Amara's POV
I awoke to the feeling of strong arms wrapped around my stomach, and when I looked down, tattoos filled them, ones that belonged to Luca Peretti.
What was I doing here? Why was I in his... bed? I thought he didn't want me in his room and now his arms are holding me, holding me like I might fly away.
I tried to take them off but he only held on tighter, bringing me closer to his body.
"Luca." I whispered, trying to wake him. But he only grunted, not letting me go.
"Luca, wake up." I smacked his arm, but he just rolled over, making me spread out on top of him.
He pulled me so close that I was stuck to his bare chest, his arms wrapped around my back.
He must be in a deep sleep because the Luca Peretti I know wouldn't be holding me this close. What do I do? Why do I enjoy this so much? Being held in his arms was comforting and I just wanted to go back to sleep with him holding me tight. Why do I want that? I hate him.
I couldn't help but start to feel my eyes close. The heat of his body making me more tired as I felt his skin, tracing the tattoos that lay on the warmth.
And when he rolled over once more, I was snuggled into his chest, his arms protecting me from the world around and I found myself drifting off to sleep.
✻ ✻ ✻ ✻ ✻
The bed was empty as I got up and I wondered as to why I wasn't in my clothes from the night before.
After I showered, I made my way down the stairs, Luca already in the kitchen with a plate of breakfast in front of him.
When he heard me, he turned around, a cup of coffee on his lips. He was dressed in a suit, while I was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, not caring if I looked good or not.
"There is breakfast in the fridge." He told me, going back to his phone in his hands.
I didn't say anything as I opened up the fridge, grabbing the plate of eggs.
"Did you change my clothes last night?" I suddenly asked, putting the plate into the microwave.
He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "I had my eyes closed, I promise. You just looked uncomfortable." He said the last part quietly.
I didn't respond to him and I took the plate out, taking a seat across from him.
"Did you tell your father?" I asked him, taking a bite.
"Yes. He will be coming next week in order to congratulate us." He said, putting his phone down.
"I apologize about last night." I said. "I shouldn't have cried in front of you."
"It's fine." He said stiffly, walking over to put his plate into the sink.
"No it's not. I looked weak, I'm not weak." I said, the embarrassment from last night rising to my cheeks.
He walked over to me, his eyes boring into mine as he turned my chair over to him, his hand on the back of it.
Why did he look so hot like this? Wait, what? No, stop Amara.
"Amara, listen to me. You are not weak, stop telling yourself that." When I looked away, he grabbed my face with his hand, pulling me closer.
"You're not weak." He repeated.
Why did I want to inch my face closer? Why did his lips look so good to touch? Fuck.
He pulled away, clearing his throat as he adjusted his suit.
"I'll be leaving for the day." He told me, "I have to deal with a drug shipment."
"Oh." I said shortly, putting the plate in the sink.
He didn't say another word as he left, slamming the door behind him as he walked out the house.