We always wake up before 8AM, work out religiously, follow a healthy diet, and my husband still insists that we should also jog together because we're apparently not extra enough.
When we come back home from jogging today, Dario and I are both sweaty, and as we're looking at each other in all that sweat I get the sense that we want the same thing. It helps that Dario insisted on running behind me the entire time and I was wearing his favourite scrunch leggings.
I've been doing butt exercises every day for like three years and it kills him.
Plus, physical exertion arouses him.
That's all it takes, a look. I know what he needs. We'll have to make it quick, but the best part of waking up early is all the free time we have before needing to be at work.
Dario strips sultrily, slowly revealing inch by inch of his gorgeous physique. Oh, I love this part: mentally cataloguing him. First there's that face. All high cheekbones and sexy scruff and pouting lips, with the most mesmerizing eyes. Then his watermelon shoulders. Solid pecs the size of dinner plates. Furry, rock-hard, washboard abs. So nice to trace with my fingers, especially around his bellybutton. Dick like a battering ram capped with a warrior helmet. That's my treasure. Lengthy. Heavy. Silky. It makes me drool. Not even when I was homeless did I look at a delicious meal so hungrily. Not even Nutella gets me so excited. Balls like two eggs in a furry sac. A butt so firm you could bounce a quarter off it. I know because I've tried that, successfully. Legs roped in muscle from his tree trunk thighs to his solid, shapely calves. Big, powerful legs that can knock an opponent cold.
I can't even breathe properly when he gets naked. My brain becomes this jumbled mass of lusty thoughts and fried synapses, and my heart races out of control, and my lungs close for business and - and it's bad.
All I want to do in these moments is fall onto my back, spread my legs and be bred by him. The lusty stupor has me too weak to do anything more than lay there limply. And I love it. Being used by him, bringing him pleasure, taking him to the heights of ecstasy with my body - that is my power over him. It's a remarkable thing.
"You look like you're gonna kill me," I whisper, awed.
"Somebody better call the police on me," he smirks.
It's rushed. We're suddenly kissing on the couch, clumsily unfastening and unsnapping and pulling off our clothes with our flushed faces pressed together. His hands are in my curls, which he loves, tugging them and raking through them with abandon.
Dario pushes me back on the couch and I land with a bounce. I look up at him with wide eyes as he drapes himself over me, gathering my wrists in his hands and pinning my arms over my head. He kisses me hard, body undulating on top of me while my arms strain and he shoves them back into position over my head.
"Oh my God..." It's so hard to breathe because he's so hot and his skin feels so good and I love how he kisses me so hungrily. "Papi..."
He is going absolutely ham on me.
I love when the lights go out and the beast comes out to play. Dario has more strength in his pinky than than most people have in their entire bodies. But he's got no outlet for it. He's not a gladiator, soldier or warrior, and he can't fight perps because he'd lose his job. So it just sits there, all that power pent up: raw and potent. But it comes out at night when it's just us, and it's a marvellous thing to witness.
He tries to be a gentleman. But when all is said and done, he's still a Roman. His passions are fierce and insatiable.
"So pretty I could lose my fuckin' mind," he growls. His mouth devours every part of me it can reach with a voracious appetite. Fingernails squeezing. Biting. Licking. Rubbing. Stroking. Slapping. Kneading.
As soon as we get upstairs, I practically throw myself onto his dick.
"Oh, don't bite, don't bite!" Dario hisses. "Ciel... what the f- ahhh."
He can hardly pull me off of him. I probably look like a mangy squirrel glomming on to his acorns from his vantage point. Dario maneuvers me so I'm laying on my back, head propped on a pillow with him straddling my shoulders, kneeling and thrusting into my mouth, my hands on his thighs.
I groan with delight, which makes him groan too. I wish I could capture his flavour and make a chewing gum or something so I could always have him in my mouth. My fingernails dig into his hot, hard thighs, below which his muscles ripple with each thrust.
Then I find myself on my feet, hands up and palms spread against the closet wall with the hangers shoved aside. Always keeping it fresh.
"Please, sir..."
I lose track of time when he worms his way into me inch by inch. But when I feel his bushy pubes on my skin, I know he's home.
"That was the first word you ever said to me: sir. I nearly fell over."
I can only mewl in response.
"Does power turn you on?" Dario nips my earlobe. Standing in front of him with my back to his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck.
"Stupid questions turn me off..."
"Don't call me stupid."
"Make me stop calling you stupid."
I'm now standing on one foot, the other propped up against the wall at hip-level while Dario thrusts into me from behind with steadying hands on my waist.
"Oh, I've got at least seventy-three ways to make you act right."
"Ugh, I'm going to need you to try every one..."
There are a lot.
First it's with me facedown on elbows and knees, him kneeling behind me with one hand pressed on my back and the other gripping my ass.
Then with me on hands and knees and him on his feet crouched behind me, with one of Dario's hands on my shoulder and the other on my hip.
This is followed by me bent over the bed with him slamming into me from behind, both hands on my ankles for leverage.
Then he moves us up onto the bed, lifts my legs over his shoulders, arms on the backs of my thighs, and folds me like a pretzel.
It's amazing. I've never felt anything like this before.
"Look at you, babe." Dario gasps with pleasure. "I could snap you like a toothpick and yet you're able to take all of me. Absolutely magnificent."
I like that this position brings our faces close together. I love watching his eyes. It's my favourite movie.
I cry from pleasure first, pain second.
"I love you," I breathe. Dario snuffles into my neck and whispers a hundred I love yous, each punctuated by a kiss. "Ah... You're splitting me apart."
"Take it. I know you can do it." Dario always looks at me like he's amazed.
His fingers trail gently, very slowly, through my curls, then touch my eyelashes and my bottom lip. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs.
A smile slowly splits my face and turns into a cheeky grin.
"I know."
He drills me harder, and it's bare and possessive. My lips wrap around his name over and over again. "Dario, Dario, Dario..."
I'm really vocal and I can't help it. I really love how his balls feel flopping against me, his skin grazing mine. I love feeling him. But I've been worried lately about the neighbours actually calling the police on us, which would be excruciatingly awkward for Dario. Which is why I don't object when Dario shoves my underwear in my mouth. I moan, eyes rolling back in my head, and spill into my hand.
Dario is not doing a much better job keeping quiet himself. But I love it. Hearing him moan because of me is the sexiest sound ever.
Dario goes back to licking and nipping my neck. I cry again and have to turn and bury my face in the pillow.
Even on the other side of my high, it's so amazing and primal because I love and trust him so completely.
When he finishes, he slaps my ass, rolls over, pulls me onto him with his legs and kisses me passionately. It's a delicate kiss. All I feel is love. Warmth. Happiness. Connection. Peace. Endorphins flood in.
When we've cooled down, we're left panting and giggling in the aftermath.
"Ohmygod..." Dario's exhilarated and breathless, smiling with his eyes closed.
I lay on my stomach and Dario lays on his back.
He opens his eyes and smiles at me.
"You're honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispers. His fingers absently twirl my curls. "If this was a few thousand years ago, the Romans would've erected statues of you everywhere, like they did of that boy, Antinous."
"So random."
Dario grins widely.
"You're very, very cute."
"Shut up," I say sheepishly.
"And you talk cutely, too."
"Just be glad I'm talking to you."
"Oh, I am. I remember when you wouldn't even tell me your name."
"I wrote you love letters, though."
"Yeah, I know. Still have them..."
I was a selective mute. At least, that's what I later learned it was called. For me, communication was dependant on trust. It was a process, but Dario didn't try to get me to talk. He just showed me how trustworthy he is, making me feel safe around him. He's wonderful and kind and patient. I'm just lucky that derelicts and delinquents were his type.
After a few moments, he gets up to fetch a washcloth and clean me up.
"You were really pent up."
"Yeah, had a bit of a...stressful encounter at the gym the other day. Speaking of, you didn't put Julian up to anything stupid, did you?"
Absolutely not. My advice to Julian to mend his relationship with Dario was simple. Go up behind Dario in the gym, slap him on the back and say, "looking small today, cupcake."
Am I trying to get my friend killed? No, I just needed my husband wired up, because it's good for our sex life.
"No," I smile sweetly.
Dario rolls his eyes, lips pinching a smile.
"I thought you might've."
I get up and pad across the floor to fix my hair in the mirror.
"I'm a pretty boy, I'm stunning," I murmur under my breath. "I still don't understand why you don't like him. There's no reason to be jealous."
"Jealous? Please. I would have to be really insecure to be jealous of Julian."
"Look, Julian never-"
"Julian this, Julian that. Maybe he should've put a ring on it, hmm?"
Dario gruffly pulls his pants on and leaves the room.
Weirdo. My husband is such a weirdo.
I follow him onto the couch and sit directly on his lap.
"Happily ever after to us, I guess."
Dario sighs and leans his head against my chest.
"I'm...sorry," he grits out with effort. "I was jealous for no good reason. I...I fucked up."
"That's it? You're not gonna fight to be right?" That's boring.
He wraps his arms around my waist.
"I'd rather fight for our marriage. For us to be okay."
"Don't be cute, Dario."
"I'm serious. That's a much bigger, better purpose, don't you think?"
Nougat suddenly comes bounding towards us and leaps onto Dario as if to say, he's mine now. It's my turn.
"You know, my parents and most other successful marriages I know of come from a completely different generation," Dario continues. "Ours and the younger ones...this is microwave era. Easy come, easy go. Marriages don't last anymore."
"I'm gonna love you forever, though." I lean over and gently kiss his cheek. "I loved you even before I met you."
Dario and I feed and play with Nougat for a bit before heading off to work, with plans to meet up and go to the gym around lunchtime.
But it seems that whenever we most need a break, things start going wrong.
I'm in the car with him on our way out to the gym, but the calls are piling in today. He has to do the stuff of his nightmares and actually decline to respond to them.
"Be advised I'm backed up with a hostage situation," he tells dispatch. "You can show me en route with extended ETA."
Dario is grim but calm and composed as ever. He took his double dose of pre-workout and protein, his shirt is straining to cover his tense shoulders like something from Baby Gap, and he's practically bending his steering wheel in anticipation because he is not happy about being forced to skip leg day. He's ready to rumble and I would ten out of ten not commit a crime in his jurisdiction today.
Tagging along with Dario is usually fun. I have recordings on my phone of surprised civilians holding seminars in the street about how hot Dario is and how they'd gladly show him their license, registration, genitals, anything. But this isn't one of those days.
"I'm nervous. How're you so brave," I remark.
"I'm supposed to lead all those men. How can I do that if I'm scared?"
"If they can see what I see, they'll follow you anywhere and do anything for you."
Dario gives me a fleeting smile and goes back to talking in his radio.
"I'm on my way. Set up a perimeter, I want a bird in the air ASAP."
We pull up to the scene and he calls for a strategic huddle with the other responding officers.
I watch from the car as he stands in the centre of the circle with his thumbs in his belt loops and his legs staggered, barking things at the officers arrayed around him in a demanding tone. His default expression is one of somber consternation. Malignant dislike. When he barks at you, you stand to attention. Men turn to Dario; they trust him, listen to him, fear him, obey him, love him, worship him, want to please him. I know the feeling. Without saying anything, he says: do what I said 'cause I'm Daddy.
He's talking about four main access points: the main entrance, the loading dock, the rooftop and the emergency exit. It's over when Dario dismisses everyone with an: "Alright, let's move."
I manage to make out that they have an emergency hostage situation at the largest jewelry store in the city, with a crew holding employees captive after the alarm was sounded and their heist was interrupted. Dario and a select few officers will be initiating communication with them while other men are tasked with surrounding the building.
"Tactical team, set up surveillance and tell me what's going on in there. Okay, move out!"
Uniformed men slip with practiced ease into the driver's seats of their cruisers in one fluid motion. Engines rev. Cars begin to peel out, circling around the back of the building.
Dario slips back into the car.
"The car has a callout," he explains. "I'd prefer not to knock on the doors like a peasant in case they don't answer the phone. Especially when we know they're armed."
A hostage negotiator is dialling the landline but no one's picking up. Apparently, everyone inside is masked and police have no idea who's behind the raid and who's a hostage.
"Gentlemen, pick up the phone; we'd like to speak with you," Dario intones patiently through the PA. Despite the tone, he looks scary. He's like Tachanka from my favourite video game. He is not in the mood and someone's gonna get an efficacious dose of ass-beating if he has to get out of the car and go in there.
When the heist leader finally picks up, I can't make out his words, but I can hear his hostility from the car. Dario rushes to the hostage negotiator's side.
"Why exactly do you think that I can't come in there?" Dario returns after some indecipherable babble from the subject on the other end of the line.
There's some returning babble. Meanwhile, the army of men in black are creeping stealthily up to the loading dock. It looks like they're drilling a hole to get a scope with a camera inside. They're so well-organized and disciplined; with a single word from Dario, they would abandon their positions and abort the entire operation with unquestioning obedience. My heart is beating fast as I start walking.
"Okay," Dario replies in an almost bored tone. "But I think we can come in there." I don't know if he's keeping his voice calm to diffuse the situation or because he's actually done this too many times. "...but, sir, I wouldn't want to send my 40 Mike Grenade through those lovely ornate doors, sir. The city would not like that."
More babble. For a while, nothing seems to be happening. I hover around Dario, worrying my lip. We've lost communication with the inside and have no way of knowing what the crew is planning.
A uniformed man rushes to Dario's side and says something in a low voice.
"That's a negative on entry." Dario has his men stand down. For the sake of the civilian hostages, he's holding off on an invasion. "Ciel, car please."
Ha. I never do as I'm told and he knows it.
I stare back at him defiantly.
"Sir," another officer approaches Dario. "If I may make a humble suggestion..."
"What is it, Paulo," Dario snips.
"Y-you've watched the movies, sir... If they disguised the hostages just like the thieves, then they could stall indefinitely, knowing we couldn't fire. Maybe we should just let them go, for the sake of the hostages. Give them the escape vehicle they want. We can give up now, get them later-"
"Give up... Give up?" Dario's face darkens, jaw taut. "Paulo, when do you think I give the order to give up?"
"I... sir, I-"
"Go ahead, guess," Dario seethes.
"W-well, I guess...when-"
"When I get that special tinkling feeling at the back of my left testicle. A couple clowns in masks aren't doing it for my testicle. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"Y-yessir."
"Do we have a problem?"
"N-no, sir."
"Better, Paulo. Better..." Dario mutters, walking off. "Give up, my hole."
I think about half an hour of silence goes by before someone cries out that an unmasked individual has passed by one of the probe cameras the intelligence team installed. Dario orders the facial recognition team to play back the footage and improve the image. Apparently, the guy's face in the frame is pretty clear, and the team immediately starts searching Interpol. Dario laughs and says we got him.
Meanwhile, officers have been exploring several windows they could make access through. But Dario is reluctant to open fire even when his men report clear visuals and request permission. I sometimes hear him mumbling in his sleep about hitting an innocent civilian by mistake. It's not something he wants to do, ever.
"Reinforced windows and metal door, sarge," one officer reports grimly.
Dario blinks.
"I'm gonna be honest, I was not expecting that. Holy shit, of course. Fuck me, then, boys. You get the ram. Hold windows."
"Okay, I'm coming in," Dario alerts the men inside. "I just want to talk to you face to face."
"Toys?" Reagan pops the hood of his cruiser.
"Oh, fuck yes. For sure." Dario pulls out a ballistic shield. I'm so nervous, but also excited to be watching Dario in his element.
When he passes by me, I grab his sleeve.
"Dario, wait." He come close and I reach out to him. "I love you." Cupping his face, I kiss his lips gently. "Please be careful."
"I'm always careful. Especially because of you."
He gets back on the phone with the men inside.
"Okay, sir. You aren't coming out so I'm coming in there... Yes, I am... Yes, actually, I'm gonna handle everybody in there."
This is what they were afraid of. He called their bluff. They're not prepared for a full-on invasion by law enforcement and agree to release the hostages on the condition that the cops exfiltrate. Dario is happy to comply.
My eyes fill with water and a single tear slips out when I see everyone emerge, getting to safety. It's a really remarkable sight. But as soon as they're off the scene, Dario's entire demeanour changes. He visibly relaxes and his professionalism slips.
"Come on out with your hands up," he barks, taser trained on a masked man's chest through the open door. There are armoured trucks on standby and the men are all armed, so I'm prepared for the worst.
"No, thanks, Tarzan, we're in charge here so we'll do what we please," comes the returning shout.
"What're you gonna do? You can't camp out in there forever. You wanna make a break for it? You wanna get shot in your dicks? Yeah? Hundred thousand volts for you right here."
Even though the officers have guns trained on the leader, the crew leader is pointing a gun right back. He'll never win this; they're outnumbered and that's obvious. But all it would take is one bullet to my husband's head to bring my whole world crashing down - and right now that's looking like a very real possibility.
"You think we won't shoot a bunch of cops?" The leaders snarls.
Dario rubs his eyes tiredly.
"What's your name, sir?"
"You can call me nightmare."
"Okay, nightie. After you fire your first shot, you and your friends will be met with so many bullets you'll be bleeding lead. And if by some miracle you escape after killing us all, do you think we're the only officers in the state? Do you think the others won't find you? Do you actually think your plan still has legs? Does anyone?" He spreads his arms and looks around. "Anyone? No? Any ideas? Any ideas. Nothing, right? Then, I think, there's something here that smells like fucking bullshit," he thunders.
Dario has crawled through vents and tunnels, infiltrated criminal organizations, taken cover in the face of high-caliber fire from crazy convicts emptying their machine guns as a last resort, run into fires and through a rainstorm of bullets. He looks like an excessive force suit just waiting to happen. And, right now, I am still worried about him. Because none of that matters if a single errant bullet hits him.
"I'm not taking orders from you. Who's behind you, anyway, your girlfriend?"
Dario whirls around, panic flashing briefly in his eyes when he sees I'm still not in the car, then turns around again.
"That's a fucking good one. Rip into me," Dario invites. "Rip into me. What the fuck are you gonna say? Huh? What're you gonna say? Roast me, come on, roast me."
"Whatever, steroid."
"I don't take steroids, brother; I look like this because I love pain. Come on out with your hands up like I asked you to."
"No! Fuck you!"
"Why are we making this more difficult for ourselves?"
"Because fuck you!"
"Huarez, when you write your report, emphasize his lack of remorse and cooperation." Dario sighs deeply to a fellow officer. I know nothing would please him more than to rain legal fire and brimstone down on these guys. Turning back to the leader in the doorway he adds, "yeah, okay. I'm about to lose my temper. If you wanna see what that's like, sir, continue like this. 'Cause you're coming out of there today."
I return to the car. The perp keeps taunting, trying Dario's patience, calling him all kinds of names. He's crazy. I mean, he's obviously not of sound mind or he wouldn't be holding up a jewellery store at gunpoint. But it's like he really wants to die by cop.
Dario is remarkably patient, though.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a big meanie and a racist and a homophobe and whateverthehellophobe the woke brigade says I am. But you're still coming out of there. The only question is, how many years do you wanna spend in jail getting gang-raped over the dryer?"
Dario stares him down until all trace of humour is wiped from his mouth.
Eventually, it becomes clear that resistance is futile and only delaying the inevitable. He comes out with his hands up. The others follow.
"Rookie," Dario huffs when the closest officer fails to move in. "Holy fuck; I've gotta teach you everything. Grab him and cuff him!"
"You know you made the last rookie quit," an officer smirks.
"Oh, no," Dario feigns sadness for a second. "Anyways, as I was saying..."
I smile through the window, resting my chin on folded arms. Sink or swim, that's Dario's idea of training. You get hurt, apologize to your sergeant. You die, just walk it off.
I'm startled by the sudden movement of one of the thieves. He tries to make a break for it into the street, but it's hopeless.
"When you run, you just go to jail tired," Dario tsks as an officer quickly tackles him. If he hadn't, there are plenty of civilian onlookers who would love to play hero and pile on him.
Once the thieves are in custody, Dario sees to it that everything on the scene is wrapped up and rejoins me in the car at last, muttering about how these numbskulls couldn't pull off a bandaid, much less a heist.
"Any updates on that murder case?" I query, scrolling through my Instagram feed.
A body was exhumed after a quarter of a decade. The police sent the DNA for analysis. They got a full profile. But no match because no one reported him missing and he wasn't in any police database for any crime.
Dario was telling me about how they'd found a man inside his house, who appeared to have shot himself in his bed. I've never seen a suicide without a single blood spot on the hand holding the gun, Dario had griped to me in bed. Why didn't the gun slip out of his hand? Why was he gripping it like that? This smells like it was staged. But I can't prove it. All he could do was check the toxicology report. Of course the registration number has been removed from the weapon. Security footage showed nothing useful.
"We've got a guy. The evidence is stacked against him and he's refusing to talk. I told him that, as the primary suspect in a murder investigation, he should get a second opinion on staying quiet. Anyway, it doesn't matter because I've given orders to place a UC in the adjacent cell and start provoking him-"
"-getting him to admit what really happened by claiming what didn't happen." I love when Dario goes undercover, being combative with the officers, really playing the part. "Hey, how cute is this baby chick? It's only slightly larger than a peanut."
"Exactly." Dario is quiet for a minute, then glances briefly at my phone when he's queued up at a red light. "Hey, Ciel," my husband blurts randomly.
"Yeah?"
"I really fucking love you."
"I love you, too."
I'm starting to think we can just continue about our day now when Ken's voice comes on over radio.
"Romano, you wanna join me on this one? I've got a mouthy one that I think wants to meet you."
Dario grits his teeth.
"I'm on my way. Tell him to keep the same energy."
•••
"Good job," Ken praises. "No one would expect this kind of skill from you, so you'll have the element of surprise."
We're at the shooting range, kicking butt. I have developed impressive skills with a gun. Nine millimetre is a tough gun. It's heavy, powerful, with lots of recoil. More for assault than defence. It pushes you back, the force of it. A rush went through me the first time Dario taught me how to use it. I prefer the rifle.
"Hey, Ken," Dario calls, approaching our shooting stall with a weapon. "Check it..." He doubles back, rubbing his stomach with a lecherous grin. "Damn. Who's your friend?"
Ken rolls his eyes as Dario goes on pretending not to recognize me. "Does he need a date? Asking for me."
We go outside to the open-concept firing range to continue training. We've been practising this trick where Dario lifts me into his arms, then stretches them high over his head so that my long body forms something like helicopter propellor blades. As he spins me around, I shoot the targets around us one by one. Near-perfect bullseyes, each one. We laugh when it's over and Ken reads our time. We've been getting better and better with practice. I collapse on top of him, straddling him on the ground.
"How did that feel?" He breathes.
I run my hands over his thick-as-logs thighs.
"Sexy."
He grins and kisses me, one hand sliding down the back of my leather jacket. Those same hands gently framing my body hold the power to kill. Makes it that much more pleasurable when he's gentle with me.
He moans when I break the kiss to stand up, rifle slung over my shoulder.
"Babe..." he pleads.
"Get up," I smirk. "Your men are looking at you like you're pathetic. Also, your nipples are showing through your shirt." I walk away, indifferent to his supplications.
Dario watches me get changed while talking to a fellow officer. Compression leggings fit my butt and legs like sausage casings and Dario can't look away. He finally pushes him aside within a "now get the fuck out of my way" and comes over to make out with me.
Back home, we eat and then go about our Saturday. I tend to the garden, carefully trimming and watering my beloved plants, and then do some cleaning. I find it's better to keep up with cleaning on an ongoing basis than to try and play catch-up when the place is already filthy.
The sound of the lawnmower starting up outside distracts me from smiling at the Polaroids on the fridge.
Picking up my camera, I walk to the front door, step outside and find Dario mowing the lawn for the neighbours. He shovels snow and rakes leaves for them too, free of charge. Something about keeping up the neighbourhood property value. He's shirtless so he's getting a good tan in the summer heat, too. My husband looks up and pauses, scanning my face to see whether I wanna say something and he should turn the machine off. I shake my head and flash him a thumbs-up. He continues his work with a smile.
I snap pictures while he works, appreciating the way the sunlight glints off his slick skin. Wow, he looks so hot. I love photographing him.
When he's done, he turns off the roaring machine and we walk inside together.
"Turn around, Daddy," I order when he starts washing his face at the sink.
"Why?"
"Because. Just do it." He turns around and immediately breaks into a grin when he notices the camera.
"Aww, babe, again?" Shaking his head, he goes back to wiping off his sweat.
"Flex your arm a little." He obliges halfheartedly. "That's it? Have you been skimping on your workouts? Did I accidentally put sugar in your drinks instead of protein powder?!"
Dario tips his head back and laughs a rich, deep laugh.
I zoom the camera in on his perfect, tight butt.
"Daddy," I smile sweetly. "Do you have a permit for that bakery?"
Dario looks at me with a massive grin and beckons me over.
"Come here, Ciel. I'm gonna kiss you to so hard." He does that to me against the fridge and it leaves me weak like limp, cooked spaghetti.
"Babe, I'm gonna go shower," he says afterwards.
I immediately put the camera away, breathless.
"Can I come with you?"
"Didn't you shower a few hours ago?"
"Please. You can touch my butt and play with it."
"Come in." Dario beckons me over with a laugh.