6. Mia
Mia
D ario is sprawled on his back, one arm still possessively wrapped around me while his hand palms my ass cheek like he owns it.
God, the man is gorgeous. Even in a deep sleep he manages to take my breath away.
With my head resting in my hand and my thigh hiked over his, I study him, enjoying this rare moment of being able to watch him as much as I want without him knowing about it.
I want to lean over and kiss my way along his chiseled jaw, feeling the light stubble beneath my lips before hitting the smooth, olive skin of his chest. He has enough chest hair to look sexy without it making me want to cringe, and the thin trail leading into his joggers is enticing me like nothing else ever has.
The muscled body beneath me is a mix of tattoos and scars, and I’m surprised by how badly I want to know the story behind all of them.
He’s had thirty-six years of memories and moments that I’ll never be a part of, and an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy hits me when I think about all the women he’s been with.
Where was all this murderous rage last night? I sure could’ve used it when I was failing to kill Greg. The memory of my humiliating defeat is enough to push aside my envy at every woman who’s been lucky enough to experience Dario naked.
Without thinking, I lazily run my finger over the Alessi tattoo he has on his forearm, the one that marks him as an official member of his family’s mafia.
My poor dad is never going to forgive me for this, but walking away from Dario isn’t an option at this point.
I’m fairly certain I can fuck him out of my system, but we need to wait two weeks before I can do that.
My eyes trail lower, noticing the very obvious bulge in his grey joggers.
He’s straining against the fabric, more than ready to go, and I’d give just about anything to be able to free that thick cock and sink down onto it.
Knowing I can’t do that makes it impossible to resist touching him, because I can’t not do anything right now.
That would be asking way too much of anyone, so without a shred of guilt, I bring my hand lower and then lightly rest my fingers on what has to be an unusually large shaft.
I feel him jump beneath me, and I jerk my hand back, glancing up to make sure he’s still asleep.
When his eyes don’t open and his breathing doesn’t change, I put my focus back on his cock and start to touch him again.
To my absolute shock, I feel him start to grow bigger as I explore the size of him, mapping him out in my head and feeling my boy shorts grow wet with the picture I’m putting together.
I can’t help but think about how this is going to tear me up, but instead of scurrying away in fear, my pussy clenches at air, more than ready for a good pounding. Being careful to not wake him, I slowly scoot down, wanting to get closer.
I mentally debate the morality of pulling a man’s pants down while he’s sleeping, and then quickly decide that I don’t care. If Dario didn’t want me to do this, then he shouldn’t have insisted we sleep practically on top of one another.
Sliding my fingers under the waistband of his joggers, I lift up and take a quick peek.
“Jesus,” I whisper when I get my first look at him.
His laughter has me letting go, causing the waistband to snap back into place as my face heats up at getting caught.
“Who’s the fucking perv now?” he asks, giving me a ridiculously sexy grin before he raises his arms in a stretch, giving me a tantalizing view of his naked upper body.
“It’s not like you woke up with my mouth wrapped around you,” I say, and he lets out a masculine groan at my words.
“You can wake me up like that any goddamn time you want, streghetta mia . Feel free to be as perverted as you’d like.” He gives me a wink that my pussy immediately responds to. “I promise I’ll never judge.”
I start to roll over and mutter, “How very kind of you.” Before I can fully remove my body from his, he grabs me and pulls me against his side again and wraps his arms around me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you a good morning hug.” He says it like it should be obvious, and then he gently grabs my arm to get a better look at my cut. “How does it feel?”
“It’s fine,” I lie. The truth is it hurts like hell, and as soon as I get home I’m popping some painkillers.
Dario brings my arm to his mouth and whispers “liar” against my skin before giving me a soft kiss. I don’t know what’s going on between us, but I refuse to admit or acknowledge how much he’s starting to get under my skin.
“Sasha’s going to be here soon,” I remind him, knowing it’ll force whatever cuddly morning moment we’re sharing to end.
“Hmm,” he says, keeping his mouth near my skin. When he starts to slowly kiss a line up my arm, I suck in a breath, mesmerized by the sight of his gorgeous mouth and wishing it was between my legs again. “You’re a violent sleeper. Did you know that?”
“I’ve been told that before,” I say, remembering how Nat refused to sleep next to me when we were little because I’d always end up kicking the shit out of her while I slept.
I don’t do it on purpose. I’m just a really heavy sleeper, and when I decide I’m hot, the covers get kicked off and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the crossfire gets hit.
“I was afraid you’d end up kicking me,” he confesses in between kisses as he trails his lips higher, stopping when he gets to the inside of my elbow.
The slow lick he gives threatens to undo me, and then he whispers, “But once I had you in my arms, you curled up like a tame little kitten.” He gives me a soft bite, letting me feel the graze of his teeth along my sensitive skin, and I can’t help but rock my hips, using his strong thigh to create some much-needed friction.
He lifts his dark eyes to meet mine. “Do you know what I think?”
I give a quick nod, not trusting myself to speak, knowing the tremor in my voice will give away how badly I want him.
“I think your body knew who was holding it, I think you knew you were safe with me, and,” he says, pausing to give me another wink, “I think you like to be dominated.”
I bark out a laugh and jerk my arm free. He lets me go, watching me scurry out of his bed with an amused grin playing at his lips.
“In your fucking dreams, Dario,” I manage to say as I scrounge around, picking up the clothes I’d thrown off last night. I ignore the sinfully wicked laugh he gives, refusing to acknowledge how much he’s getting to me.
“Careful, streghetta mia ,” he taunts. “That wet spot between your pretty thighs is growing bigger. Lie all you want, sweetheart. Your body is screaming the truth.”
“You cocky son of a bitch,” I growl, turning my back on him and storming into his bathroom. I slam the door shut on his deep laugh and the delicious sight of him half-naked and hard as a rock. I’m in big fucking trouble, and I know I need to get myself under control.
Knowing my brother is going to be here soon, I splash water on my face and then grab Dario’s toothbrush.
He’s sharing whether he wants to or not.
When I’m cleaned up, I force myself to put my dirty, torn hoodie back on because I refuse to ask to borrow anything.
Feeling slightly more in control of myself, I open the door to see Dario standing near the closet, already dressed in a suit and not looking at all like he just rolled out of bed.
When he walks past, he eyes my bloody hoodie and then has the nerve to give my ass a hard smack. He’s gone before I can retaliate, leaving me stunned, with my ass stinging and a growing wet spot that he thankfully can’t see anymore.
“Fucking bastard,” I mutter before grabbing my knife from where it’s still lying hidden under the pillow and making my way downstairs. I’m rummaging through his fridge when he walks in, freshly shaved and smelling good enough to make me want to eat him for breakfast instead of the bagel in my hand.
“You used my toothbrush,” he says and then eyes me while I make myself at home in his kitchen.
He walks over to his fancy espresso machine and grabs the canister that’s sitting beside it.
I’d given it a quick glance but quickly decided against fucking around with all the knobs and handles.
He calmly pours fresh coffee beans into a grinder and presses a button that has the blades crushing the beans in no time.
While I slather my bagel with cream cheese, he measures out the coffee he needs and fills the espresso machine with water.
Levers are moved, knobs are turned, and soon I hear the unmistakeable sound of coffee dripping into a mug.
The smell is divine, and I desperately want to reach over and snatch the cup from him.
He grabs the small, white, porcelain cup when it’s full and then turns to rest against the counter.
Keeping his dark eyes on mine, he inhales the aroma and then takes a small sip.
He watches me nearly salivate when the strong aroma hits me before finishing the rest of it in less than a minute.
“Would you like me to make you one?” he asks, and even though there’s a hint of a challenge in it, I still quickly nod my head.
“Yes,” I tell him, not feeling quite so stubborn when caffeine is involved. “I thought about just turning a bunch of knobs until something happened but assumed you wouldn’t care for that.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you from doing what you want?”
“True enough,” I say, watching as he repeats the same ritual for my cup. “You know, coffeemakers are way easier than this.”
“If I wanted coffee that tastes like shit, I’d go to one of your awful coffee shops and buy one,” he says, and I grin at his tone. I’ve obviously hit a nerve.