[Previously titled 𝗚𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲]
❝No, Ace. I can't do it," I sob.
"I know you can take more than that, sunshine, come on," he encourages, pummeling into me in fervent motions. "One more for daddy, yeah?" He coaxes in a gruffly voice...
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O L I V I A
Holy cow!
I gulp down breakfast, grab my bag, and check the clock. College started two weeks ago, and I have a test today worth twenty percent of my grade—and I'm late. I overslept after staying up until 2 am unpacking. Just as I'm about to leave, I realize I forgot my art homework and sketchbook, which are crucial for my grade. Shoot! I rush back to my room to get them.
I rush out the door, adjusting my bag, and sprint at the top of my lungs through the corridors. Outside, I run through the streets, checking my watch. As I briefly look down at my watch, I barely have time to inhale when my body collides with a mountain of muscles. I feel a strong grip on my arms, stopping me from falling, as I hear a low, raspy groan and my things scatter on the floor. Cursing, I hastily crouch down to pick them up.
"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry. I should have watched where I was going," I apologize.
As I pick up my stuff, the person in front of me crouches down to help. Embarrassed, I stand up to apologize, but I'm speechless when I meet his gaze, which seem to penetrate my very soul. His striking blue eyes captivate me more than his handsome face ever could. He's assuredly the most handsome man I've ever met.
His outfit is casual and his dark hair is a real mess, as if he recently woke up. Yet, they seem silk and soft. A sudden and creepy urge to rub my fingers through it hitches my insides.
"Watch where you're going," the man hisses.
His rough voice breaks my thoughts as he returns the rest of my belongings, which I grab with an awful nervousness. Our fingers brush, sending a jolt through my hand and up my arm, leaving me bewildered and confused. The man in front of me studies my reaction with intent eyes.
"Uh...y-yeah, sure. I'll keep that in mind for next time. Sorry again," I respond.
My gaze drops to my hand, the one that just experienced that bizarre surge of energy. What on earth was that?
"You okay?"
The man's oddly familiar voice asks again, sparking an inexplicable desire to hear it once more. His tone, less irritated now, brings me relief.
"Fuck, you're bleeding," he blurts out with concern, and I'm taken aback, not immediately understanding what he means.
But my perplexity is no longer long-lasting, and even shifts into shock the moment the man unanticipatedly tears a piece of fabric from his white t-shirt.
"Wow, wait, sir, what are you do—"
I break off mid-sentence, startled by the sudden cool and wet feeling at my nostrils. My heart sinks as I notice a red droplet falling onto the pristine paper of my homework.
"A la mierda...,"
I instantly raise and point my eyes skyward on instinct. I bring my free hand to my face to try to manage the bleeding which seems to get worse with every second but the man stops me.
