Leader Of The Mafia {h.s}

80

"It's not nice to stare, sweet pea." His British accent that I knew all to well rang in my ears, making me gasp and shake my head as I had exited heaven and came back down to earth.

"I wasn't staring." I smirked being phony, putting my hand on the staircase railing and escalating down the stairs with trembling fingers against the wooden poles.

"Mhm." He bit his lower pierced lip, and I rested my head on his working shoulder. He was writing something down on a paper, his back curved out and one hand rested on the counter top and the other hand moving and scribbling with a pen on the paper.

"What are you writing?" I groaned, as I pulled my body closer to his warm one, his skin immediately making me heat up and I wasn't so cold anymore.

"Won't tell you unless you tell me what you write about in that damn journal." He smugly smirked, making me look up at him and shake my head at his nonsense.

"I just write about how much I love you." I smiled, this felt like being in high school all over again. Writing about boys in your diary and then going on and telling your friends about it. Or flirting with your crush and trying to act like you're so innocent and not at all frisky. Frisky wasn't proper back then, because boys like innocent. That's how it was when I was in high school at least.

"You like writing about me?" He smirked, putting the clicker of the pen in his mouth, making me want to melt on the floor and praise him about how he's so effortlessly hot.

"What's not to write about?" I asked, as he grabbed me by his boxers that I wore and pulled me closer to him chest to chest, making me yelp slightly at the sudden action.

"Go on Bree, say how you feel about me." He whispered in my ear, as his fingers trailed inside the tank top that belonged to him but I was wearing.

"I- I- you're sexy.." I murmured, becoming flustered as he palmed my breast in his grabby, ring clad, tattooed, hand. It was also accented with chipped black polish on the fingernails, making his hands all the more hot in general.

"Mhm, go on." He hummed in my ear, yearning for me to continue the showering of compliments.

I tilted my head back at the feeling of his hands and I was becoming breathless, my palms fell back on the counter for support.

"Your ego reall-really likes this, doesn't it?" I panted, closing my eyes on the brink.

"You're the only ones input I care about, so go on. Tell me what you love about me." He started to tear the V of the tank top open, revealing my cleavage and he swirled his pointy and long tongue around my hard nipples.

"Your hair, the curls. Mhm, your eyes." I stammered, I knew everything I loved about him, but it was hard to simply put into words for which speaking them wouldn't express them enough.

"Go on." He seductively whispered in my ear, going back to harshly palming my breast once more making me moan at the friction and heat arousing in Harry's boxers that I'm wearing.

"Your tattoos, especially the stripper and the broke-broken heart with the arrow flying through it." I groaned holding onto his shoulders, as my stomach was starting to catch fluttering butterflies.

"Good enough." He smiled, pulling his hand back from my breast and leaving me standing there speechless. He took my hands off of his shoulders, and let go of the band of the boxers.

"Why..?" I stammered, biting my lip. He got me so worked up and for what?

"Well, I tricked you into telling me what you write about in your journal of course." He smirked with a flirtatious wink, going back and writing down on the paper.