4） Keep Your Eyes On Me
Gio
The second the door clicks shut, I fucking crack. I slam him back against the wall.
He smirks. "Someone's desperate."
Hell yes, I'm desperate.
I've been desperate. For months. For years. The walls in this room know how bad I've wanted this.
"Gio, are we about to have sex for the first time in Italy?" he murmurs against my mouth.
I pull his shirt up in one move and toss it somewhere over my shoulder, not even looking where it lands.
"So it seems," I mutter, then kiss him like I'm starving. He claws at my waist. His mouth trails down to my neck, and I tilt my head back automatically, giving him space.
"This is so bad," he mumbles, lips still on me.
So fucking bad. Tell me about it. Say it again. I want to hear him say how wrong it is. How stupid. How risky. I want him to spell out every reason we shouldn't be doing this while I pull him deeper into it, because I know.
I know this is dangerous. I know we could get caught. I know if anyone finds out we're doing this under my roof, it's game over.
But there's something about the wrongness that makes it so much hotter, like we're breaking some ancient law and grinning while we do it. No one knows. No one can hear us.
And that makes me want it more. It's ours. Our secret. Our game. Our fucked-up little rebellion in a house that's never seen this side of me.
I'm way too excited for this, like, unreasonably excited. I'm not even trying to play it cool anymore. There's no point. I want him on his knees on my bed.
I want him face down, ass up. That exact fucking position.
No bullshit. No distractions. I want the filth.
I want him arched so deep his spine turns into a damn question mark.
Palms flat on my sheets, face buried in my pillow.
I want to watch him. Wanna see that ass tilt just right.
Cheeks spread from the pressure of my grip.
Like a wave. Like a fucking wave. Back and forth.
Hypnotic. A rhythm that's only ours.
Am I exaggerating? I'm not.
Is this just some casual sex? It's fucking not.
This is an event. I've waited so fucking long for this. For this specific man with his killer thighs and impossible back dimples to be bent over and completely mine.
Call me obsessed, whatever. I fucking am. He deserves to be worshipped in the filthiest way possible. I'm not a bad guy for wanting that. I'm just honest. He's got a dream body. That's not my fault. That's the universe's fault.
That's genetics and whatever divine chaos made this man a walking wet dream. I get to fuck this. I get to bend him over my bed and fuck him stupid.
He moans into my mouth. "Don't stop touching me."
I don't. Couldn't even if I fucking tried to.
I push his pants and boxers down, look up at him.
Fuck. That slim waist. I grab him and drag him onto the bed.
I climb on top of him and he yanks my shirt off in one go, throws it somewhere on the floor, then his hands are on my face for a second before they drop to my chest, squeezing hard.
"You want it?" I say.
He nods.
I kiss him satisfied, while my fingers slide between his legs. Our tongues are fighting for dominance, but I let him win, just this once.
"Turn around," I whisper, and he does, right away.
Rolls over, face going down into the pillow, arms slipping up by his head. He shifts his legs just enough, and now he's all laid out, chest to the mattress, ass still low.
But that's not what I asked for.
So I reach for his hips, grip him, and pull.
Now he's up.
Ass in the air, back arched, legs parted the perfect amount. Head dropping onto the pillow, face turned sideways.
As he should. And his back...God, his back. I want to cum all over this thing. Three times in a row. Tattoo stretched across his shoulder blades. Spine a perfect line down to that ass I'd dreamed of touching for weeks.
I kneel between his thighs. My hands smooth over his lower back. My thumbs dig into his hips, pushing his ass up a little more. He tilts it back without me asking.
Fuck. He wants this. He's offering it to me.
I grab the lube, squeeze a line across my fingers, and coat him with slow, purposeful strokes. My index finger circles his hole, then presses in, steady, until he gasps, bites it down in the pillow, but I hear it.
It's the struggle that gets me, when he wants to moan, but bites it back like it'll ruin something if he lets it out. That little shaky inhale. It's fucking beautiful. I watch for it and I wait for it, every single time, because it's proof that he's feeling everything.
Even when he's trying to stay quiet, his body always tells on him. And I eat that shit up.
I love watching him fall apart in silence. Makes me feel special. I lean forward, mouth brushing his shoulder. "Don't hide those sounds from me, love."
"I can't help it," he murmurs, breath shaky. I add a second finger, curling them gently inside him. His back arches. The slick sounds and his little gasps…Jesus Christ.
"You're pretty like this," I whisper, sliding deeper.
He whimpers, and that sound makes my dick twitch against his thigh.
Once he is ready, I guide myself into place. I just let the tip press right up against him, for him to feel it. Let him know it's coming, let his body process it. I run my hands over his hips.
Then I push in.
Holy Mother of Mercy.
I see God.
I see stars.
He's so warm, so tight, so fucking perfect. He moans into the pillow. I bottom out and just stay there, buried to the hilt. I can feel his body pulsing around me, still adjusting.
"Holy fuck," I groan, teeth gritted. "You feel unreal." I hold still, buried to the base inside him. His ass snug against my hips.
I lean over him, chest brushing his spine, and kiss the back of his neck. "Tell me you're okay."
He nods hard. "I'm okay. Just…move. Please."
I pull out a few inches, then thrust back in, deeper this time. The sound he makes is muffled, but desperate. His hands fist the sheets. I set a slow rhythm, grinding thrusts, hips rolling forward. I want him to feel everything.
God, I've had sex before. But never like this.
I've never wanted anyone this fucking much. His skin burns under my palms. I watch his back muscles flex beneath me, his thighs tighten, his ass bounce every time I hit it.
I'm hypnotized by the sounds, the rhythm. Every moan he lets slip, every twitch of his hips, it drags me deeper under. My hips keep snapping forward. I don't even know how many times I've slid back in, just that every single time feels fucking better than the last.
I stare down at the way my dick disappears inside him, the way his hole pulls me in. It wants me there, I swear. I moan again because I want him to hear it. I want him to know how good this feels. Every sound I make is for him. His hands grip the sheets. He's gone. Fully gone.
"I want to see you," I rasp. I pull out slowly and turn him onto his back. I lift his legs, bring them over my shoulders. His knees frame my face. His body looks wrecked. Spread open. Needing me.
"I dreamed of this," he whispers. "Of this exact moment."
I hold his hips and line myself back up.
"You're such a whore." And I slide back inside him. We both moan at once. I lean in to kiss him, and I don't even think I'm gonna reach, but then he lifts his face and meets me halfway.
My hands grip behind his thighs, keeping his legs high, angling just right so I can go deeper.
I grab his chest because I need to feel them bounce while I'm fucking into him, and they do.
Fuck.
I squeeze hard, digging my fingers into his skin as I thrust.
Tomorrow morning I gotta walk into that stiff-ass conference room and pretend I barely tolerate this man. I'm supposed to look at him and go, "I disagree with your assessment, Rava," like I wasn't just balls deep in that exact assessment a few hours ago.
What a fucking joke. Everyone in that room thinks we hate each other, and we're fucking like animals.
They don't know shit. Tomorrow, I'll be sipping shitty coffee while he talks logistics with a straight face, and all I'll be thinking about is his fat ass.
And the best part is that he'll be doing the same exact thing, sitting there like a good boy, nodding along, acting like he wasn't swallowing my dick last night.
I swear, if someone finds out, it's over.
But until then…let them think we hate each other.
Let them believe the tension's from some dumb work rivalry.
Let them wonder why I can't stop smirking every time he talks. They'll never guess it's because he was screaming my name while we were having sex.
He is louder now. No pillow to hide behind. I kiss the inside of his knee, drive into him harder. Our skin slaps.
"Look at me," I demand. "Keep your eyes on me."
He does, and fuck, those super green eyes, they undress me.
The bed creaks. The headboard taps the wall again and again.
I don't care. I fuck him harder now, and he smiles.
My hand wraps around his dick, stroking him in rhythm, making him shudder under me.
Every thrust hits deep, sharp, and I feel his body start to tremble.
"I can't, fuck, Gio—"
"I got you," I whisper, breath ragged.
I know he's close. "Rava," I gasp, grabbing his jaw, forcing his eyes on mine, "look at me. Look at me while you cum."
He does. And that is it.
His body arches and he starts cumming between us, his dick twitching in my hand, white ropes hitting his stomach, his chest, all the way up to his collarbone.
My brain shuts down. "Fuck—" I moan, voice cracking as the tight grip of his body around me drags me under.
"Fuck, Rava—"
I cum hard.
So hard it steals my breath. My body jerks, every muscle locking as I spill into him, whole world spinning. My arms give out. I drop forward, collapsing onto him with a loud, broken groan, our sweat-slicked skin sticking.
But I don't stop. I kiss him, sloppy. My tongue is everywhere obviously, his lips, his neck, because I need more. I need all of him. I pull back just an inch and look down at him. His hair is stuck to his forehead. His eyes dazed, half-lidded.
His chest is flushed pink and splattered with his own cum.
The view is beautiful. Art.
My hand trembles as I run two fingers through the mess on his chest. I bring them to my mouth. Taste him.
And I swear I could go hard again.
He is staring up at me, mouth barely parted, and I melt. "You taste fucking perfect," I whisper.
Then I lean down and lick it off his chest. Every drop.
Slowly. My tongue dragging from his sternum to the hollow of his throat.
I lick his collarbone. My hand stays on his ribs, feeling his breath stutter.
He is trying to recover. I won't let him.
I come back up, still breathing hard, and kiss him again.
Lick into his mouth like I can't get enough, because I can't. I'm not gonna survive this.
I'm not gonna survive him.
…
"She really likes me," Rava says, scratching Lulu's belly while she kicks at his hand with her little paws. "Like, dangerously obsessed."
I'm sitting next to him, watching him.
"She doesn't like anyone this much. She usually hisses when someone even looks at her."
"She's got excellent taste," he says, grinning. "I'm clearly irresistible." I roll my eyes but don't deny it, because how could I?
How could she not like him? How could anyone not? He's the kind of good that doesn't even try. It's just there, naturally.
He glances around the room, eyes scanning the shelves.
"So…besides your illegal charm, what else in here is gonna get you arrested?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "You asking as my lawyer or what?" He shrugs. "Depending on the severity."
I toss a pillow at him. "Shut up. I'm not a murderer."
He catches it. "No, really. What do you have? That camera, for example? Are there dead bodies in this?"
I pause. "I don't know…it's stolen. Don't ask. My dudes insisted. I was dumb back then."
"Gio!" he gasps. "That's vintage!"
"You think I stole cheap shit?"
He laughs, then puts Lulu gently aside and shifts to sit closer to me. "You're ridiculous."
There's a pause. I should leave it there. Joke, flirt, deflect. It's what I'm good at. But…something in his eyes makes the usual instinct feel…wrong.
"I wanna show you something," I say quietly.
Rava raises a brow. "What?"
"I don't know. I just—fuck." I run a hand through my hair. "I've never shown anyone this. But I want you to see it. No jokes this time."
He nods once, immediately serious.
I get up, but then I sit back down again. My brain won't shut the fuck up. I should probably keep my mouth shut. That's how I've survived this long.
But my head keeps circling back to that one thought. He doesn't know shit about me. He knows the funny stuff, the cocky, loud, "I don't give a fuck" Gio, the one that jokes, fights, and flirts.
He doesn't know about the box. That ugly beat-up thing at the back of my closet, taped on the edges, full of all the shit I should've burned a long time ago.
Proof I wasn't just some loud-mouthed kid hanging around the wrong people, I was in it. If anyone ever wants to bury me, they wouldn't even have to dig very far.
What if I show him?
I scoff at myself internally. Genius move.
"Hey Ravioli, since I just almost broke your spine, here's a fun little felony scrapbook for you to flip through!"
For some reason, post-sex, my brain goes soft in ways I hate. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and regret even thinking about it. Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy the fact that I haven't ruined this yet.
But the thought doesn't leave.
Show him. Show him. Show him.
I swallow. Can I even trust him with it? Like fully, actually trust him? If one day he wakes up and decides he's had enough of my shit, what then?
What if he gets tired?
What if he hates me?
What if we break the way everything else in my life breaks, and he walks away with a loaded gun worth of information he can hand over with a pretty little bow?
He'd destroy me without even meaning to. I don't know. I don't fucking know. But then another thought hits, quieter.
What if he doesn't?
What if he never uses it?
What if he hears it, knows it, sees it, and stays?
For some reason, with him, it feels like maybe this is the first time I could actually share it. Maybe it is a sign. Or maybe I'm just being reckless again. Either way, the need won't shut up.
I'll risk it. If I lose because of this, maybe I deserve it. Maybe I've been playing with the fire long enough.