Are you scared?

13. Bratty attitude (NSFW)

My heart was pounding in my chest so hard I thought it might break my ribcage. The sight of Francesco hovering over me with that pissed yet somehow turned-on expression made me grin like a maniac. Maybe I should've gone find that shrink sooner; that simple thought only confirmed itself when Francesco cursed in Italian again. Yet this time, it was different. Just moments ago it was just angry, maybe frustrated if I squinted my eyes hard enough, but this curse, the way it slipped his lips in that honeyed, rough tone, had me shiver in delight.

DELIGHT? Was I completely insane?! I shouldn't enjoy this! Or be turned on by this!

But when Francesco Grabbed my throat and pulled my face close to his, I found myself whimpering."You are asking for it, Lightning," he nearly growled, and my breath hitched. His tone was foreign; there were no traces of his previous anger, only simmering desire that caressed my skin like a feather. "Asking for what? If I remember, you were the one asking me to teach you," I purred, retorting like a snarky child. A brat, I admitted begrudgingly, but only to myself. How could I ever voice how I melted when Francesco's fingers tightened around my throat in a clear warning of what would happen if I dared to run my mouth any longer?

"Asking Francesco to fuck that bratty attitude out of you," Francesco hummed in a way a predator would try to intimidate its prey. The problem was that instead of feeling threatened, I felt my pants getting tighter around my crotch.

Shit, this is very bad, very, very bad, I thought a gulped while stubbornly holding eye contact. I couldn't let him know how much I wanted him to kiss me again... And more. Though with the way Francesco practically forced his place between my legs I had the feeling he knew very well about the effect his touch and words had on me. "Bratty attitude? Is that was we're calling it now? I would call it-" Before I could finish my smug monologue, Francesco pressed his index finger over my lips while still holding my throat. I felt my head spin as all the blood rushed south with that simple gesture. "Shut. Up," Francesco nearly spat at me, his words were sharp but oh god he looked so good while putting me in my place.

Of course, my place was on top, but maybe not always.

"Here's how it's going to go, McQueen," Francesco started in that same honeyed rough tone he used earlier which felt like a sensual touch right on my... "You will apologize, and you'll do it properly before Francesco has to force you," Francesco interrupted my train of thought and I smirked despite the presence of his index finger over my lips. "Force me how? You can't do anything to me," I said, trying to desperately ignore the way my cock twitched at the way the pad of his finger brushed against my lips with every word. "Can't do anything to you?" Francesco echoed my words and I knew I fucked up big time. "Does Lightning truly believe that?" Francesco asked and his brows quirked up in that irritating way he used to flirt with ladies after races. "Because Francesco has plenty of ideas on how to disprove that theory," the Italian whispered, his lips so close to mine that the only barrier between them was Francesco's finger. "For example..." I felt his free hand which had been pressed next to my head on the hood of the car move to the bulge in my pants. The lewd sound that he coaxed out of me by simply squeezing my erection shouldn't even be possible, yet here I was; red like the cover of my car with eyes wide and lips parted. "I could force Lightning on the very edge of pleasure and keep him there until he's nothing but a whimpering mess under me."

My throat went dry and I felt that familiar shiver run down my spine, making me arch against his palm which was teasingly placed over my erection without any sign of movement. "Cruel, bastard," I breathed out, but my words lacked the conviction. That bastard fucking knew it too since he smirked like he just won. I couldn't let him win so easily, my pride wouldn't let me. "And who said I'd let you touch me like that?" I challenged, trying to at least gain some kind of upper hand. However, Francesco laughed, laughed like he'd heard the funniest joke there was. "Who? Lightning, you're hard like a desperate whore in the palm of my hand. I doubt you are repulsed," Francesco purred with his Italian accent drawing out each word like a lustful groan and my hisp twicthed into his touch as if my body wanted to remind both of us I was achingly hard.