𝘈𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮í𝘰

Bonus chapter 4.

2 months later.

Him.

I walked in the house, sighing in relief. 

Today was fucking wild: meetings went on without stopping as I kept switching from one business to another 2. My head is pounding and I want nothing, but my wife's embrace.

I went upstairs, feeling actually glad that bambinos are with grandparents and uncles, having sleep-over, and twins are here, fast asleep in their crib. As I opened the door, I was greeted with absolutely nothing, unlike all other days, and that made me sigh. 

She is mad at me. I love her crazily a lot, but her mood has been so damn confusing: one minute she wants strawberries with Nutella and the other she wants me to fuck her in every position existing. I cannot seem to keep up with how quickly her mood changes. 

"Bambina?"- I called for her, taking off my jacket. 

Nothing. I didn't expect anything different, though.

I walked in the closet and smirked at the sexy sight: my gorgeous, sexy wife had black lace on as my white shirt loosely shields her delicate frame. My smirk grew deeper when I saw how adorably she is pouting and glaring at me. 

I approached her from behind and wrapped my arms around her tiny waist, holding her tight to myself, being utterly unaffected by her pushing me away. I kissed her pretty neck and trailed my hands to the done buttons of the shirt, unbuttoning them. 

"No, leave me alone."- said cutely and frustratedly Camila, pouting winsomely. 

"Not until you tell me what's wrong, amore mio."- I stated calmly, kissing her neck up and down, undoing button by button until there were no more left. 

"Nothing, now leave me alone."- she spoke, pushing my hands away from her silky skin. 

I complied, not pushing her, and she walked in the bedroom. As I got ready for bed, I began recalling what I did that might have upset her, but nothing came to my mind: massive bouquet of fresh, white peonies made her extra hyper and happy; waffles for breakfast - her favourite; she hang out with Gretchen, getting manicure together; she went shopping and likes everything she purchased, which I know for certain because I was texting with her regularly, checking on my beloved. Not even 1 slip up came to my mind.

Her.

Am I mad? Sì. Am I mad at Leo? Not at all. Am I going to explain why I am angry? No, because I am mad. Are my pregnancy moods annoying the hell out of me? Sì, very much at that. 

I got in bed, pouting and frustrated, and pouted even more when Leonardo walked in, looking so damn delicious, hot, desirable and dreamy. 

Midnight black, velvety, shiny, voluminous hair is messy and so attractive. Razor-sharp features are adorned by perfect stubble that I am sucker for. Dewy, clear, soft and smooth skin is beautiful. 

Vast shoulders; broad and strapping back; rugged, powerful and tattooed arms; finely chiselled chest with my name inked right where his heart is; delectable, mouth-watering, hard, honed to perfection 8 pack; lean and attractive waist; deep and veiny V-line; appealing, masculine hips and long, toned legs. Black boxers, nothing else. 

Do I want him? Sì. Am I going to tell him that? No. Why? Because I am mad. 

I sighed in annoyance and turned on my side, my back facing him, and pulled covers higher on myself, not liking how moody this pregnancy is. I have never acted this way and I feel horrible for making my beyond patient, loving, tender, thoughtful, attentive, caring and understanding husband deal with my needy, very confusing moods. Nevertheless, I cannot help them, so it looks like I am going to be pouting for who knows how long.