Chapter 14 #2
His frame looks imposing, even in the large shower.
Broad, strong shoulders leading down to a tapered waist and long muscular legs.
I watch as he seems to be having some battle with himself.
Tipping his head back as he washes the last of the shampoo from his hair, keeping it there for a moment, his eyes trained on the ceiling as he lets out a strangled “Fuck.” I know I should leave.
That I am a voyeur getting turned on by a moment not meant for me.
But I can’t force myself to walk away. And especially not now as he drops his head between his shoulders and lifts one arm to brace himself against the wall while he moves the other in front of him to grip...
Oh my fuck. He grips his cock, and my heart rate ratchets up to speeds I’m sure are not healthy for a woman who recently blacked out from a mix of alcohol and overwhelming panic.
The muscles in his back and bicep jump as his hand starts to move, fisting his cock in long, strong, even strokes.
My nipples pebble and everything below the waist feels…
warm. Wet. Slippery. I can’t see details, but if the length of his strokes are anything to go by, Raf’s size is impressive, and there’s nothing I want more than to be the one wrapped around every inch of him.
Filled by him. I want to submit to him. Give him free rein to take his pleasure before taking every ounce of the control he holds onto with an iron-fist and giving it right back.
His movements speed up, and he pumps fast and hard, deep grunts and breathy curses mingling with the steam and tinkling of the water.
It feels heady and forbidden, the shadows putting on an erotic show as they move around in time with his pumping.
He’s getting close; I can see his movements are getting sloppier, his breathing more choppy, evident in the jumpy rise and fall of his back in time with his breathing.
I can’t take my eyes off him, my whole body on fire like hot water is being poured over me too.
“Fuuuuuckkk…What in the fucking hell are you doing to me, Little Devil?” he says, using the nickname he whispered earlier when he thought I couldn’t hear him, before falling forward and using the wall to support more of his weight.
The sight takes me out, my legs buckling, and I have no choice but to use his bed to stop my fall, both hands hitting his mattress with a loud thud thanks to how firm it is.
He lifts his head but doesn’t change his position.
Maybe the water disguised the noise and I can get out of here before he realizes I watched him fuck his hand.
I slowly move to right myself, and just as I turn to tip-toe back out the way I came, his rough voice cuts through the quiet. “Turn a light on next time. You’ll be able to see the show more clearly.”
Fuck. All my bravado has left the building.
And my feet finally want to do what my head was telling them to do all along.
I turn and sprint back to my room, throwing myself back into bed.
My breathing is ragged, and my heart is pounding out of my chest. But it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the sprint and absolutely everything to do with hearing my nickname fall off the lips of a man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about from the very first time I laid eyes on him.
Bone deep exhaustion hits, like my adrenals have finally given up the fight.
And so do I as I let the cool sheets and the weight of the duvet lull me to sleep.
What version of Raf will I get tomorrow? Only time will tell.
I may have tested out my acting skills last night, but there is absolutely nothing pretend about the incessant pounding in my skull, the dull ache in my feet and legs from dancing in four-inch stilettos, or the sea of nausea swirling in my body and threatening to crash right out of my mouth.
No. I can confidently confirm this hangover is very real. I keep my eyes closed, breathing through wave after wave of the effects of far too much Champagne mixed with regret.
“Please, God,” I mutter. “Please don’t let me vomit all over Raf’s pristine bedding.
I don’t think I could suffer his death stare.
I’ll do anything you ask.” I think on that for a second.
“Except go back to live with my uncle in Italy. Or become a nun. That life is not for me. I’m sure you can understand. ”
God must be feeling generous today, because I do in fact manage to breathe through the onslaught of alcohol-induced sickliness.
It passes long enough for me to gingerly sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I listen for movement, but the house seems incredibly quiet.
I slowly get myself to standing and walk towards the ensuite in my room.
Oh God, I’m never drinking ever again, I think as I make the final dash to the bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the porcelain bowl just in time to say goodbye to the alcohol that I’m sure fueled every bad decision I made last night.
The tears flow as I expel everything in my stomach.
I can’t help it; I always cry when I vomit.
It’s almost as if the purge releases all the shit I’ve buried deep within—every sorrow, regret, or shameful thing resurfaces with the stream of very expensive Champagne.
Once I’m sure it’s all out, I crawl to the vanity and grab the ledge with my fingers, slowly lifting myself to standing.
Holy hell. My dark hair is a tangled nest, and my mascara and eye makeup has wound itself around my entire eye, giving off raccoon vibes.
I root through the drawers and find a washer to clean my face as best I can without my normal products. Then I finger brush my hair.
Note to self: Remind Raf he also needs to remove my makeup before he puts me to bed. I snort at the audacity of my delusional thoughts. I already know God must have listened earlier because hell has frozen over, given Raf let me spend the night at his home and I’m still here.
I slowly walk back to the room and listen to hear if the man himself is awake. It sounds eerily quiet, like I’m home alone. I try to remember where my phone is, looking around the room for my bag, except my eyes land on it next to a glass of water and two white pills on the bedside table.
I sit on the edge of the bed and unlock my phone.
Its screen is covered in notifications, but there is only one I care about.
My heart races at the sight of his name: Big Bad Raf.
And my lips can’t help but slowly unfurl into a satisfied smirk at the realization that he’s messaged me.
Even if I have no idea what it contains, I’ll count it as a win.
Before I click into the app to answer his message and no doubt make his day, I curl back up in the big bed with luxuriously soft linen, my small body swimming in his T-shirt.
I rub my feet slowly along the sheets to warm the spot I like, the heat spreading fast as my mind wanders back to him in the shower stroking himself to orgasm.
Now in the morning light, it’s clear to me he knew I was there and didn’t stop.
Unable to curb the small feeling of satisfaction that slowly begins to unfurl, I open his message to see what adventures we’ll go on today, because every interaction with this infuriatingly intriguing man is like a choose-your-own-adventure book. I just hope the one I desperately want is an option.
Big Bad Raf:
In case you’re still drunk and can’t see straight, there’s Tylenol and water by your bed. Take it now.
Big Bad Raf:
The coffee maker is already set up for an espresso. Press the button and drink it. Rinse the cup and put it in the dishwasher by the sink when you’re done. Avery is waiting out the front, ready to take you back to Arabella’s. He has a bacon, egg, and cheese roll waiting for you.
Good morning, Daddy. *Devil emoji*
Is that code for “Good morning, Chiara. Hope you slept well.”
Big Bad Raf:
No. That’s plain English for the party’s over, and it’s time to go now, Chiara.
Hmmm. Think I might just stay here. I don’t remember getting an invite to your party. *Eyes emoji*
Besides. I didn’t fully get to appreciate your home last night, so might take myself on a tour.
Big Bad Raf:
We both know that’s a lie.
Big Bad Raf:
Tour yourself right out my front door.
Whoops! I must have forgot to mention I sleepwalk. In which case, I wasn’t lucid enough to fully appreciate all the attractions. *Devil emoji*
It’s gorgeous. Your home, that is. Just needs a few photos on the wall. Lucky for you, I happen to know a talented photographer.
Big Bad Raf:
I like my walls just the way they are.
High and totally impenetrable? All good, grumpy. I promise I just want to make them look pretty, not damage them.
Are you here?
Big Bad Raf:
No.
Okay. So…where are you?
Big Bad Raf:
At work.
What psycho goes to the office on a Sunday?
Big Bad Raf:
The one who has a stalker sleepwalking around his house and mountains of case work to get through.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t get here myself.
Big Bad Raf:
No. Not in the state you were in.
Big Bad Raf:
But seeing as you’re feeling well enough to annoy me, get moving.
Sure. See you soon.
Big Bad Raf:
Highly doubtful.
I just happen to need a lawyer. And if my memory serves me correctly, you’re a lawyer who just so happens to be working today. So, yes—see you soon.