XXXVIII
Hazel Winters
I ’m awoken by the sound of raised voices downstairs. Stretching out my body, I frown when I realise the bed is empty.
Do these men not sleep?
As I climb out of bed, a delicious ache spreads from my centre, reminding me of the night before with Theo and Dawson. A blush spreads across my face as images of being spread out for their pleasure assault me.
Wrapping a fluffy, white dressing gown around my body, I walk downstairs. Gravitating towards the voices, I stop short when I see Atlas and Dawson in a face off.
Dawson has his shirt off, wearing a pair of bright blue swim shorts. The muscles in his torso ripple, free from the prison of a shirt. His hair is messy, but he looks his normal, intimidating self as he glares at Atlas. In contrast, Atlas has his usual armour of a pristine, black suit that looks almost painted onto his toned body.
I bite my lip as I watch them glare at each other, and the thought of being between the two of them whilst riled up has me clenching my thighs together. No matter how much Atlas seems to infuriate me, the thought of him dominating me has me forgetting all his previous crimes.
As if they can sense my presence, their heads snap towards me. My face burns and I have to force myself to stop biting my lip. Their eyes roam over me and I take a hesitant step into the living room, very aware I’m only wearing a robe.
“Morning, Spitfire,” Dawson greets me, smirking as he turns his body towards me. Atlas grunts and storms out, leaving Dawson shaking his head. He directs me to a sofa and I sit down next to him, immediately curling into his side.
“What were you arguing about?” I ask, my fingers absently tracing over his abs. He lets out a groan and throws his head back. He waits a few seconds before answering me.
“I wanted to take you to meet my parents.”
Pausing my hand movements, I sit up in shock and stare at him.
Meet his parents?
“And Andros’,” he chuckles, shrugging, “Our mamas are kind of a package deal.”
“I heard my name,” Andros emerges from the kitchen, a coffee in his hand. He comes to sit next to me and I steal his coffee, my mouth suddenly intensely dry. After swallowing a big gulp of the golden liquid, I frown and look between them.
“You want me to meet your parents?” I ask, my eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
“Did Atlas say no?” Andros asks Dawson in amusement. When Dawson nods his head, Andros chuckles and shakes his head.
“He doesn’t want her leaving the villa,” Dawson groans, running a hand over his face. I pull my knees up against my chest, keeping my dressing gown wrapped around me so I don’t flash anyone.
“They could come here,” Andros offers with a shrug. I watch as a devilish grin spreads across both their faces, their scheming beginning with a silent conversation between the two of them.
Deciding I need a second to breathe before I freak out about the thought of meeting their parents. I walk into the kitchen and search the fridge for something to eat, my stomach threatening to eat me alive.
I can’t meet their parents.
What if they hate me?
I’ve never even met anyone’s parents before.
A hand wraps around my throat, pulling me back against a strong torso. I gasp at the sudden action, clenching my thighs together as I look up to see Theo staring down at me. His eyes are hungry as he keeps his hand on my throat, the other pressing his phone against his ear.
“I want a meeting in an hour,” he talks to the person on the other line, his hand squeezing slightly on my neck. I bite my lip, blushing as he man-handles me.
“No, tomorrow doesn’t work,” he growls and I close my eyes as his hand traces down to my chest bone. His fingers trace the edge of my dressing gown, before dipping below to touch my bare skin.
I stifle a moan when his hand wraps over my breast. He palms it in his hand as he listens to the man droning on over the phone.
“Alright, see to it,” Theo growls before ending the call. Pocketing his phone, his other hand trailing to rest on my waist.
“Hi,” he whispers in my ear. The sound reverberates to my soul, sending shivers through me.
“Hi,” I say, exhaling. The feeling of his hands on me is frying my brain, rendering me a puddle of hot, needy, mess.
“Are you sore?” He asks, his fingers moving to brush over my lower stomach.
“A little,” I admit. He opens his mouth to say something further but slams it shut when the others walk into the room. Atlas is still brooding in his office, obviously having been thoroughly pissed off by whatever Dawson had said to him.
Dawson’s always the one to rile him up.
“Our famiglie will be here in an hour,” Andros announces, wearing a matching excited grin to Dawson’s. They’re practically bouncing on their heels, whilst I’m fighting off shaking like a bundle of nerves.
“An hour?” I all but splutter. Theo raises an eyebrow at me, an amused smirk playing on his face. I move away from his grip and begin pacing the kitchen.
“You’ll love them, Angel,” Andros says as he walks towards me. He grips both my arms and kisses me softly. My worries almost wash away as our lips connect, but as soon as we separate, they come flooding back.
“I have to get ready,” I announce, running out of the room. My hands shake anxiously and as soon as I shut the door to my room, I collapse against it.
It takes going through my five steps to fend off a panic attack, before I can move. My mind blanches as I stare at my wardrobe. I have no idea what to wear when meeting someone’s parents, and I’ve heard that Italian mothers are usually even harder to impress.
Especially when it comes to their sons.
“I can practically hear your thoughts, Spitfire.”
I turn around to see Dawson leaning against my doorframe.
I didn’t even hear the door open.
He’s still wearing his swim shorts, and my eyes trail over his toned torso. His muscles are rippling in all the right ways, distracting me from my thoughts for a second.
“What do I wear, Dawson?” I ask, nibbling at my bottom lip. I stare up at him in complete defeat as he strides towards me. He smirks, his hand moving to grip my jaw so I’m forced to look up at him.
“Whatever you wear, you’ll be the most beautiful girl in any room. You could be drenched in rain, with sticks and mud covering you, and I’d still not be able to take my eyes off you.”
I gulp, swallowing down his words and forcing myself to believe them. Nodding my head, he brushes his thumb against the corner of my mouth before releasing his grip on me.
Turning around, I head back to the wardrobe and pull out a black mini dress. It is fitted at the waist, attached with two spaghetti straps on the shoulders, before flowing in pleats to my mid thigh. Two white bows hang from each side of the waist, making it look more cute than sexy.
As I put it on, I hear Dawson’s low whistle cut through the air. I turn around to face him and watch as his heated eyes travel over my body.
“See? Most beautiful girl in any room,” he says, his face covered in lust. I smile and look down at the dress, feeling pretty for once.
I take my time, straightening my hair until it hangs down to just below my shoulders. Using the hair products the guys have bought for me means that it is sleek and shiny black. My makeup takes me about half an hour, and by the time I’m applying some simple lip liner, there’s a chorus of noises erupting downstairs.
“It’s go time, Spitfire.”