Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"They say all good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you."
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Getting kissed by Harlan Marchetti on my neck was not on today's agenda or to-do list. Neither was moaning as his tongue flicked across my pulse, making me jolt in his arms.
I gasped when he bit on the delicate skin, moaned when he licked it and tangled my fingers in his hair when he took over like the dominant man he was.
And surprisingly, I didn't mind his dominance. I rather enjoyed it.
A squeeze on my butt made me yelp when a grunt left his lips after I accidentally ground myself on his not so discreet erection.
Holy fudge he's big.
But the way he kissed, my god, I could get addicted to the way his lips trailed wet kisses along the length of my neck and I could only imagine what properly kissing him would be like.
The kiss wasn't sweet, no. It was rough, demanding, controlling, possessive and everything else Harlan Marchetti was.
And truth was, I knew it wouldn't be gentle or sweet like Myles' was. He was everything Myles wasn't. And here I am, comparing him to my ex boyfriend while I have someone else's mouth latched onto my skin.
How pathetic.
If common sense wasn't a requirement, I probably would've let him kiss me for god knows how long but unfortunately for the both of us, I needed to pull away. So I pushed him away with all the strength I could muster with my hands on his rock hard chest.
I pulled away forcefully, looking down at the tattoos peeking out of his shirt as I tried to catch my breath and was surprised when I noticed him breathing normally even though he wa the one doing all the work.
This guy sure has stamina.
He touched his head to mine, placing one of his hands on top of mine on his chest and squeezing it once, daring me to look up into his eyes.
And so I did, gulping at the lust swirling in those red orbs along with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Possession? Adoration? I had no idea.
"Finalmente ti ho." (I finally have you) He whispered, his thick Italian accent making my legs clench together.
My eyes drifted to his slightly pink lips and could only imagine what they did to my neck as I averted my gaze just as quick.
What does one do after kissing someone?
"What is my sweet little butterfly thinking about?" His deep voice broke me out of my chain of thoughts while the music played in the background.
"Just what I'm supposed to do now." I mumbled in embarrassment and saw the corner of his lips twist upwards slightly, a stark contrast to his emotionless expression.
