Italian Coffee House [BWWM]

- C h a p t e r 17 -

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Here's the seventeenth installation.

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- Ang

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Niccolo's Chocolate House

Chapter 17

*Dari*

I opened my eyes a few seconds before everything came flooding back, I am in Niccolò's room. In his bed. 

Last night, I went to my room with the intention of sleeping right away, only nothing went according to plan. 

For three seemingly endless hours, I studied the lines of the ceiling in hopes that I would fall asleep from the little activity to no avail. Even when I closed my eyes, it proved futile because I became more aware of the chill that lingered immovable. It was about nine when I'd finally decided to take a leap of faith, wondering if, maybe, he would turn me away. Or worse, say something embarrassing. 

I'd made my way across the darkened hall to his room, in hesitation. To my surprise, he was very accommodating. In fact, he gave up his bed, suggesting that I slept there while he settled against the softness of the sublime rug that covered his floors. It was incredibly sweet of him to do that for me, though I anticipated sleeping next to him. Everything about his room rang with masculinity, especially the theme which included maroons, browns and pale greys. It summed up his personality brick for brick.

Oddly enough, I felt safe tucked between his sheets. I propped myself up with the aid of my forearms to see he was still asleep down there. I allowed my eyes to feast on the mesmerizing contours of his back, feeling the overwhelming urge to drag my hands over him. 

I would be a fool not to appreciate the sex appeal this man emitted with a gorgeous piece of art like that. Just the sight of him was lethal, enough to stir a yearning low in my pelvic area. I'd never felt anything like it before though I wasn't brave enough to admit any of that to him, despite this appearance of this tender side of him, even I appreciated.

I slowly climbed out of bed, nearly releasing an audible moan as my feet met the fluffy pale grey surface of the rug, giving myself the opportunity to fully appreciate its texture which was akin to walking on clouds. 

I moved stealthily towards him before lowering myself to my knees, sitting on the heels of my feet paralleled to his back to study him better. Niccolò's head rested against his pale grey pillow and above his arm which was under the pillow itself. His back slanting to the left where his ribs met the surface of the rug. His firm round butt jutting out due to his stationary position and I near chuckled at the urge I felt to smack it. Imagine me smacking a man's butt. Ridiculous, wasn't it? I allowed my eyes to descend lower over the length of his long powerful legs which made my heart race for some reason.

There was this intense inexplicable, irresistible magnetism between us, regardless of how much I tried to deny its existence or potency, and I couldn't be rid of it. 

I lowered my body to the rug about an arms-length away from his gorgeous body. I simply studied him for a bit, imagining my hands tracing over his muscle, his flesh. He must have been a heavy sleeper because the alarm on the night-stand rang off startling me in the process but he remained unshaken, never once stirring sleeping soundlessly. I wondered if his resistance to his alarm also extended to touch. There was only one way to test my theory. Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately for me.