Page 67 of Petrichor

I clear my throat. “How’s your hangover?”

“Took an aspirin,” he mumbles against my skin.

My hand moves into his damp hair as he grinds his soft cock against my ass. The sweet assault ends too quickly, and after sucking hard on my neck again, he lets me go, taking his cup and moving toward the French windows. I’m frozen in my spot. What just happened? He never initiates this kind of display unless it ends with his cum in one of my holes.

I grab my mug with the cat on the front and make my latte macchiato with trembling hands—no, it’s calledcaffé latteas Marco explained to me. Withcaffé latteorlatte, you have the espresso shot with the steamed milk, with the macchiato it is thereverse. Why there is a difference, I don’t know, but Marco loves Italian food and turns all irritated when someone gets it wrong. He’s very good at cooking, I’m amazed by his dexterity. Maybe because it’s hard for me to make my hands cooperate unless I’m creating lingerie.

I glance at him leaning over the balcony rail, a cigarette in one hand, the other holding his espresso. He looks like one of those striking Roman statues with his long nose, wavy hair, and strong jaw.

His phone starts ringing again from the counter, and without thinking, I answer when I see it’s Luca.

He starts talking straight away. “Did you put a steak on that eye?”

“He didn’t,” I reply.

“Oh, the wife is answering his phone now.”

Wife?“I wish.” I press a hand over my mouth as soon as I realize I uttered the words out loud.

“No backsies, Fly. He’s all yours, shitty attitude and ornery personality included.”

I chuckle.

“Why did you answer my phone?” Marco growls, taking his from my hand, inexorably confirming Luca’s description of him.

“It’s Luca,” I reply. Not liking his rudeness, I grab my mug and one of the handmade cookies I bought yesterday from a little bakery around the corner. I bring everything to the coffee table and sit on the sofa.

Marco follows me, taking his seat near me as he starts talking on the phone in Italian. I can only understand the wordsstronzo(piece of shit) and Enzino. That reminds me of Jerry’s texts. Isquirm on the cushion as my body turns heated hearing him speaking the melodious language. I should ask him to whisper Italian nonsense in my ear when we fuck.

A snapping sound makes me turn his way. He’s patting the space between his legs, ordering me to sit there, a severe expression on his face.

Is he still pissed off I answered his phone?Chill out!He should really work on his bad temper. It’s like riding a roller coaster when I’m with him, with ups and downs. One moment he laughs in my ear, and the next he treats me like enemy number one.

I glare at him and start munching on my cookie. He snaps his fingers again, pointing between his legs like he would do to a dog. Doesn’t he know by now that I’m more like a cat? A clawing cat.

I turn my head away and flip him off without looking at him, not in the least afraid over the furious growl that leaves his lips. He hangs up, and then as quick as a panther, he stands up and bends over me, caging me once again.

He looms over me with a severe expression.“When I tell you to come, you have to come.”

“You didn’t tell me, sir,”

“I…” He trails off into something between a growl and a whisper, as he looks away from me with his jaw set.

“Cosa devo fare con te?” He sighs.

I don’t understand his words but I can see the inner fight in his eyes. I lift my hand and cup his jaw.

“Kiss me,” he tells me then, surprising me once again. His nostrils are flaring, lips tightening as I take too long to move. “You have to think about it?” he asks, looking even less pleased now.

“No.” I still don't move, though. Instead, I stick out my lower lip, trying to copy Art’s pouts. His hand falls on the back of the sofa as he grabs my chin with the other and crushes his mouth to mine. But he doesn’t force the kiss. My lips part as he teases and nips the skin, licking at the corner. Only then he kisses me fully, long and thorough. His hand slides on my nape, his tongue busy in a twisting, passionate battle with mine. I literally swoon.

If I wasn’t sore as fuck I’d beg him to take me again.

Too soon, he straightens up; his lips are wet, and his glimmering eyes stay on my mouth for a long moment. He’s got to be feeling this, too. This powerful attraction. I mean, he barely let me sleep last night. I lost track of how many orgasms I had.

He straightens up and looks at the coffee table where the open cardboard box that contains the crystal is.

he bends toward it but instead, he grabs and puts on the shoulder holster that was laying near it. Then he pulls his jacket back on and moves to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

---