisfaction he felt watching you come down from your high to him already ignoring you to 'attend to business'.

Giovanni was a sick man. He never denied that. He was not raised to love, he believed he just simply couldn't.

And now as you lay on his chest in bed, after having the wildest sex of your life, he sits on his phone. You stare up at him, and he never even glances down.

But he knew you would be back each and every time, like an addict. And he would give it to you.

Enough to keep you hooked, not enough to satisfy you.