Bunny |18+|

Ch.39

Kiara

The muscles in my face twitched, my brows pulled together as sunshine prodded at my lids, eventually blinding me with red. A long groan left me and I finally gave up on sleep, opening my eyes wide enough for a slit of morning light to intrude me. It took a while but two seconds was all I really needed to find a rough inked hand on my flat stomach, a tatted forearm cradling my neck and a naked firm chest to my back.

A heavy breath whirled it's way through heated lips, barely grazing my shoulders.

Smoke. Sin. Winter.

No amount of words could describe how beautiful our dinner was last night. How warm I felt guzzling some of his wine down, and how fulfilled my body was with just the grace of his words against my ears. We didn't have sex, we didn't do anything like that, but if I could I'd relive that moment any day.

"And I'm all yours, bunny."

The memory of those words from Domenico stayed with me through both dessert and the movie night following after, as did the graceful touch of his eyes on mine. He wasn't looking at my outfit, nor body or curves when we finally sunk below the blankets.

He was looking at me.

Grey eyes to whiskey ones.

I'd suppressed it all throughout the night, but warmth churned in my body the second I awoke from my hazy sleep. In simple terms, boiling pressure beneath the surface always finds its way to escape.

This morning, I woke up horny.

My body stilled and I blinked, hearing the gentle tones of his breathing, and feeling the warmth that hit my neck like the honey rays of the sun. The hand on my stomach eventually felt like weighted stones after a while, not at all helping with my situation.

I groaned softly, turning my head to the side just to find his face, half buried into the pillow, the other caressed by the golden glow. Thick lashes stilled, and with the help of the sun I traced every little detail on his face—the chiseled bone, the dark stubble and every little spec of his thick, sharp brows. Handsome face.

I wanted it buried between my legs—my mess on his chin and his tongue beneath my clit.

Horrid, grimy and absolutely fucking filthy.

It wasn't just his features that boiled my lust, but the intimacy of his touch—protective and gentle. We've reached a point where the gang tattoos on his skin and his gun in my nightstand weren't threats of Ndrangheta, rather promises of safety and security.

I willed my way out of his grasp, powering a deep, frustrated groan out of him given the way his fingers curled against my flesh as I pulled away, "Where the fuck are you going?" He asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

My pussy just drooled.

"Brushing my teeth," I fixed my panties, wiggling them on when I felt the soaking fabric against my inner thighs. Biting my lip, I walked to the bathroom and got my routine over and done with. Opening my mirror to take my pill, I heard the bed creak beneath a heavy weight before the springs recoiled, footprints making its way towards me.

Since Domenico coming over was starting to become such a habit I already had a draw full of necessities ready for him, with his toothbrush leaned against mine in the ceramic cup by the sink and his own cologne next to mine on my drawer.