My Pretend Romance in Sicily ✔ | 18+

dodici.

I swivelled carefully, laying myself out for him. My breathing was irregular, catching in my throat, but I stood my ground and tried sitting in ease.

"Sei così bellissima, you know..." (you're so beautiful) He commended, walking up to me. Along the way, he took the purple bowl. "So damn alluring."

Raffaele licked his pink lips, using his foot to push my legs open. I followed, heated. My knees parted, opening myself to him. He bent forward, set the bowl between my legs. It grazed against my sensitive spot, and my breath hitched completely, air clogging in my throat.

"E non so come cazzo mi liberero' di te, Coniglia." (And I don't know how the fuck I'm going to rid myself of you)

His fingers grazed my chin, raising my head back. Using the other hand, he brushed a curl away from my forehead, before tickling a line of his fingertip down the curve of my nose.

"Has it ever occurred to you just how bad you are for me?" He whispered. "How dangerous?"

I was panting, gulped my breaths down. "You've said so a couple times."

He chuckled roughly. "Sì, because it's true." He leaned forward, lips hanging on mine. "Non sono rimasto così concentrato su una persona prima. (I haven't stayed so focused on one person before) "Soprattutto data la mia situazione attuale." (Especially given my current situation.)

He forced his tongue between my lips, and I sighed. He let it dally, then wrenched it back, to my disappointment.

"The consequences of having you, Coniglietta, sono terribili." Raffaele stood straight again. "But I just can't stop myself, now can I?"

I could only stare at him, entirely enchanted.

He walked back, and situated himself on his own stool, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Tie your hair back for me, amore."

So I did, closing my scrunchie over my hair and holding them up in a messy half knot, slight curls falling down my face and over my shoulders. But the bun was secure, tied away from face and away from my body.

I arched my back, fixing my posture, and rested my hands on thighs.

"Sì, troppo bella." He murmured, lifting a pencil in his hand and going to work. "Move your head just like this." Raffaele led me, rotating his head, and I angled my own right, gaze fixed on the far corner of the room. "Perfect. You're so perfect."

This was unlike anything I had ever done. Unlike anything I had ever done with him. No matter how many instances Raffaele had seen me naked, right now, I still felt the most vulnerable. I was exposed, at the mercy of his gaze, on complete display for him as he scribbled my innocence onto paper, a sort of safekeeping for him.

But he calmed me down as he worked, made me feel more confident with affectionate words and reaffirming sentiments. I had become relaxed, letting him draw and paint me easily.

I don't know how much time had passed, but we had been here for a while. He'd finished the sketch, having moved on to painting now.

I popped a plum into my mouth, asking, "Have you ever had one of your Italian girlies fuck you?" The bowl shifted, so I hoisted it closer to cover my intimate area.

Raffaele's laugh came out gruff, and he shrugged, brushing another line of paint down the canvas. "Fuck me, or is it the other way around?" He sat up, threading a hand through his hair.

I shook my head, clearing my throat as I swallowed. "Fuck you. Dominate you." I giggled. "Top you."

"Top me?"