28. Dario
28
DARIO
T he morning sun hangs low in the sky as I jog up the street, the soft glow illuminating the manicured lawns and grand houses that line the way. Each heavy step on the gravel is steady, but my mind races faster than my feet.
I can’t shake thoughts of Ginny off my mind. I spent the whole of yesterday trying to forget the disappointment and anger I saw in her eyes. Hearing her ask Lorenzo about the history of our animosity shocked me at first. I thought he’d have already given her a false story painting me as the villain. But he hadn’t even told her the root of our falling out in the first place.
I wonder why he hadn’t told her? Maybe he was embarrassed about what he’d done several years ago, or maybe she just believed everything he told her so she’d never asked what the root of the problem was.
Regardless of that, I panicked the moment I heard him about to recount that memory. It’s something I’ve buried deep within me for such a long time, and I felt uncomfortable having Ginny hear about it.
A heavy breath leaves my lips as I realize I’ve spent my whole jog thinking about Ginny, and she’s the exact reason I went out to clear my mind in the first place. I try to shake my thoughts off, but they cling to me like the sweat on my skin.
The air is crisp and fresh, scented with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from nearby gardens and lawns. As I approach my house, I quicken my pace, eager to grab a cold drink and cool down.
I enter the gate and jog toward the front door before pushing it open. The faint creak echoes in the stillness of the early hour, and the cool air inside hits me like a wave, a welcome relief from the warmth outside.
The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. As I walk in, the sunlight pours through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
My vest clings to my back, soaked from the jog I took to clear my head. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
I head straight to the kitchen, hoping for a cold drink to cool down. But as I enter, my breath catches.
There’s Ginny, bent over, rummaging through the lower cabinets. Her shorts cling to her legs, accentuating the curve of her hips. And that ass…god, that ass.
I exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up as I mutter a curse under my breath. My plan is to head toward the fridge, but instead, I slam my toe into the counter. A dull pain shoots up my leg, and my irritation rises, spreading like wildfire.
“Ginny?” My voice is rough, a growl, really. “What are you doing up?”
She doesn’t rush. Slowly, deliberately, she straightens up, turning to face me with a look that has trouble written all over it. Her front isn’t any better. That light pink tank top clings to her, and it’s blatantly obvious she’s not wearing a bra, her nipples pushing through the fabric like some kind of twisted dare.
“Oh, you’re here,” she says, feigning surprise with a smug little smile. Without a second glance, she walks straight to the fridge, right where I was heading. “Didn’t know you jogged in the mornings.”
I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. It’s barely 7 a.m., and she never gets up this early. Not without a reason. My eyes narrow—she’s doing this on purpose, needling me after yesterday.
“You should probably wear something more appropriate when you’re out of your room,” I grind out, folding my arms across my chest in a way that’s meant to look casual, but really it’s just to keep myself from doing something I’ll regret.
Her gaze flicks to my arms, lingering a moment before she raises an eyebrow at me. “And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Is it the shorts?” She cocks her hip, twisting just enough to give me a perfect view of her backside, her eyes dancing with mischief.
I ignore the heat rising in my chest and focus on her next move as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. With a flick of her wrist, she shuts the door and makes her way to the cabinet. It’s too high for her, and she knows it. As she stands on her tiptoes, her tank top inches up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach and a slim waist that does nothing to help my self-control.
After a minute of struggle, she turns and gives me a hard stare. “Won’t you be a gentleman and help me, Dario?” Her voice is soft, almost a purr, dripping with the challenge she’s throwing my way.
I run a hand through my damp hair, my breath still heavy from the jog, and try to focus on anything but the way she’s looking at me. I walk over to her, standing behind her body as I reach for the glass cup. A different type of heat burns through my body as I tower over her, despite the few inches between us.
“There are other glass cups in the lower drawer,” I mutter, retrieving the one she was so adamantly reaching for.
She turns, her fingers brushing mine as I hand it over, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Yeah but I wanted this one,” she breathes, her voice soft but dripping with provocation.
The air around us thickens, every second stretching out. I exhale sharply, stepping back, trying to create distance, trying to control the rising frustration and something far more dangerous. She smirks again, brushing past me, her shoulder grazing my arm.
A spark shoots through me—hot, immediate, and impossible to ignore.
I grit my teeth, willing myself to focus as I move to make a cup of coffee. My hands go through the motions automatically setting the pot to brew. The comforting hiss of the machine fills the space, but I’m acutely aware of her movements behind me, the subtle sounds of her shuffling through cabinets.
From the corner of my eye, I see her bent over again, her hips swaying as she searches for something in the lower cabinets. I force my eyes back to the coffee, watching the dark liquid drip down as if it’s the most important thing in the world.
If I just focus on the pot, if I stay busy, maybe I can push her out of my head.
But then I feel it—her body pressing close, the soft curve of her breast brushing against my back, sliding along my arm like a whispered temptation. My grip tightens on the coffee cup, and without thinking, I grab her elbow, spinning her and pinning her against the opposite counter.
She tilts her head, eyes glinting with amusement and challenge. “Stop what?” she asks, her tone innocent but her expression anything but.
“Stop playing games with me,” I say, my voice taut with exasperation. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Maybe I do,” she murmurs, her voice taking on a seductive edge that sends a shiver down my spine.
A surge of frustration and something darker courses through me, a heady mix of desire and fury. My heart hammers against my chest, the beat growing louder as she leans in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “But messing with you is so fun.”
I tighten my grip around her arm, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away, but the fire in her eyes only flares hotter. She thrives on this, on pushing me to the edge.
“You’re driving me crazy, Ginny,” I grind out, my voice rough, the heat between us almost unbearable.
“Good,” she says, her voice a velvet taunt, daring me, pulling me in deeper. “You deserve that and more.”
The air between us crackles, charged with everything unsaid, everything hanging between lust and fury. I step forward, pressing my body against hers, feeling the softness of her curves melt into the hard lines of mine.
“You should know,” I growl, my lips inches from hers, “before you start playing games with me... I’m not a gentleman. I always punish those who cross me. And you’ve just made the list.”
Before she can respond, I claim her mouth in a rough, desperate kiss, every ounce of tension between us exploding in that moment.
Her lips move against mine with equal hunger, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me down as she presses her body flush against mine. A low groan escapes me, the sound guttural and raw. This—this is what’s been consuming my mind since I fucked her two days ago.
My fingers tangle in her hair, tugging gently, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. Her lips move feverishly against mine, each kiss stoking the flames. When her tongue slides into my mouth, I suck on it greedily, tasting her like she’s the only thing that can quench this fire. We’re both breathless when we finally break apart, gasping for air.
“I’m so mad at you,” she whispers, her voice low and breathy as her lips trail down my neck, pressing hot, urgent kisses against my skin. “God, I need you.”
Her teeth graze my throat, and the sensation sends a shiver straight down my spine. The hunger inside me roars, primal and uncontrollable. Without a second thought, I grab the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up and placing her on the countertop. My hands move swiftly, impatiently, as I yank her shorts down her legs, desperate to feel every inch of her.
The world around us fades. All I can think about is the heat between us, the way her body responds to mine, the wild need coursing through my veins. And I know, in this moment, nothing else matters but her.
When I kiss her again, it’s even more rough, desperate, and aggressive. Her small hands travel down to my waist to pull my vest off. With each brush of her mouth against mine, another layer of control breaks apart in me. She’s ruining me.
When I pull back again, her entire body is flushed. Her lips are swollen and pink, her dark hair falling down her shoulders in wild waves. I’ll never get over how beautiful she is. She’s so pretty, it hurts.
And now, my dick is painfully hard, straining against my sweatpants. I want to fuck her so badly that there’s no room for foreplay. Without sparing another second, I pull the waistband down to my ankles while she tugs off her top.
“I’ve thought about fucking you on this counter ever since our first night in this kitchen,” I tell her, pulling one beaded nipple between my fingers.
She gasps when I pinch her hard before numbing the pain with a soft caress. Grabbing her knees, I pull her to the edge of the counter and kiss her again. This kiss is slower, hotter, wetter. My tongue slides over hers as I grind myself up against her. Her clit is already hard and swollen in anticipation.
“Please, Dario,” she whimpers against my lips, and I hiss as she wraps a hand around my dick.
Stroking it firmly, she guides me to her wet entrance. A low moan escapes my lips as I slip into her wet, tight walls. The sensation shoots straight to my balls as I sink deeper, filling her.
My hands grab her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I begin to move at a steady rhythm. Our breathing becomes erratic as I keep pumping into her, slowly building my pace and taking all that she has to give.
She moans loudly, one hand gripping the edge of the counter while the other one tugs on the hair at the nape of my neck. The action feels incredible, and it’s almost impossible to keep my eyes open from the pleasure.
My thrusts become faster, harder, deeper, and my movements become rougher and more demanding. Her fingers are digging into my back now, the sting of her nails sending electric shocks down my spine and through my dick.
Her moans become louder as my thrusts become harder.
“Dario,” she moans one last time as her body quakes, coming undone in my arms.
I feel my balls tighten, and with one last deep thrust, I join her, my orgasm crashing into me like a tidal wave. Panting heavily, I collapse against her, resting against the edge of the cool tile. Our foreheads are pressed together, our breathing mingling in the air. We stay like that for a few seconds, letting our hearts slow before turning toward each other.
Her hazel eyes are still wild and filled with lust. Her chest heaves rapidly, and a slow smile spreads across her lips. Then she cups my cheeks and leans down to kiss me again.
Our lips and tongues move lazily against each other for a few minutes, neither of us wanting to do much of anything other than bask in the moment.
When I finally pull away from her again, I catch the hint of anger in her eyes.
“You were an asshole earlier,” she murmurs.
I sigh, pressing our foreheads together for the millionth time. “I know I was. I’m sorry.”
I see the surprise flicker in her eyes as she looks at me with those golden-green eyes.
“Promise me you’ll stop acting like a jerk then,” she says softly.
I kiss her forehead. “I promise,” I whisper against her skin.
And I realize that I would do almost everything for her, even if it involved the one person that I hate the most—her brother.