Chapter 27 #3
"I was not," I mumble into his skin, already melting. I turn, stretching a little, then start to sit up. "I need water," I mumble, my voice still heavy with sleep. Before I can even lift myself off the bed, Gio’s hand lands on my chest and pushes me back down, gently but firmly.
Then he sits up with a grunt, rubbing his eyes, clearly still half-asleep. "I’ll get it," he says, already getting up, wobbling just a little as he moves toward the mini fridge in the corner of the room. "Stay there."
I just lie there, watching him move. He’s not even fully awake, his hair is still a mess, walking like a zombie, but still he’s acting like he’s on some stupid mission. I rub my eyes, trying not to laugh. "You don’t have to be a gentleman in your sleep, you know."
He crouches down in front of the fridge, pulls out two cold bottles of water, and turns to look at me with the most serious face. "Let me live my dream in peace, Rava." That makes me smile. He walks back over, cracks one of the bottles open, and hands it to me without a word.
"Thanks," I whisper. He stretches, lets out a soft groan, then ruffles his hair. "I’m gonna shower," he says, already halfway to the bathroom. "Then I’ll head to the hospital. Gonna visit my mom."
I sit up a little. "Do you want me to come with you?"
He turns, eyebrows raised. "To the shower? Please do. To the hospital? Nah. I need someone to keep Lulu company." He tilts his head. "She finally found a friend. You." I try not to smile, but fail miserably. "You sure?"
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. His skin catches the morning light, and it feels freaking unfair how easy it is for him to look like that.
"For the shower? One hundred percent sure." He winks. "And for Lulu? Yeah. She’ll kill me in my sleep if I take that fat ass of yours away from her." I laugh quietly, watching him brush his teeth. I grab my phone. Three unread messages.
All from my father. Shit. I hesitate, then open them.
CHARLES:
-I’m not letting that bastard get away with what he did.
-You think I’ll just sit back and watch you ruin yourself?
-He’s not getting off easy.
My hands clench around the phone. My heart is beating too fast. My stomach twists. But then I breathe. And type.
ME:
-You’re so obsessed with him, I’m starting to think you have a crush on him too.
-Leave him the fuck alone.
I lock the screen and I stand up, walking to the bathroom. The mirror is already fogged, the air heavy, and behind the glass, Gio is a blur of movement under the water.
I brush my teeth, and peel my shirt off slow. My skin prickles with anticipation. The rest follows. Sweats, boxers, until I’m bare.
I slide the glass door open slowly. Gio turns mid-motion, still lathering up his shoulder. The second he sees me, he looks.
Top to bottom.
Slow as hell. His eyes drag down my chest, my stomach, pause at my waist, then crawl their way back up to my face. He’s smirking now. I step in. Close the door behind me.
Warm water hits my chest, then my face, then he runs his hand through my hair and pushes it all back. His hands slide straight down, grabbing my ass, pulling me right into him. His dick is pressing against mine.
I look down. He lifts my chin with two fingers, and kisses me. Then I drag my eyes down his body again, devouring every inch.
He’s obscene. All abs and veins, and that perfect V-line that disappears where my eyes keep landing. I don’t know what to touch first. My hand is already moving on its own across his stomach.
He’s art. The kind that demands silence. The kind you stare at for hours and still never understand how it exists. His chest, his waist, the way his body curves…I could study him forever and never run out of things to admire.
We stare at each other, breathing the same air. Every inch of me is flushed, hard, and still it’s not enough. I want him closer. Inside. Everywhere. The soap slides over his chest, over the lines of muscle, down his stomach, the water making his skin shine under the dim bathroom light.
My hands follow the path. I’m supposed to be washing him, but let’s be honest, I’m worshipping.
His body flexes under my touch. I rinse the lather off him with my palms. My fingers move lower, brushing his hips, his thighs, trailing places I’m pretending to clean.
And then my hand slips lower. He kisses me.
Harder this time. And then he pulls back, his eyes locked on mine. "Still thirsty, huh?" he murmurs.
I look down. He’s hard. Fuck. I swallow and look up again, my eyes meeting his. "You don’t seem to mind."
He doesn’t. He steps in closer, curls a hand behind my neck, slicks back my wet hair. He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
"On your knees."
I blink up at him, literally stunned.
"Please?" he whispers.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
I drop to my knees before I even think, mouth brushing down his stomach as I sink, kissing the trail of water over his skin with my hands on his thighs. My body already knows that this is where I belong. This is where I shut the fuck up and serve.
He’s leaning against the wall, skin flushed from the steam. I kiss up his thigh slowly. And when I take him in my mouth.
The second my tongue touches his dick, he starts to fall apart.
Both his hands go straight to my head, balancing himself, and this low moan slips out of him.
Giving him head is addictive. I don’t even know if I’m doing it for him anymore or for me.
Might be both. I’ve fully lost the plot.
I just wanna lick him and taste him. Always.
I go deeper without thinking twice, not caring if it makes me choke a little. It’s worth it. Every time. I moan around him. He tilts his head back, and I get greedy. I press deeper. Hollow my cheeks. Grip his thighs.
His breath hitches, and that fucking sound makes my spine arch. Because if he’s loving this, if I’m the reason for that little tremble in his legs, then I’ll never stop.
He keeps staring. His hand tightens in my hair, grounding. "You look so pretty like this."
Pretty. He says I look pretty.
Like this mess of me on my knees is art. I moan as I swallow him deeper, desperate to deserve that fucking word. My hand grips the back of his thigh. He lets out a groan, and I can’t stop.
I’m addicted. To the way he gasps. To the way his hips stutter. My name in that voice. I swear, I can cum just from that.
So I worship harder. I flatten my tongue, suck deeper.
He keeps moaning like I’m killing him in the best fucking way.
I pull back just enough to breathe a little.
His dick glistens. I lick lower. Trace my tongue down the base slowly.
He shudders. His thighs tense on either side of me.
I lick upward. From the base to the tip, every inch, worshipping him.
And when I finally take him in again, deeper and smoother. He whimpers. "Holy goddamn mouth," he whispers.
His hand shoots into my hair, fisting it, and I moan around him. He starts moving my head, using me.
And fuck me if that doesn’t do something to me. The way he holds me. The way he moans above me. I’m so far gone. He tastes like everything I’m not allowed to crave. But I couldn’t care less.
I know exactly where to go. Exactly how to finish him. I pull back just enough to focus on the tip, my tongue flicking over the slit. Right on that sweet spot, the one I know drives him insane.
His whole body jerks. A sharp inhale tears from his throat. He clenches his eyes shut. His abs lock.
There. That’s it.
I smile around him, tasting his reaction before it even comes.
And then he breaks. He’s cumming. Deep in my throat, and I don’t pull back.
Not for a second. I take it. All of it. The warm taste hits my tongue, and I moan from how real it is.
How heavy it feels in my mouth. How fucking perfect. But I don’t stop.
I keep moving, gentle now, literally dragging the pleasure out, milking every last drop from him.
My lips sliding up and down, savoring the shudders that run through him. His hand tightens in my hair again. His breath is a wreck. His stomach is tight and trembling, his whole body still reacting.
And I’m flying.
Because I did that. I made him fall apart. Me. He’s breathless. And ruined. Because of me. And I swallow every part of it with a grin against his skin. Because there is no better taste in the world than Gio when he lets go.
He pulls me up, hands rough but careful, one sliding around my waist, the other curling around my neck. His thumb presses into my throat. Our mouths are inches apart.
His eyes lock on mine. "How the fuck am I supposed to let you leave?"
His tongue slides into my mouth and he groans when he feels himself. He actually kisses me, tasting himself on my tongue. His hand stays tight around my neck, his thumb is brushing just below my jaw. He holds me there, not giving a fuck about time or leaving or anything but this.
Us.
29) No More Secrets
Gio
I’m pulling on my shirt, still damp from the bathroom. My buttons are fucking refusing to cooperate. Rava is quiet behind me, too quiet. I’m sure his cute little brain is spinning.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s sitting on my bed, knees tucked up, Lulu curled on his lap. His fingers are holding that photo frame I keep next to my bed. The one I don’t let people touch.
Me, maybe seven. Gap-toothed smile. Helmet too big for my head. Sitting on the tank of my dad’s motorcycle while he holds the handlebars behind me. Both of us laughing.
Rava looks up at me, holding the photo carefully. "Was that your dad’s bike?" he asks softly. "Yeah," I mutter. "That was his."
He looks back down at the picture. "Where is it now?"
I swallow hard. "They took it," I say. "After he…after what happened." I don’t have to say after he killed himself.