Avril Lavigne - Goddess
He thinks I'm sexy in my pajamas
The more I am a hot mess the more he goes bananas
He treats me like I'm a goddess
"Zara, I know you are angry with me. But don't you think it's a little too much." I say carefully she glared at me through the mirror. Putting her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side daring me to speak further.
After having dinner that I brought, she led me to her bedroom. I had already woven scenarios of us being together and the four-poster bed made my imagination run free. We could roll over the whole fucking bed in different positions all night. My dick had been straining against my pants for some action. But instead, she made me sit on her dresser opposite the bed.
"Zara, I know I made a mistake but please don't make me wear a face mask." I feign the fear in my voice just to see her smile. She giggled shaking her head.
"Face mask is for weekdays when I go to work." She smiled, making my dark heart fill with warmth.
"What are you going to do with me.?" I swallowed visibly, giving her an imploring look.
"I am going to do your hair." She said running her fingers over my hair. My dark brown hair is cut short on the sides and longer in the middle. I made some calculations of the mistakes Zara could do with them after seeing Edward's hair. So I agreed, I can manage as long as she doesn't snip off the short hair. Thankfully her hand never reached for the scissors. She used plenty of tools from the dresser. My eyes were solely on her cleavage, I got to ogle at every time she leaned toward the dresser to pick something. Then to the concentrated look on her face, she would become cross-eyed momentarily and her pink tongue would slightly push out of her plump lips like she is performing brain surgery on my head.
Thus, 15 minutes later my hair was curled into big waves falling onto the right side. She used a little curling rod to do it. Then applied some drops of jojoba oil, mixed with some other oil that smelled like her. By tomorrow morning there will be a burn mark over the shell of my ear, that Zara hadn't realized she had given me. Since I hadn't flinched a fraction when the hot rod was melting my skin.
She looked proud at her masterpiece and clasped her hands. Tearing my eyes from Zara, I only now looked at my reflection properly. I looked like a runway model. Perhaps I had taken Zara's skills for granted. A smile tugged on my lips. For the first time, I saw myself smiling.
"And now, popcorn and movies.!!!"
******
My perverted mind had been expecting Netflix and chill. But this was also good. The whole house was cascaded in darkness for Zara's movie night. Soto had mentioned the darkness twice in the weekends. Must be for this movie night. My gun was held between the plush couch and my thigh. Van Gogh's eyes were not glowing in the dark anymore so the gloomy mutt must have dozed off.
An hour into the shit of a movie, I took several careful steps towards Zara. First, my grabby fingers entwined with hers, for that she was equally responsible as our hands met halfway. Though, she wasn't as discreet as me. Feeling a little bold- which is an understatement for a man like me, As I have never spent this much time with someone of the opposite sex, without having sex with them and the change was relishing- I held her hand tugging her closer to me.
When she got back after refilling the salad water, I was half laying on the now pulled-out couch. I tugged her towards me, and Zara shrieked in surprise. But relaxed quickly and was seated comfortably between my stretched out legs. Her back flush against my front. I had placed the tiny frilly cushion over my crotch, my dick was hard as a rock, but she remained deliberately oblivious to the painful strain in my pants.
Slowly, I circled my arm around her, when she grasped my hands I stiffen. But instead of pushing it away, she held them around her waist snuggling closer to me. An involuntarily sigh escaped from her mouth but tried to mix it with her fake yawn.
I propped my chin on top of her head, memorizing every inch of hers. She was a perfect fit for me. I kiss the top of her head and gave a response to the movie, which she thinks I'm not paying attention to.
"So this kid is crawling around the city and nobody took notice of that.?" I said dryly, on the movie Baby's Day Out that she is making me watch.
Zara tipped her head back in my hold and frowned, "Just like you couldn't see a six-year-old standing near you. When you were vomiting curses after curses on your phone." She snapped back at me. Then turned back to watch the movie. She dozed off in my arms before the movie ended. I checked on 'Bellagio' which had a brawl earlier. A few girls were fighting over one man. But we had to stay alert, in case it was a deception. Burying my nose in her hair I close my eyes cherishing her warmth, drifting off to sleep.
******
I step on the stairs of the cathedral with my mother on my side holding onto my arm, usually in the Sunday mass she and father walk together and me behind them. But father's flight is running late due to bad weather. I had hoped he defies the rules and hops on to that plan so it crashes and his body submerges 36,200 feet deep. But that bastard is too smart, he had agreed to wait and will reach in an hour.
Father Antonio, the old prune was standing on the top of the stairs. He gave a genuine smile to my mother his face creasing into more wrinkles, the smile turned into a frown as he looked at me disdainfully. Everyone is the same in the eyes of God but not priests I reckon. He never does it to my father. But he isn't here, so father thinks it is okay to show his repulsion. So I gave him a smirk, that held a promise of violence. Which I'll never do. I'm a sinner but I have my boundaries. When my father will go down, my first rule will be making the church visits voluntary.
After exchanging pleasantries with the priest, mom pressed her hand over mine. She wants to know how it went with Zara yesterday. I lightly patted her hand as a silent promise for later.
The crowd in the church turned their head to look at us, no longer interested in God. But the gossip that lingers after we leave. As a kid I took it as a deja vu experience, few weeks after I got a sense to read the surroundings, I found that they almost had the same look every single time.
A hint of anger in the self-proclaimed good people who think the famiglia doesn't deserve to set foot inside the church. The greedy asses who would shed more blood in the street, If given the power and the bitches of different age who wish to be a part of the Armani family. I just passed one of them.
The front pew on the left is always left reserved for the Armani family members, the one on the right is occupied by my father's men, who are yet to arrive, and my mom's bodyguard.
Behind us is the Russo family. Giovanni gave a curt respectful acknowledgment to my mother. Isabella was practically daydreaming of fucking me. And with them was Gianna Russo, Giovanni's third wife after the sudden mysterious deaths of his first two wives, including Isabella's mother, who doesn't give two shit, if her father killed her birth mother or not.
Gianna Russo is only a few years older than Isabella. She is the daughter of one of our soldiers. Her looks worked in her favor. Nobody would have judged her for marrying a man older than her own father for money and power. But Gianna thrives on something more than that. Pity.!
Gianna behaves like Giovanni is holding a gun to her temple 24*7. She gives her practiced smile, which my mamma ignored, and took a seat with me. I only bow my head to address her, her face flushed with a surprise like I don't acknowledge her with necessary respect every time I see her. Fucking bitch.!
When Father began the sermon the first wave of yawn filled my lungs with air. A smile crept on my face, remembering Zara's views over Church last night...
The stupid movie ended with the kid putting criminals behind bars. Zara hadn't realized but she took several short naps between the movie.
"Ummm... So, what do you want to do tomorrow.? I don't exactly do much on Sundays." She said uncertainly of herself. "I wake up late in the afternoon and have a brunch."
"I follow the same routine, even when I don't have to go to the office and Sundays, I go to church with my family." Her head snapped to me in shock. Her plump lips formed an 'O'.
"You go to church." She almost shouted in disbelief.
I chuckle, shrugging my shoulders. "Well, I'm a Roman Catholic."
"You really are Italian." She shouted even louder.
What the fuck!
"Zara, you know my surname is Armani, right." Sitting up straight, I speak quietly and very slowly. I don't know how far her dumbness goes.
She pouted, looking apologetic "I am sorry. I mean, I knew... As in somewhere in the back of my mind. But you know..." She looked around sheepishly, anywhere but meeting my eyes. Her voice became a mere whisper. I almost got lost as she began to nibble on her lips.
"I don't know, Principessa." I say quietly cupping her jaw, releasing her lower lip from between her teeth, with my thumb. Her breath stuttered, I so fucking wanted to ravish her plump mouth.
Van Gogh sneezed and Zara leaped out of the couch, to check on him. It was 2 a.m. now, I needed to leave but I won't. She leaned down to lull him into sleep. Checking out her round ass, I began to unbutton my shirt. Zara gasped like she had seen a ghost when she turned to see my naked torse. Her eyes I drank in my ripped body I had fought and bled for.
"What are you doing.?" She whispered still looking at my body. Her voice was laced with lust. Good.!.
"I can't sleep in these." I answer nonchalantly, going unbuckle my belt.
"We are not gonna do any of that." Her hands stretched out infront her, palms facing me. Her voice was hard and stern, full of determination as she said it.
"Do what.?" I say teasingly. Releasing the belt in a swift motion, I padded towards her. When she scowled at me, I stop dead in my tracks. "I mean you announced it to be a sleepover. We ate, you did my hair..." I flipped my hair in exaggeration. "Watched a movie. Now, the final round." I challenge, slowly wrapping the belt over my palm. A flash of Zara bent over my knee, with her naked round ass tipped on the air for me to whip came to my mind. But it went just as quickly as it came. Zara will definitely be a meek submissive in bed. But she'll also think that whipping her ass is degrading. I throw the belt on the couch quickly and meet her gaze.
"Just sleep." She pointed her finger at me like I'm one of her tiny students, with drool slipping off from the corner of their mouth. She shuddered when I held that finger, leading her to her own bedroom.
I undressed, now only standing in my running shorts. A squeak escaped from her mouth when she got out of her ensuite bathroom to find a semi-naked man in her bedroom. I acted cooly as though I hear her mumble 'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!' I folded my jeans carefully, so Zara can't make the outline of my glock and kept it near my pillow.
Zara didn't make a pillow barrier between us but gave me a separate blanket. I released a deep sigh, "There goes my chance to snuggle with you under the same sheets." I tease, the word snuggle tasted like ashes in my mouth. But it earned me Zara's snicker and rosy blush on her cheeks.
I flicked off the lamp on my side, when Zara extinguished the lamp on her side as well, my body jerked on full alert. My hand was on top of my gun as I heard some rustlings on Zara's side in the pitch dark room. I ball my fist and tightened the grip on the gun. When I heard the drawer to her side open and then shut.
When she switched on the lights again, I was quick to get back into my relaxed position. Zara pulled her blanket closer to her chin. And gave me a shy fucking smile. Cavalo! Zara removed her bra in the dark. Lucifer will come down to earth to escort me personally to his hell.
She cradled her head in her palm, snuggling the blanket closely in her underarms, and turned to face me.
"If you are Italian why don't you talk like this." She said bunching her fingers together, lips touching and pointing like most Italian people do when they talk. And her pronunciation of d & t was different. A poor try to mimic the natives as they speak it with their tongue.
A peal of deep laughter escaped from my chest. Mirroring her position, I turn on my side to look at her. "Zara Sinclair, you are xenophobic." I claim between my laughter.
"No. I am not." She chided, hitting my chest playfully. But when her hand collided with my bare chest, she pulled her hand back like it had been burnt. Her nervous gaze roamed down then back up to my face, she swallowed thickly. I had to fucking bite back a triumphant smile. My blanket is only covering my legs, and hard on, the rest is for her to look at and hopefully touch.
Ignoring her nervousness I tell her. "Well, my ancestors have been in America for years. So we pronounce things like commoners. And why were you so shocked to know I go to church. Don't you go there every Sunday.?" I had thought of her for being a church girl but this is Zara Sinclair she comes with a totally unexpected twist and turns.
"I used to sometimes with...um... But someone told me I should not go to church as a compulsion and disrespect God by covering my yawns. The last time I went was two months ago, only for a few minutes. But I wanted to be there." She shrugged, her blanket slipped from where it been touching her chin.
The sudden movements around me put me out of my stupor and I realized the sermon is over now and I have somehow zoned out everything. Mom leaned in closer to me and whispered in my ear "Two hours you were sitting here without fidgeting or yawning. It is impressive, piccolo. Now I really want to meet this girl more than ever." She kissed my cheek. I blushed like a fucking idiot.
Mamma can't meet Zara until my father is neutralized. The bodyguards she has are basically my father's spies first then her protectors. I had tried before to look for a weak link, but the motherfuckers were loyal to my father. They are actually my biggest enemies. Every time I tried to make up a plan to kill my father. The bodyguards lurking around my mother always won. Even if my father died hypothetically.
*****
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