{•Florencio Series: #5•}
Corvina has always been the odd one out. Her whole life has been filled with staying in her room and hypersensitivity. She's not one of many words, she's a listener. She observes until she has you down to a T. But some a...
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{•Unedited•} ~Vina's POV~
As much as I enjoyed the get away with Idris and being alone, I want to get back home and see the kids. Within the matter of a few short months I've developed motherly instincts over both Ez and Cass, and now with the hormones controlling my emotions it makes me a little sad to be away from them. I surprised the other night when Idris was on the phone with Ez and she asked to talk to me. Our communication with Cass has mostly been through Val since whenever we've suggested calling Cass is doing something but I doubt that's the case, although, I don't know what the actual reasoning can be. "Can you clip it for me?" I ask Idris, turning around so the clasp of my bra is facing him. The sound of his boots scuff against the wooden floor is the only noise in the room other than the air coming down from the vent. He clasps it tightly and turns me towards him. Taking a step back, the corner of his mouth curves upward into a suggestive smirk. "Stand against that wall," he tells me, pointing against the wall beside the window. I shift back and forth with my hands behind my back, looking down at myself in confusion. I still need to finish getting dressed, only in black bra and panties with sheer black tights to go under my dress since there's a small breeze today. He grabs my bag that's on the floor and fishes for the small makeup bag. I didn't bring much, most of what I have in there is useless. I didn't feel well enough to get myself ready most days during this trip sadly. Still though, Idris and I had a good time. He whips out the red lipstick I have but never use; I keep it in there for my mom when we're out places. "How do I put this on your stomach?" He asks. "Why would you do that?" I ask, completely baffled by the foolish idea. He's never the brightest crayon in the box, but what? "To take pictures of you. I want pictures of you when you're pregnant...like maternity photos but not professional...at all," he says. "So how? Like kisses." I grab the lipstick from his hand and take off the cap. Twisting it up, I take a step closer to him and stand on my tiptoes, although, it's still not enough. "Bend down," I tell him. He does as told without question to my height. His green eyes widen in surprised as the creamy lipstick smears over his bottom lip. He tries jerking away from I grab his shoulder. "This is how! I can't kiss my own stomach." "I don't want fucking lipstick on!" He explains, trying to wipe his mouth but I block his hand. "You're the one who said you wanted pictures! Now man up and put the lipstick on!" I scold him. Clenching his jaw, he grumbles as he lets me continue to neatly apply the lipstick to his lips. I can't help but giggle at the sight of him with makeup. He would make a pretty girl, the bright red compliments his bright eyes and tan skin. "Now kiss my stomach." "I can't believe I'm wearing lipstick right now. This I can imagine from your dad, after a few beers and too many episodes of RuPaul's Drag Race, but not me," he complains, kneeling down in front of me. Placing his hands on my hips he starts placing red kisses all over my tummy. Afterwards, he wastes no time aggressively wiping his mouth off with his arm, the red pigment smearing over the black ink of his tattoos. He grabs my hands and places them on my stomach. Taking a step back he takes his phone out and sits on the bed. I look around awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable being taken pictures of. Glancing down, my fingers caress my lower abdomen. The ends of my black hair stop at the top of my growing stomach. He instructs me to pop my hip out a little which makes me laugh, finding it funny how serious he's taking this. "You're so gorgeous," he says, glancing up at me with a grin. My face heats up even more and I start towards him, picking his arm up from his lap and sitting myself on his thigh. Throwing my arm behind his broad shoulders my fingers trace the outline of the eagle wing in his right shoulder blade. Looking at his phone he goes to his gallery and swipes through the pictures he took. As uncomfortable as I felt, they came out looking otherwise. He got a picture at the perfect moment when I flipped my hair to the side and my knee is popped out a tad, overlapping my left leg.
