Bunny |18+|

Ch.23

Kiara

I had the best sleep ever.

Staying sleep deprived for two days was worth it if it meant Domenico got to pound me so insanely hard I'd collapse and pass out 15 minutes after our first fuck. It was brutal, it was sinful and wicked in every twisted way.

But it was blissful.

And I loved it.

The sun woke me up, slowly stirring me out of my sleep once I felt the delicate caress of a morning winter's warmth.

The windows were frosted, but being in the firm arms of a man who promised a life time of spoils only heated my core. We were both still naked, tucked beneath the covers of my weighted blanket with nothing but the embrace of eachother's body to keep us warm.

He was right behind me, spooning me as I greedily hogged his warmth. Domenico's breath fanned the back of my neck—a soft touch that only made me drowsier the longer I stayed still.

To believe the man who broke into my bedroom two weeks ago is now sleeping peacefully with his arms wrapped around my body was a change that I could get used to very quick.

I turned slowly, looking over and expecting to see his stunning features as he slept, but instead I met his hooded eyes as he laid on his side, looking down at me. I blinked, feeling my heart skip a beat. "Jesus, you scared me," I frowned, "how long have you been awake?"

Domenico smiled softly, letting out a soft moan before scooting closer to share a pillow, hugging my waist to his body. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes and you had nothing better to do other than watch me sleep?" I fisted my yawn, turning over completely so my chest faced his. "Should I be worried that you're planning to kidnap me someday?"

"So what if I am?" He raised his brows, sitting up on his side to trace the outline of my torso, waist and hips. Rough hands, gentle touch. "You're making it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Because it is bad, Mr Guerra." I smiled coyly, playing with the chilling silver dogtag that laid against his chest. "In case you didn't know, today's society considers kidnapping as a crime."

"How unfortunate," he muttered, hopefully jokingly. I shook my head in disbelief, tracing my gaze down and along the various different tattoos that were displayed on his body. I always wanted a tattoo, and Domenico's image was a gorgeous piece of candy to lap at.

My hand moved down, caressing the ink that laid against his ribs. It was a paragraph in Italian, but seeing the word famiglia I had a good idea that it was probably linked to something regarding Ndrangheta. "Did this hurt?" I looked up at him.

"Barely," he said, letting out a wince once I poked him in the ribs.

I continued to scour his ink, mapping out his torso which he had no problem showing. There was a deadly goat tattoo on his back, roses and guns decorating his arms and several other paragraphs—one on his right pec and forearm. Once I traced my hand to his bicep my finger grazed a scar that was sliced across the muscle. "What happened here?" I asked curiously.

"It's stupid," he let out a baritone chuckle. "When my parents were out for the day back when we were kids, Camillo and I thought it'd be fun to spar using sticks that we sharpened in our backyard," sitting up, he tightened the muscle, showing the torn flesh that healed over time. "He sliced me here, and for pay back I sliced his lip."