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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The first thing that woke me up was the dip in the bed next to me lifting, and before I could even fully comprehend, I had grabbed onto a warm, thick forearm.
"Stay," I whispered hoarsely, and was rewarded with a soft laugh, one that made my heart clench painfully. A chastised kiss was pressed against my forehead, "I'll be back," he said, his voice rough with sleep. I groaned in protest as he pried his arm away from me and finally, I opened my eyes.
I caught him in the midst of pulling a pair of grey sweats over his hips, and he cocked his head to the side, a lovely, lazy smile on his face. His muscles flexed beautiful as he tied the two strings into a knot before bending down.
His lips caught mine in a warm, seductive kiss. "Good morning, my love," he said against my mouth. "Morning," my arms snaked around his neck but he slipped out from my hold, his smiled widening brilliantly.
"Coffee. And my phones going off downstairs. Stay here, hm? And take off this fucking shirt,"
I laughed softly, "But it's cold,"
His large, warm hand moved underneath the covers and palmed the naked skin on my thigh, "I'll warm you up when I get back,"
My heart shot down to my heels at the teasing tilt in his rosy lips, his orange brown eyes glinting and sleepy, and he looked so perfect. He kissed me again before pushing himself upwards, his figure deliciously moving as he takes his hands through his wild curls.
His wide back filled my vision as I watched him leave the room, the sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips. I rolled onto my stomach because looking at him walk away from me was too beautiful and it practically sent a whirlpool of moisture to the spot between my thighs.
The alarm clock on the nightstand read eight-thirty and my stomach grumbled at me, and I realized I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. I rolled off the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I walked towards the stairs. Once I started walking down them, my legs nearly gave out from under me.
It was the simplicity of what he was doing that truly got me.
He was smoking a cigarette whilst standing over the stove, frying something I didn't bother looking at. One hand was working with the pan, the other was holding onto the cigarette, and glasses sat on top of his nose.
Glasses.
Oh, lord.
"Hi,"
He looked at me from over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tilting up until he was smirking. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed, roohi?" he asked once he turned back to the food, and took an inhale of his cigarette before tipping it.
"Mhm," I hummed as I strolled to his side, peering at the pancakes. "But when have I ever listened to you?"
His laugh was short but teasing, "Sit. I made you tea,"
