Page 58 of Petrichor

Chapter Eight

Marco

Iclose the back car door. Seb lowers down the window, gesturing me to come closer.

“John took a look at your car,” he lets me know. Yesterday morning it wasn’t starting, so Carlo had it taken to our mechanic and borrowed one of Seb’s cars in the meantime. He only owns black Audi A8. The reason? That’s just Seb being Seb.

“What was wrong with it?”

“Something with the fuel pump fuse.” Too hand-dirty for Seb to care.

“I’ll call him later and deal with it. I’ll see you at the house tomorrow.” I tap on the Audi’s roof, the engine starts, and the car leaves.

My eyes fall on Mario Enzino on the other side of the parking lot. He had his sadistic smirk fixed on Seb throughout themeeting. I’m glad Luca was called to fix a problem at the company today, otherwise I don’t know if he would’ve been able to control himself.

The bi-annual meetings with the other families are a damn bore. A way to vent to each other with passive-aggressive statements and half threats—I’m glad I’m not the one sitting at that table with those snakes. Usually, Seb goes with his bodyguards and Luca. Today, I was there to observe any difference in the way Coretti and Enzino interacted. There was tension between the dons of the two families—nothing unusual—and also between Jack Enzino and his son. Mario looked cocky. He is definitely cooking up something, and that something is aimed at us.

Jo opens the car door for me, and I get in, letting my head fall back on the headrest. When did a day at work start feeling so long?

Fly’s smiling face as I come back home pops into my head, and I sigh with what feels like irritation. At the same time, something in me relaxes a little; I can feel the tension unfurl from my shoulders at the thought of him waiting.

Yesterday I went still when I returned to the penthouse and found him asleep on the rug near the fireplace. His delicate chest was covered in what I later discovered is called a bustier. I could still see his alabaster skin marked by my bites and fingerprints. He was also wearing a pair of soft pants so low on his hips that I could see his perfectly trimmed pubic hair emerging out of the waistband, together with a strip of blue.

Blue boy-fucking-shorts that I knew would be hugging his luscious buttocks just right. I ripped those damn pants off him—waking him up as I did it—and stared utterly captivated by the way the translucent fabric showed bits of skin between the intricate pattern. It dove between the round ass cheeks showing off only theplump, peachy ends of Fly’s globes and lost myself in him once again.

Jesus Christ, only the memory of it, and my heart rushes, pumping heated blood like I just got a testosterone injection straight in the dick. I’ve always loved this kind of underclothes, but seeing it on Fly just turns me into a savage.

It was meant to be a one-time thing. Instead, it backfired. I still crave him after I fucked him repeatedly over the last five days. I’m just addicted to his eager lips and tight, milking hole. His submissive behavior and that naughty side of him make me hungry for him. Sex with him is like a primal act, a release of my inner self. An animal that needs to get off and stuff him with cum. Since when do I have a fucking breeding kink?

I like to give it hard and dirty, but condoms are always worn—the feral way Fly responds to my raw cock, though, is too fucking hot. There’s an urgency to our desire. I just need to be in him, to keep every droplet of my cum inside of him. I don’t want to have kids ever, and I’m aware of the fact that impregnating Fly is impossible. But feeling my throbbing cock shooting a warm load inside him, sliding though his jizz-drenched channel, watching my thick juice attempt to drip out of his well-used hole, it makes me tremble with satisfaction.

I only got this sex obsessed one other time, and it didn’t end well. But Delia never got a place in my day-to-day life. I bought her an apartment, she never slept in my bed or bantered with me. She knew her place—or so I thought. Comparing her with Fly enrages me. She was a cunning, lying bitch who liked power more than anything else.

Fly is messy, ballsy, carefree, head in the clouds, a Curious George who likes to watch rainfalls and sniffs me like a dog. I still can’t disregard my instincts. There’s something about him that leavesme slightly edgy at times. Something in the nearly melancholic gazes he aims at me, his overly helpful attitude, the heavy silences. It’s like I’m missing something, and it’s driving me crazy.

I run my fingers through my hair and turn off the silent mode on my phone as I go through my messages, finding one from Fly. He finished all the ice cream I got for him and wants to know where I bought it. He really has a cold sweet tooth. I’m just a couple of blocks from the shop, so I let him know I’ll get it.

Pretty Butterfly

*Shocked emoji*

Pretty Butterfly

You going now?

I frown at his question.

Me

You’ll have your fucking ice cream soon

Pretty Butterfly

And you’re back. Thought you were suffering a stroke or something

Me

Your ass will be suffering later

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