Chapter 6 #4
And I've been losing my mind over it. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to smirk, because it's actually so dumb.
All day I was in full dad mode with medicine, cartoons, tissues, "Antonio blow your nose, not your soul," all that, and now suddenly my head's like, hey, remember how it feels when you're under him instead of on top?
I can't even lie, Rava's dick feels unreal. Objectively. Like if I wasn't married to him, I'd start a rumor about it just out of respect.
It's not fair that someone who looks that soft, talks that sweet, is also built like that.
And there are days where I don't care, I'm happy in my usual lane, on top, in control, doing my thing.
That's me. That's my default. Always has been.
I like knowing exactly where I'm putting him. But sometimes I get this itch. This annoying little thought: maybe tonight you shut up and let him drive.
Rava shifts a little on top of me, sighing into my chest. "Mm," he mumbles. "This is nice. I'm not moving ever again."
"You say that every time and then you get up to pee," I say. He laughs. "Shut up. Let me have one dramatic sentence."
I keep scratching his scalp and feel him melt even more. His leg is thrown over my hip, blanket wrapped around us.
"Happy Valentine's, by the way," he says after a bit. "In case I forgot to say it."
"You did forget," I answer. "Rude."
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. "I literally made heart-shaped pancakes this morning."
"That was for Antonio," I say.
"And who ate half of them?" he asks.
I pause. "Stop."
He smiles and drops his head again. "You know what I like about tonight?" he says suddenly. "If you say 'you' I'm kicking you off me, I swear," I warn.
He snorts. "I was gonna say that I like that for once we didn't try to do anything big. No reservations, no pressure. Just us."
"That sounds like 'you' with extra steps," I say.
"But it's true," he adds. "I feel like sometimes you think you have to perform. Like you have to make everything perfect."
I roll my eyes at the ceiling. "Wow, attack me on Valentine's, Ravioli, go ahead."
"No I'm not attacking," he says softly. "I'm just saying... you can relax sometimes. You don't always have to be in charge of everything."
I stare at the ceiling, chewing on that. "...You know," I say slowly, "that's very interesting timing."
He hums. "Why?"
"Because I was literally just thinking about that," I admit. "About not being in charge. Today."
He shifts, curious now. "In what way?"
I glance down at him. "You really want me to spell it out?"
"I mean... maybe." I slide my hand down his back, over the curve of his waist. "In the way where," I say, "you stop acting like you're all shy and soft and you actually take over."
He blinks. "Hey. I do take over sometimes."
"Not like I'm talking about," I say. "I mean full thing. No holding back. You. In control. Me shutting up and listening."
His eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. "You. Shutting up. That's a big fucking promise."
"Don't push it," I mutter, but I'm smiling. He just looks at me for a second, like he's trying to see if I'm joking or not.
Then he squints a little. "Maybe that's the wine talking," he says softly. "Not you."
I huff out a laugh. "No, baby. The wine is just making me less annoying about it."
"So if you wake up tomorrow and regret it—"
"I'm not going to regret it," I cut in.
"You don't know that," he insists.
"Rava," I say, looking straight at him. "I've been preparing for this mentally and physically all day. It's not the wine." His eyebrows shoot up. "All day?"
"Yes. All day," I repeat. He starts laughing, but his eyes are still soft, searching my face, looking for any sign I'm messing with him.
"Look at me," I say.
He does.
"If I didn't want it," I tell him, "I wouldn't even joke about it. You know how I am with this shit. I don't do 'maybe' when it comes to control. Either I'm in charge or I'm handing you the keys on purpose."
His throat works around a swallow. "Okay," he whispers. "Then... okay."
I grin, a little crooked. "Also, and I can't stress this enough, you're hot. This is not purely spiritual, I need you to know that."
He snorts, and then suddenly starts laughing. I squint at him. "What's so funny, you idiot?"
He tries to calm down, fails, wipes his eyes. "Nothing, just... you. This whole thing."
"What about me?" I ask. "Use your words, teacher."
He snorts again.
I narrow my eyes. "You little delinquent. You clearly want this so bad, so why the hell do you never just ask me?"
He goes a bit red, looks away for half a second, then leans down closer. "I can't just walk up to you and say 'hey Gio, bend over, I'm in the mood,'" he whispers.
I laugh. "Why not?? That's literally what I do, and you obey just fine."
His jaw drops. "That is NOT how you ask."
"That is EXACTLY how I ask," I say. "Okay, maybe with a bit more romance. Sometimes I add 'baby' at the end because I'm a gentleman."
He presses his lips together, trying not to smile, but it breaks through anyway. "You know what I mean," he mutters. "You're always so sure of yourself. I'm not built like that."
"You don't have to be me," I say. "You just have to tell me what you want."
He rolls his eyes. "I open my mouth to say it and my brain goes, 'nope, illegal sentence, shut it down,'" he admits. "So I just... don't."
"Tragic," I say. "We've been missing out because your brain has stage fright." He laughs again. I brush his hair back from his forehead, tucking them behind his ear. Then I lean up and kiss him softly, tasting the last of the wine on his tongue.
"I'm gonna go get some paper towels and—"
"No, no," he says, pushing me back down. "I'll get them."
I freeze. Look at him. "Why?"
"Because I want to. You sit here and wait for me." He slides off me smooth, blanket slipping down as he stands.
Naked. Completely fucking naked. And there it is again, that problem with Rava. His whole body is a walking contradiction. Ass round, thighs thick. He is so sexy you wanna pin him down and fuck him until he's crying your name.
But also... so sexy you wanna spread your legs for him. Right now, I'm betting everything on door number two.
So here I am. Naked on the couch. Waiting. Like some prince expecting his knight to come back with the goods. I'm kinda proud of it. I've seen the way bottoms look at him in clubs or wherever, like they're wishing he was a top.
I've seen tops clock him too with hungry stares, the kind that say: "fuck my pride, I'd bottom for you in a fucking heartbeat, no questions."
And every single time I catch one of those looks I just grin inside because motherfucker, I get both worlds. Blessed doesn't even scratch the surface. I'm stupid grateful.
Rava comes back, drops the lube right next to us on the couch cushion. Then he's climbing over me again, naked.
My hands move on autopilot straight to his hips. He leans down slow, then starts with those soft kisses. Rava edition. Barely-there brushes of lips against my mouth. So light you almost don't feel them, but you do.
Then his tongue touches my neck. Fuck. His tongue has no bones, but it makes me bone-level hard. He shifts on my lap, adjusts himself higher so his weight settles right where it counts. Then... his hand slides down between us, wraps around both our dicks at the same time.
One grip. Mine and his, pressed tight together.
He starts stroking, down, then up, thumb dragging over the heads. I look down. My eyes lock on his hand. Our heads are bumping with every stroke, leaking together.
Holy fuck. This is the hottest thing I've ever seen him do. No idea why it hits this hard, but damn. My brain flatlines for a second. I'm just staring.
"Damn, Rava. You're getting filthier by the day." He catches me looking, and he grins. "What?" he says. "You got a problem with this, Gio?"
I huff a laugh. "Not a single fucking one. Keep going. I could watch this all day."
He smirks, tightens his grip, and keeps stroking.
Down, squeeze, up, twist at the top. Our precum mixes.
He preps me first, and then he lines up. "What position do you want?" he asks.
I laugh. "We're good like this. I don't get to watch you fuck every day. Wanna take it all in."
"Fair," he says, smirking a little. "Doesn't hurt my feelings to watch you suffer because of me either."
He leans down, kisses my chest, tongue flicking over a nipple once before he straightens back up. Grabs the lube again, slicks himself up proper. A lot.
His hand is stroking down his dick, coating every inch until it's shiny and dripping. And there I am with my legs spread wide like some eager slut on the couch, knees bent, waiting for Rava to slide in.
The second his tip nudges against my hole, this rush hits me. Jesus. Excitement straight to the gut. I knew I wanted it, but after what he just did with his hand five minutes ago, now I want him even more. Need it.
"If it doesn't feel good, we stop, okay?" he says, serious now. "For real. Don't hide it."
I laugh. "If you keep treating this like something I don't want, I'm gonna flip you over and end up fucking you instead."
He laughs quietly. I look at him straight. "Kidding. Mostly. Seriously, I want it. Stop stressing."
He nods and plants his hands solid on my chest for leverage. "Deep breath for me?" he whispers, lips brushing mine, eyes locked like he's checking I'm still with him.
I'm a fucking puddle for this man, swear to god. Melted. Gone. I suck in air slow, and nod once. I do it because I promised I'd listen to him, always.
And then he pushes in. We both go dead quiet on instinct. Antonio's asleep, and the last thing we need is daddy duties right now. Not when Rava's finally sliding in.
He leans down closer, one hand coming up to brush my hair back slow.
"Hope the kid stays knocked out a little longer. Because right now," he gives me another kiss. "I need his daddy more than he does."
He pushes deeper. And deeper. Fuck. Is this what wine does to teachers? Turns the soft-spoken ones into this?