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...
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I woke up to my blaring alarm and reached for it after a good few minutes of pondering over the purpose of life.
And when I didn't find the answer to that question, I simply turned my phone off and unwrapping the heavy arms around me, I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment or two before turning around.
Something tugged inside me as I stared at the sleeping man on the bed, knocked out cold. I could hear his heavy breathing, the rise and fall of his bare, muscular chest that had me transfixed with the tattoos it had and the veiny and muscular arms.
He mumbled something incoherent as he laid on his back, scratching his chest briefly before running his hand on the space beside him where I had slept.
Fumbling around the empty space, he sat up with a jolt and I watched with an amused smile how he looked around the empty space in confusion, his lips pulled into a confused pout before his eyes found mine and his shoulders relaxed, his eyes closing briefly as he let out a deep breath.
Was he actually worried about me leaving?
The thought made me think, and I didn't want to think about him or the things he did to set me on literal fire, because then I would like him and I didn't exactly want that. Right?
"Come back, butterfly." He rasped in his sleepy voice which I definitely did not swoon over as he patted the space beside him.
"No." I answered when his tired eyes flicked to mine and I now noticed the dark circles under them.
"And why not?" He asked bitterly when I sighed, getting up from my place.
"Because the lunch is in an half an hour. Get up," I looked him over once while his eyes lingered on my body, "Or stay here, your choice."
I grabbed my clothes and went to the bathroom to wash my face and freshen up before changing and then sat in front of the dresser in my baby blue-grey dress that had full puffy sleeves as I began to curl my hair a bit at the ends.
I didn't acknowledge the man going into the bathroom, putting on his clothes or coming back out as he stood behind me, running his hands through his hair.
The scent of his masculine cologne wafted over to me, and it took everything in me to not to turn my head and press my nose into his stomach to smell him better as I looked at myself in the mirror.
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