𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

She scans my room, her gaze sweeping over the surroundings until it locks onto mine. "What is this?" Ruth snaps, thrusting the picture I had just sent her into view. Those three words are like music to my ears, enough to elicit a chuckle from deep within me. There's something undeniably enticing about her when she's angry.

"I'm being serious, Marco. Stop teasing me. It pisses me off," she snaps impatiently, her frustration palpable in the air.

I hop off my bed and step closer to her, meeting her gaze. Her brown eyes, usually so captivating, are now filled with anger, their intensity almost startling. I can't help but notice a flicker of fury dancing within them, as if flames are simmering just beneath the surface, plotting my demise.

I find myself captivated by her presence, unable to tear my gaze away from her radiant beauty. Every curve of her body, every line of her face, exudes an irresistible allure that leaves me breathless. As she stands before me, confusion etched into her features, I feel a surge of boldness welling up inside me.

"You liked a photo from six years ago, Ruth," I begin, my voice low and measured. "If you wanted to admire me that much, you could have just come to see me." The words hang in the air between us, laced with a hint of playful teasing, yet tinged with a deeper undercurrent of longing.

"First of all, ew," she retorts, a hint of disdain coloring her tone. "And second, Marco Russo, you are going to be my husband. So, scrolling back a few years on your page is purely me trying to find information about you. Don't flatter yourself." Her words are sharp, cutting through the tension with a mix of exasperation and determination.

"I don't need to flatter myself, you've already done that for me," I reply, a playful wink accompanying my words.

She scoffs and casts a critical eye over me, shamelessly assessing my appearance. The flush creeping up her cheeks betrays a hint of embarrassment, yet I can't decipher the thoughts swirling behind those mesmerizing eyes.

"Trust me I don't flatter you, you disgust me."

As we lock eyes, the tension between us crackles with an intensity that's almost palpable. In that moment, I find myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the desire to take a leap of faith and the fear of potential rejection. But then, a surge of reckless abandon courses through me, drowning out the voice of doubt in my mind.

"That's a lie, love," I declare, the words escaping my lips before I can second-guess myself. Without hesitation, I lean in and press my lips against hers, igniting a firestorm of passion that courses through every fiber of my being. For a fleeting moment, time stands still as we share a kiss filled with longing and desire.

But as quickly as it began, it's over. She pulls away, leaving me bewildered and craving more. What the fuck, why? The question hangs in the air between us, unanswered and unsettling. Anger simmers beneath the surface of my confusion, fueled by the unfamiliar sting of rejection. I've never been turned down by a girl before, and the realization only serves to fuel my desire for her even more.

As I gaze at her, frustration and confusion etched into every line of my face, I can't help but wonder what's going through her mind. She seems visibly uncomfortable, perhaps even embarrassed by the intensity of our encounter. But if anyone should feel ashamed, it's me. After all, she's only been here for two days, and yet my infatuation with her has already spiraled out of control. She drives me to the brink of madness with her enigmatic presence, leaving me grappling with emotions I never thought possible.

Though our lips barely brushed for a fleeting moment, she leaves an indelible impression on me. It's as if she's something altogether different, something intoxicatingly irresistible. Like a potent drug, her presence lingers in my mind long after our brief encounter, leaving me craving more with an insatiable hunger that I can't seem to quell.