❝Book 1 in the 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 series
He spreads my folds wide, his hungry mouth latching onto my clit, sucking hard and licking expertly. My hips move on their own, riding his face as soft whimpers escape me.
Just when I think I can't take any more, he...
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P A R I S
The next morning, I wake up with a furious need to go for a run. I cried so much last night that I fell asleep in my clothes, and now my pillow's a mess, and my makeup is smeared, making me look like a ghost.
After a quick shower, I throw on a coffee brown sports bra and leggings, and head downstairs with Cielo following me. I make some oatmeal with banana and drink a lot of water, like my life depends on it.
As I'm finishing, Luciano barges into the kitchen, his presence filling the room instantly. I don't even look at him. Instead, I put my headphones in and blast music to avoid talking to him. After kissing Cielo goodbye, I head outside.
Just as I'm about to start, my eyes land on Luciano's car parked arrogantly in the driveway. It stands there, all polished and perfect, like everything in his life is under control, while I'm falling apart. It reminds me of last night and how angry I still am at him, how he always has the upper hand, always in fucking control.
My anger flares up again, and on impulse, I grab a small, sharp rock from the flowerbed. My hand moves before I can think, scratching the surface of his "precious" car, leaving a deep, jagged line along the side. It's a small thing, but it feels so fucking good, like I've finally gotten something back.
I know it's immature, but I don't care. He deserves it.
Tossing the rock aside, I take off running, finally feeling a bit lighter.
❀❀❀
Later in the afternoon, while I'm getting ready for my part-time job, the doorbell rings. I pause, mid-buckle of my boots, and head downstairs, curious. Peeking through the peephole, I see a man standing outside, holding a bouquet of flowers. I frown.
What the hell?
I crack the door open just enough to see him properly.
"Can I help you?"
"Good afternoon, miss," he greets, a polite smile on his face. "Are you Paris Collins?"
"Uh, yeah?" I answer, my brow furrowing and he extends the bouquet toward me.
"These are for you."
I blink, caught off guard.
"Wait, I didn't order any flowers."
"They're not from you," he clarifies. "They're from a... Mr. Luciano Russo."
My heart stumbles, skipping a beat at his name. Flustered, I thank him before shutting the door. I stand there for a moment, staring down at the bouquet, biting my lip as my emotions swirl. The flowers are beautiful-all my favorites.
I bring them closer to my face, inhaling the familiar, sweet fragrance. My heart starts hammering in my chest, my stomach doing those annoying little flips it always does when he's involved.
