Yara |18+|

17

VICO

With Yara in the shower, it was hard to focus on my work.

I sat at my desk, mindlessly scrolling through endless schedules and strategies until it all morphed into one big mess. My head was with Yara—in that bathroom.

I couldn't think straight, let alone pretend to be working when all I wanted to do was have my second shower for the night. No—she probably wanted alone time. I leaned back on my chair, staring at the words and numbers littered across the screen.

She'd been in there for a while and I was running out of patience waiting for her. I tapped my fingers on the desk and pursed my lips, finding it hard to register anything happening on my laptop.

This is bad. Yara shouldn't be here if it hindered me from doing my work. At the same time, I couldn't help but think fuck work.

Three years of being in charge taught me nothing except nobody truly cared about anyone. And that I liked guns and expensive shit and liked when people followed my orders. I blew out a breath, dropping the pen I'd been holding for the sake of holding it.

I looked down at my knuckles, inspecting the damage and hoping none of it ruined the ink on my skin. Shrugging, I closed my laptop and pushed it away from me. I couldn't hear Yara anymore, and I assumed that she was getting dressed in the clothes I had laid out for her.

A few minutes later, she returned—dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt that rested on the top of her thighs. I would say I forgot how beautiful she was but I'd be lying. Never leaving my mind, it was hard to forget.

I turned to her, grinning at her fresh face and glowing skin. I know nothing about you, yet here you are because I want you to be here. Oh, and you nearly killed me. I smiled at the thought, realising how crazy I was for liking it.

Honestly, I wanted a rerun.

"You busy?" she asked, approaching me and I pushed my chair away from the desk to give her a little space.

I shook my head and patted my lap, inviting her to have a seat on the spot I wanted her the most.

She grinned, lifting one leg and sitting down in a straddle. I was surrounded by the smell of the soap she used, but underneath all of that was her. Just her. I was a man obsessed. I rested my hands on her hips, staring up at her while she stared at the gun resting on my desk. A silver Smith and Wesson.

She seemed interested in it and I stroked her hips, nodding my head towards it. "Pick it up."

Yara gazed at me, raising a brow. "You trust me enough to pick up your gun?"

"You wouldn't need a gun to kill me," I told her, slipping under her t-shirt to rest my hands on her bare skin instead. She was soft, and I squeezed her a little harder to feel her entirely.

If I could, I'd have her underneath my touch until she grew sick of me. Yara shrugged nonchalantly, silently agreeing and I watched her reach for my gun. If I could, I'd watch her the entire day too.

She picked it up, bringing it to her chest and inspecting it. Her hair curtained over the sides of her face as she looked down, and I was tempted to push it around her ear. I did, and Yara smiled that pretty smile of hers.

"You've shot one before?" I asked, resting one hand on her thigh. Of course she has.

"Yes," she told me, her voice barely above a whisper. "But not at anyone. I prefer knives."

She looked up at me. "Have you?"

"Shot a gun?" I asked, chuckling at her.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Shot someone in the head?"