Forbidden Fruit •Timothee Chalamet (Stepbrother)

56.Losing control

(Warning:sexual content,smut,extreme scenarios,multiple partners.)
*if you are sensitive to reading about darker and extreme scenarios, I would strongly advise reading this chapter with caution.*

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I snuffle pathetically from my place under the covers, feeling miserable. "I can't believe I have a cold. This is so lame." I whine as Timothée comes in from of his meetings.

The soft sunlight streams through the villa window, it's warm glow contrasting how crappy I feel. Timothée looks exhausted, but still handsome in his suit.

"Still feeling shitty?" He asks, as he loosens his tie, tossing it on the table. "I'm just really congested." I admit, feeling frustrated.

"This sucks, I'm in Italy with you, and instead of exploring, I'm stuck in bed." I sigh in annoyance.

Timothée approaches me, placing his his head on my forehead to check for a fever. "No fever." He says, sounding relieved. "Get dressed in something comfortable, and let's go get you some soup. There's a good restaurant around the corner. "He smiles as he tries to pull me out of bed.

I grumble something under my breath but reluctantly start getting out of my bed.

"Don't be so grumpy, baby." He laughs as he pulls me closer by the back of my waist, planting a kiss on my shoulder.

"You're going to get sick." I protest, trying to wiggle away. But his lips find my neck, and I can feel his warm breath against my skin.

"I think it's too late for that now." He murmurs against my skin, his lips still on my neck. "Come here.Give me all your cooties." He teases, his voice playful.

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We stroll down the streets of northern Italy, his hand tightly interlocked with mine.The old cobblestones are beneath our feet as the afternoon sun hits our faces. It's surreal how quickly things have changed between us, how we've somehow managed to return to where we once were. Only now we're older, wiser, and more complicated.

I catch myself sneaking glances at Timothée. I find my eyes drawn to him, drinking him in. His profile, his jawline, his tousled curls gently dancing in the breeze. The thought dawns on me that I find him even more physically attractive than I did back in high school. I wonder if I took his looks for granted back then, or if I just never fully appreciated his appeal. I had always dated attractive guys, but Timothée is something different entirely. I could look at him forever.

We step into the cozy restaurant, "Thank you." Timothée says to an older lady, holding a plastic container of soup. He catches my confused look and grins. "I placed the order when you were getting dressed." I nod, feeling fuzzy by his thoughtfulness.

"I thought you could use some fresh air, but we could take the soup back and eat in bed while watching movies, like we used to.

"That sounds nice."I say quietly, my voice raspy from the cold. We start walking back to the villa, one hand holding mine, and the other carrying the bag of soup.

"I'm sorry I've been working so much." He apologizes, squeezing my hand. "But tonight, It will be just us."

"You don't have to apologize. I know we're here for work, at the end of the day." I smile at him faintly.

We pass a group of girls who are casually smoking. One of them notices Timothée and sends him a wink, causing me to wince. It seems like a reoccurring issue – these women lose any sense of dignity the moment the lay eyes on him.Timothée remains aloof, shrugging it off as a common occurrence for him. The nonchalance irks me further. It hints a pattern of behavior. He's used to girls fawning over him.