(Here’s my outfit for the screening of Rite Here, Rite Now. I didn’t have my white contacts so I had to go with a slightly more original makeup look rather than the full Copia look 💀 r.i.p)
Summary: Leon takes you to his place after you get an extreme fever at work and over the weekend, he nurses you back to full health. However, there's a consistent underlying problem that takes the form of a golden liquid.
part 5 of this
The nurses said you would be fine if you went home and rested over the weekend, but if it got any worse, immediately to go to the hospital due to the possible risk of it being an infection.
“C’mon, just one foot in front of the other, you’ve got this,” Leon reassured you as he had your arm slung over his shoulder, and his hand firmly steady on your waist. If someone looked from afar without context, it would look like you were a total drunk.
“I’m trying,” you mumbled, your voice whining. Every step you took made the world crash and blur, a sickening pulse in your head.
“You know what,” Leon sighed and bent his knees, one arm scooped the back of your knees and the other scooping up your back, “this is easier.”
You leaned your head against his chest, unable to find the energy to protest to this. His chest was warm and firm, his shirt smelling of laundry detergent. It was hard to imagine him slaughtering infected in his usual violent, apathetic way when he was holding you so gently.
He struggled to open the car door with you in his arms, but he managed to do it anyway. He slid you into the passenger seat and as your head lolled to the side, he clipped you into the seatbelt.
Something made him pause just to look at you for a second, not really to admire but to reflect on his life choices.
You pressed your head against the cold of the window for just some sort of relief, squeezing your eyes shut. In your dizzied state, you watched him walk around to the other side of the car and place himself in the driver’s seat with a huff. He secured himself in and placed his hand on the steering wheel before turning his head in your direction.
“Are you still sure that you don’t want me to take you home?” he asked, looking at your slumped posture, his hair messily out of place. You despised how stressed you were making him.
“Don’t take me home-” your phone rang. Your head hurt too badly to even want to look at the bright screen, but the words ‘Mom’ pierced through your eyes, and you saw the 7 missed calls and the other 10 threatening messages that she sent you.
It was enough to snap you out of your delirium.
Eyes widening, your phone slipped from your hands, and you shook Leon’s arm.
“I forgot about- fuck I forgot about dinner. Leon, you have to take me to my parents’ house,” you pleaded, hoping that you could just miraculously bottle the fever up.
“Are you insane?”
“Leon,” you stared at him with all the determination in the world despite your eyelids slowly sliding downwards and your head swaying a little, “Leon.”
“Yes?”
Your eyes eventually closed and your head fell back onto the headrest.
He tutted, turning the engine on, “You are certainly not going to dinner.”
And that’s how you ended up in your boss’s guest room bed.
You woke up in a sweat, nausea now clambering in your stomach and uncontrollable shivers shooting through your body. A little lost to where you were, your eyes scanned around the room, because the ceiling definitely wasn’t yours.
It smelt familiar, like coffee and leather. A scent that belonged in the office. In Leon’s office.
“Leon?” you mumbled out, pushing yourself upwards with your elbows. You were still in your office clothes from yesterday, but your heels had been slipped off, and a cold cloth was pressed on your forehead. At the end of the bed was clean, fresh clothes.
Slumped in a chair next to your bed was Leon. His face was softer when he slept, holding a youthful look to it as the usual tense knot in his face had loosened. You always wondered what his resting face looked like after seeing the pure adrenaline, predator scowl he had etched into his face.
The room held plain, cream-coloured walls with long windows from the ceiling to the floor that looked over a forest. The curtains cast ripples on the carpet as a window was left open to keep fresh air channelling through the room.
However, as soon as his name slipped from your mouth, he stirred immediately. His eyes shot open and his posture snapped into shape. He was still wearing the same navy suit from yesterday, just a few buttons undone at the top and his hair was dishevelled like he had run his hand through it a hundred times.
“Hey,” he said softly, “take it easy.”
He carefully removed the cloth from your forehead and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.
“Better than yesterday.”
You weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or you.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you croaked, pushing his hand away and slipping your feet out of the duvet to stand up.
“What are you doing?” he questioned sternly, the crease in his eyebrow deepening.
“Am I not allowed to get up…?” you stared at him, your eyes cringing at the bright light that slipped through the curtains and shone blindingly around Leon’s figure. From your point of view, he looked like an angel.
Sweat still clung to your face, a heat itching at your cheeks.
“You need rest,” his deep voice smoothed the throbbing bumps of your mind.
“I’ve rested.”
“You passed out. There’s a difference. You’re still hot and sick,” he said as he patted the damp cloth on your face, gently moving aside the hair that was stuck to your face.
You flopped back onto the bed, “you suck as a doctor.”
He let out a hum as he pushed a glass of water into your hands, and then two pills in the other.
“Drink,” he demanded, his eyes flicking to his watch and then back at you.
“Still bossy.”
“Funny that, because I’m your boss,” he said it with a small laugh, but then his expression flickered into something with regret.
The words floated awkwardly in the room like they didn’t belong there.
Because they were true, but also weirdly false at the same time.
He is your boss, but the typical boundaries of an employee and their boss had been totally blurred by the two of you.
Bosses didn’t sleep in a ridiculously uncomfortable chair all night and keep their employee in their guest room to look after them.
“What’s the time?” you asked, wiping the water on your lips with your sleeve.
“Four pm.”
“Four?! The presentation- oh my god my parents-,” you shot up out of the bed, feeling your chest twist in that unpleasant way all over again, pain coming in waves of sharp volts.
“Hey-“ he grabbed you before you toppled over.
“No- I forgot about dinner with my parents; I needed to be there- where is my phone?! And head office! I don’t have the presentation I won’t be able to present it-,” your head frantically turned left and right, your wrists still being held by Leon’s hand.
“You were unconscious,” he said monotonously.
“Where’s my phone?”
“You passed out mid-sentence in my car,” he continued in the same, slightly frustrated tone.
“I need to call them.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he declared.
“Leon,” you head snapped to him, tilting your head a little to give him puppy-eyes.
He sighed, letting go of your wrists, “your phone is right here. On the bedside.”
You picked it up and stared at the phone screen. 10 missed calls. 13 messages. Your eye twitched, a dread taking root in your body.
“I’m done for. She’s going to skin me alive and serve me as a meal for her next dinner!”
“I think that’s slightly excessive.”
“You clearly haven’t met my mother.”
Your phone began to buzz. Your fingers were shaking. For the first time, you felt like you couldn’t deal with anything, which was strange, because you always dealt with everything no matter the condition you were in. Stopping was never allowed.
“I- I can’t do it.”
“Then you don’t. Focus on resting,” he said, holding up the duvet so you could slide back under it. He said it so effortlessly, like resting was just second nature to him. You hesitantly laid your back onto the mattress, letting him fuss over you. “Sherry stopped by and dropped some clean clothes off for you,”
You hummed something unintelligible deliriously as exhaustion crashed over you, the softness of the pillows catalysing this.
He sat in his chair and paused on your face before standing up.
“I’m gonna get some coffee.”
“Leon,” you reached out and grabbed his hand, and his head snapped back to you, your pleading eyes staring back into his icy ones, “don’t leave.”
He stilled, but placed himself back on the seat, watching your face instantly relax as you succumbed to exhaustion, as if it was his presence that let you fall asleep.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his mouth. But his thumb was absently rubbing gentle circles into your palm.
He tried to imagine the DSO without you, and suddenly all the color was drained from it. Your withdrawal from him, the resignation letter, the collapse in the elevator – it all scared him in ways he didn’t think was possible. This wasn’t him. He was used to dealing with fear on the field but losing you would be a type of fear that wouldn’t let him get out of bed without a struggle.
You looked smaller when you slept. Less guarded, like you were no longer waiting for someone’s criticism. The usual determination that sat in your expression was softened by exhaustion.
You trusted him enough to fall asleep like this. In his house, holding his hand.
He couldn’t mess this up.
When you woke up, the soft glistening glow of the moon swept through the curtains. Leon was sat at the bed, his reading glasses reflecting the glow of the laptop that was on his lap. His suit jacket was draping over the chair; he was only in his button up shirt. His collar hung lazily around his neck and his sleeves were rolled up. Veins on his forearms were dimly lit by the lamp on the desk, and they tensed every few seconds when his eyebrows furrowed deeply.
Your fingers were loosely clinging around his hand, while his other hand was scrolling through emails. He clearly hadn’t moved it since you fell asleep.
“Hi,” you said awkwardly as you pushed yourself up, your hand letting go of his, embarrassed.
“Hi,” he said back, just as awkwardly. “Not to suck but I got an email from Head Office.”
“W-What did it say?” you stuttered, every possible scenario rushing through your head, studying his face for any hint of disappointment.
“That you and I need to come in on Monday to discuss your position at the DSO,” he replied, predicting what you were going to say next, “you’re not getting fired.”
“How do you know?” you said instantly, ready to shoot him with another million questions.
“Because you’re my assistant. I’m not letting it happen,” he shook his head, then shut his laptop and stood up, quickly shutting down any possible idea of you not being in his office. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”
A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. Was he crazy? Or were you crazy? You had to both be crazy.
You nodded, feeling like the shy assistant that walked into his office for the first time.
He petted your head, then he quickly retracted his hand, regretting what he just did, and disappeared into the ensuite, the sound of water splashing into the tub echoing around the room.
A small exhale left your nose as the corners of your mouth curved upwards, finding his awkwardness slightly endearing.
You began to explore his apartment as he fussed around your bath.
It seemed that his leather jacket collection extended into his home, because they were all neatly hanging up in a dark oak closet by the entrance. There was a brown battered one with a cream-colored fur snugly attached to the collar, a black one with two grey stripes circling the sleeves and another black one with an exaggerated collar that had an even fluffier fur.
It was strange that none of his usual weapons were visible, even though he typically showed them off to you before missions with a toothy grin. But this thought was quickly shut down after you opened a door to a room that had guns displayed on walls from ceiling to floor like paintings. Axes and knives and many other weapons that you couldn’t even name were all hanging there, polished and sparkling. There was gym equipment set up- too many weights on that pole, you thought. You decided it was best to keep that door closed.
He had a very clean alcohol cabinet with fancy bottles, some in languages you couldn’t even begin to read. Most of them were almost empty.
You came across picture frames, photos of him with Sherry and a woman in a red leather jacket. Another photo of him with a different blond woman, he was different here. Blonder, not a hint of a wrinkle or a grey hair. None of the frames matched with the rest of the decorum in his house- these must’ve been gifts.
The silver clock ticked away in the background.
A record player was neatly tucked in the corner, with shelves stacked full of vinyls. Your fingers flicked through all the different albums, ranging from 70s to 90s. There was The Police, Alice In Chains, Nirvana, Violent Femmes, Rage Against The Machine, Screaming Trees and many, many more. You snickered when you found Duran Duran. Rolled your eyes when you found Radiohead.
There was a lace of coldness that draped over the apartment. The pillows weren’t worn, the kitchen looked far too clean, there was no dents in the furniture or stains – nothing that signalled the presence of someone. Everything was in perfect (expensive) condition, apart from the dead plants in the corner.
He was haunting his own apartment.
“Baths ready.” He was dressed out of his office wear, and in grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. Your eyes widened like you had seen him naked. You had never seen anyone wear casual things. When you lived with your parents, they expected nothing less of you. It was either on your best form or don’t be here at all.
“Uh- thanks- thank you,” you stammered, walking past him rapidly so you didn’t have with bear with your awkwardness any longer.
You clicked the door behind you and leant your back against it, pressing a hand to your face.
Your face was warm and you couldn’t tell if it was the fever or something else.
Steam swirled from the bath; he had almost filled it to the brim.
You peeled your office clothes from your body and lowered yourself into the bath and a quiet sigh escaped from your throat.
There was an assortment of soaps that had been placed on the side. Again, they were all in different languages, seemingly different soaps from all the hotels he stayed at on his international missions. It felt weird to look at these, it was all a life he had before he met you, you felt like a stranger despite spending so much time with him.
A heat crawled up your neck as you thought about the way he never let go of your hand and imagining him carrying you into your apartment. You sank lower into the bath. He had seen you at your most disgusting, raw and worst yet he was running you a bath and making you dinner in the kitchen.
You tried your hardest to remember what happened in the elevator.
The rough sensation of his stubble, his hands holding you and his panicked face quickly flooded back, and it was enough to send you into a flustered coma.
You were sat at his kitchen island, on those long stools, with your hair twisted in a towel and wearing the pyjamas that Sherry left, a very nice baby-blue matching set.
“Food.” He placed a plate of pasta in front of you.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to… do all of this for me,” you thanked him, grabbing your fork and refusing eye contact with him.
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice when you passed out in my car. I couldn’t leave you alone like that. You need to stop running yourself into the ground, it doesn’t help anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, staring at the pasta in front of you.
“Hey, don’t apologise,” he said softer, his voice deepening, “Your only job right now is to get better.”
Both of you went quiet; the ticking of the clock and your fork clunking against the plate were heard. He then poured himself a drink, whiskey. There was something restrained in the way he poured it though, like this was less than he usually drank.
“So, did I ruin any of your weekend plans?” you broke the silence, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Didn’t have any, luckily for you,” he said, a small laugh laced in his words, leaning against the counter.
“Leon S. Kennedy doesn’t have any weekend plans?”
“You sound surprised,” he crossed his arms.
“Yeah, you know, I’d be thinking you would be saving the world by breakfast or something.”
He huffed, “how did you know?”
“Just had a hunch,” you winked, very badly, at him. Cringing at yourself, your gaze fell down back to your plate.
You felt his burning gaze pierce right through you.
“You’re staring,” you called him out, pushing your pasta around like it personally offended you.
“Just making sure you’re eating,” he muttered, putting his arms up in surrender.
“I am eating.”
“You’re prodding at it as if I fed you worms,” he sighed, pushing your drink towards you. “Drink too.”
The two of you ended up on his couch; Leon demanded you have a blanket spread over your legs.
You sat on one end. He sat on the other.
You were watching this stupid movie; you had hardly even kept up with plot because you kept drifting off to sleep and you didn’t know why but you felt like every time you opened your eyes, Leon had shifted himself closer to you.
You noticed his sleepy state, his half-open eyes reflecting the blare of the television. His hair looked so soft you just wanted to run your fingers along it over and over again until they were numb from the feeling. His fingers held loosely around his glass containing a little amount of that golden liquid.
It wasn’t fair that you collapsed in the elevator. You wanted to take care of him too. Just because he was better at keeping himself together didn’t mean he wasn’t as equally exhausted as you were.
He had been lapping up his whiskey all summer like a dehydrated plant, and it was often he stayed longer hours than you did. Once you caught sight of a long scar across his abdomen when he was getting patched up after a mission that involved many losses. It was hard to fathom how he coped with it all, but the answer was clearly staring right back at you from his glass.
Now you were worried that you added even more stress onto his conscience. He already had to deal with so much and now collapsing on him in the elevator felt selfish and stupid.
“Leon,” you whispered.
“Yes,” he whispered back, his eyes still glued to the screen, but he tilted his body towards you subtly.
“Did I scare you?”
His fingers stopped rubbing his glass.
“A little,” he admitted, not telling you that he would’ve literally torn the whole DSO building down to make sure you were okay.
Your stomach twisted with guilt.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to stay with me all day.”
“Yes I did,” he said firmly, his face finally turning towards you with a small smile. The same reassuring look he gave you when you told him you were nervous on your first day as his assistant.
Silence settled between you again.
Your eyelids felt heavier with every passing second and so did your head as it tipped to the side and then rested against something solid and warm. You stilled. He froze.
Your head was resting against his shoulder.
Heat shot through your face, and you pulled your head away immediately, “Sorry-”
“It’s fine.” He said quickly, extremely quick in fact. You paused. Everything in you craved to rest your head back on him, to feel safe next to him and to know that this actually means something to him.
You always held yourself back from getting the things you wanted because your mind restricted everything you did. You were a coward. The fear of being rejected had pulled you around on strings for so long, you felt childish.
So, you slowly leaned back again with more care. He didn’t move or shift away. His body relaxed slightly under the weight. Neither of you said anything. He only pulled over the blanket for it to cover his legs too.
Eventually, your breathing slowed as your body subconsciously shifted itself closer to him. He glanced down, muttered “Unbelievable.” and turned down the volume of the television before stretching his arm around you.
Sunday morning came quickly, and you were pleasantly woken by the sound of something sizzling. There was a dip in the sofa where Leon was resting, and now you could hear his humming from the kitchen. It felt odd to not immediately open your laptop or start reading through files, but just this once you allowed and embraced the absence of it.
“Morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes and placing yourself on one of the stools.
“Morning. Feeling better?” he asked, pushing a glass of water to you and then returning to the eggs that were frying and bubbling in the pan. It annoyed you how the morning seemingly didn’t affect Leon in the same way it affected you.
“Yeah… I do,” you realised that the pounding, stuffy feeling in your mind had disappeared, but wrecked your body in the meantime, because everything ached. He leaned over the island and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.
“I swear if you do that one more time-” you swatted his hand away.
“You look better.”
“Wow. Thank you, Doctor Kennedy,” you rolled your eyes, “Seems like you’re chef Kennedy too. What’s for breakfast?”
He wanted to say that you had a lot of sass for someone who could hardly form a sentence when they first interacted with him. But he decided to keep his mouth shut. Minus the teasing, he felt strangely proud, and happy even that he made you comfortable enough to laugh and tease him in his own home.
“Eggs on toast,” he then felt the presence of your stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A huge smile was stretching across your face, your eyes reflecting the morning light. His cheeks felt warm.
“It’s funny.”
“How?” he questioned, genuinely confused, shaking his head as if he could shake the blush off his cheeks.
“Well, when I first joined the DSO everyone said you were scary. And now you’re cooking breakfast for me,” you explained, gesturing at him as he held a spatula.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, turning back to the eggs with a smirk tugging on his lips.
“You were even humming!”
“Drop it,” he grumbled, buttering your toast.
“Kennedy is cooking and humming for me!”
“Quit it or I’m revoking breakfast privileges,” he threatened as he placed the eggs on top of your toast and sliding the plate over to you. “There’s salt and pepper on the side if you want it.”
You grinned and took a bite.
It was a quiet ride home, you were still in your pyjamas embarrassingly, but Leon lent you his hoodie to ‘help’. The radio blurred into the background as long, towering trees passed you by.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun,” you sighed, your hands fiddling on your lap, his sleeves so big only your fingers points through them. Dread felt heavy on your chest already.
He hummed in agreement, “it’ll be fine though.”
Leon always had a great habit of reassuring people even when he wasn’t even sure of the outcome himself.
“What about the possibility of me being fired?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“You’re not getting fired, how many times do I need to say this?”
“But how do you even know that?” you turned to him, your eyes desperately searching for reassurance in his.
“You’re my assistant.”
You huffed, sinking further into your seat.
“Like that’s a good argument.”
“It is to me,” he said, seemingly calm. He smiled a little, proud of his answer.
He stopped outside your house, your sprinklers showering the colorful tulips that sat sweetly in pots.
“Thank you, Leon. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you thanked him, and then paused, your hand hovering over the handle.
You had far too many impulsive thoughts that weekend.
He was looking at you patiently, like if you wanted to stay in his car and do absolutely nothing, he would let you.
You had paused too long to not say something now. But what do you even say? Thank you again?
His head tilted, “You okay?”
“Yeah- I, uhm.”
Maybe you should wave. but people don’t wave inside of cars.
He took care of you all weekend, cooking, running you a bath, just making sure you were okay. And you were just going to thank him and leave?
But you didn’t owe him anything. Not like that. Don’t be a disgusting perv.
Your brain settled on leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before your consistent anxiety could stop it.
And by the time his brain had caught up, you were already scrambling and running into your house before either of you could confront the feelings that had intensified over the weekend.
Note: That was probably the longest chapter so far, and I deleted a whole scene so it took me way longer than expected. This was definitely a struggle to write but I hope you guys enjoyed it... I'm kind of worried about my writing becoming sloppier and repetitive so the next chapter might take longer to ensure only the highest quality!!, we will see. Thank you so much for reading this series has totally changed my blog, I'm having so much fun interacting with you all!! Also I did make myself laugh when I made a salt and pepper reference.
i really don't remember the series of thoughts that led to this. shout out to my friend stasanie for coming up with the Blasphemeter, easily the funniest part of this image
Thank you all a million times for your patience with me!! There are only two chapters left now and I really hope that all your interest and support will be rewarded but that is for later.
This chapter is dedicated to @dolceterzo it should have been your birthday present but I still wanted to thank you for all your support and loveliness. You are so patient and kind with me even when I probably don't deserve it so I really hope you enjoy 💜💜💜
The dough needs to rest to get the best results so you prepare ahead of time. The base is typical flour, sugar, butter and egg yolks but the flavour comes in here also, adding cinnamon, cocoa, a pinch of salt and a sweet wine. The butter mixes into the combined dry ingredients breaking up every lump into a fine crumb. The eggs and marsala combine to form a soft dough which after kneading must be rested and refrigerated.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
‘Fuck me.’ Although barely a whisper it comes out of you unbidden and you both freeze staring at each other in shock. The world continues turning, the television continues blaring the day time show you had been pretending to watch, the blankets change from comfortably warm to uncomfortably stifling. His stillness is almost unnerving as he tries to process what you just said.
It may have not been what you were planning to say when you opened your mouth a moment ago but your demand wasn’t entirely unprompted. The morning had been unseasonably cold, something Terzo had taken as a personal offence, by the time you had reached his quarters the fire was roaring and he was sequestered under, in your opinion, an excessive amount of blankets. After bringing him his breakfast he had insisted you joined him.
‘I can't feel my toes, cara mia! What if my fingers are next?’ He cries mournfully, wiggling his fingers under the blanket. You wait him out, holding his plate and coffee mug out patiently until he relents with a dramatic huff. He wriggles until his arms are free of the blanket and takes them from you, pouting all the while and muttering to himself as he takes a bite out of his toast.
‘It is as if I woke up in the Arctic.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘See if I spend one more winter in this frozen place.’ Another larger bit of toast. ‘I should be in the Bahamas or somewhere nice. Warm.’ You watch him fondly as he finishes off his breakfast, grumbling all the while.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you this morning Terzo?’ He gives you a sidelong glance refusing to give up his frown just yet but there is a twinkle in his eye you know means his mood is already lifting.
‘I fear there is but one thing that will save my fingers and toes.’ He almost keeps a straight face but the corners of his lips give him away lifting as he tries and fails not to be amused by his own idea. ‘You must join me here cara mia, share your body heat so your Papa doesn’t freeze to death.’
‘And that is the only way to save you?’ You have no plans to refuse him, there is nothing for you to do for a while anyway and it would take a stronger person to refuse an opportunity to snuggle with this ridiculous man.
‘The only way! You would not let me freeze to death would you?’ He looks at you pleadingly as you take the plate and mug from him and set them on the side table.
‘No I would not, I would miss you too much.’ He lifts the blanket with a much more genuine smile, until you don’t move quite fast enough for his liking, a scowl overtaking his face as watches you step out of your shoes before he hurries you under the blankets before too much cold air can get it. And so you found yourself held as close as you could possibly get, under the guise of helping him keep warm. He was pressed against your back, chest to thigh, your neck pillowed on one of his arms which was now looped around you, his hand caressing your shoulder through the fabric of your jumper. His other arm laid against your thigh as he had wandered his fingers down the side seam of your skirt, before resting on the curve of your hip.
As impatient as he may have been with you he clearly appreciated your forethought, wasting no time intertwining his feet with yours. Even though you had both unspokenly acknowledged his thorough exaggeration you are momentarily shocked by the chilly temperature of his toes even through his socks.Before long your shared body heat does the job creating a cosy and relaxed bubble where the two of you can while away the morning. You are content, and so is he for a time but whether it had been his plan all along or whether he just couldn’t help himself, his wandering, fidgeting hands become a distraction.
The hand that had been resting on your hip gives him away first slowly bringing the hem of your skirt up your thighs inch by inch until you can feel his warm fingers against bare skin. You let him continue, unable to conjure even one reason why you should stop him. The anticipation builds as you wait for him to make his next move. Fingers creeping teasingly slow across the top of your thigh while you feign interest in the day time telly that was playing out quietly across the room. If someone was to ask you to explain what was happening you wouldn’t have a clue but you do so enjoy these little games the two of you play together.
He stops just shy of your underwear, tracing teasing circles against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The barest pressure of the side of his finger skims you through your underwear as he strokes you and it takes all the will power you possess not to squirm and grind down for more. It feels like forever as he keeps pushing and pushing. Giving you nothing but the barely there back and forth of his fingers. Even though you can’t see it like this his smirk is palpable as your wetness starts to seep through the infuriating material that bars you from his touch. How could you be blamed for your patience finally snapping?
The few seconds since you spoke stretch like hours as he gapes at you, fingers still poised between your legs. You catch his eye over your shoulder trying to gauge his reaction but as you shift you feel the tell tale bulge against your ass. From your forwardness or his teasing you aren’t sure but his obvious arousal gives you the confidence you need to try to spur him back to action.
Stuck in this awkward position there is only one thing you can think to try. Moving deliberately as you hold his gaze you grind your hips back, pressing your ass against his bulge. He sucks in a sharp breath, his hips twitching towards the friction and his grip tightening on your shoulder.
‘Terzo,’ you say, not even trying to suppress the whine in your voice. ‘Stop teasing and fuck me.’ You grind your hips back against him again to punctuate your words and it is only the combination that seems to crash him back to reality. He takes advantage of how you have twisted to look at him, kissing you clumsily. He misses your lips entirely on the first try, his shock and eagerness overwhelming his usual self control. When he finally captures your lips he doesn’t relent, lapping at your lips determinedly until you open for him then shifting trying to untangle himself from your limbs and the blankets.
‘You are sure?’ He questions, showing an unexpected hesitance as he hovers over you, his hand still warm against your thigh and still not offering you more than a tease of pleasure. It’s not that you had been deliberately waiting. You knew from experience there was no right time and it’s not even something the two of you had discussed. It had been an unspoken arrangement to allow your relationship to progress and in this exact moment you knew you needed him now. With your voice now caught somewhere in your throat you can only nod frantically to reassure him before pulling him in for another intoxicating kiss.
His fingers firm up against you finally dispensing with the teasing touches and instead exploring, checking if you were ready to take him. He finds the wet patch again easily, not even needing to find your entrance, you can't help but grind down against his hand confirming what he must already know, you need nothing but him inside you as soon as possible.
Your patience wearing thin you find his waistband, thankful he had yet to change out of his lounge pants so you can impatiently push down and free his cock. It takes some manoeuvring, becoming slightly awkward in that way that first times tangled in blankets tended to be. There is barely enough room for him to twist between your legs and it's too hot considering you were both still mostly dressed but you don’t want to stop. He attempts to slide your knickers down your hips but he is already between your legs and the thought of him moving away from you instead of closer, closer, closer, in order to remove them has you slap his hands away.
With little effort you pull the gusset to the side, hooking your calf around the back of his thighs to pull him close enough to line up the blunt head of his cock with your entrance. His hips jerk forward the moment he can feel your wet heat but you hiss, the slick still not quite enough to soothe the initial stretch. He pulls back blinking at you owlishly.
‘Did I hurt you?’ His worry overtakes him and he begins to pull away bracing his knees on the sofa cushion beneath you. You shake your head, tightening your legs around him, enjoying the soft give of his hips against your thighs.
‘It’s ok,’ you sound breathless but you don’t care, only able to focus on getting what you want. Inelegantly you spit into your hand, the only quick solution coming to your mind. Prepared for his reaction this time, you swipe over his cock anticipating how he thrusts into your palm and hoping the cursory improvised lube will be enough because you need him now. You barely have to line him up before he is taking over, pushing into you in one hurried thrust. Gasping into each others mouths you stare, still somewhat wide eyed and surprised that you are suddenly fucking.
The stillness breaks you first but trapped as you are between the tangled blankets and his welcome weight on top of you you can hardly take control. You wiggle your hips to no avail so resort instead to baring down, squeezing him tight inside you his reaction almost instant snapping out of his lust induced daze only to give you a smirk.
‘Quanto è impaziente la mia ragazza,’ he says, brushing his nose along yours until he can press a kiss to your cheek that might almost be considered chaste if his cock wasn’t buried to the hilt inside you. He trails kisses down your face to your jaw, nuzzling at the joint until you give in with a sigh, tipping your head back to offer your neck up to him. He sucks and nibbles at your skin as he finally, finally moves, the pull out agonisingly slow despite the relief that he was moving at last.
It feels indescribably good as you move together, not frantic and fast as you might have imagined it, and you imagined it a lot. Not too slow either, just right. Good. He loses purchase once, twice before giving up on holding any space between you, resting his soft body against yours. It is your turn to wrap yourself around him craving to feel every inch possible pressed against you even as you curse the layers of clothes you hadn’t bothered to remove.
Next time, you think with a thrill, certain as you are there will be a next time, you will make sure you can feel all of him. A shudder wracks through your body, mostly from the way he is grinding his hips, rubbing back and forth against your gspot in a way that has the beginnings of your climax curling in your belly. But also the thought of the future of feeling his soft skin pressed against yours, tickling hair and beads of sweat. Now you had a taste you weren’t sure you could wait.
His lips find yours again as your bodies move together, kissing you deeply until you can hardly tell where you end and he begins. A shudder passes through you after an especially deep roll of his hips, your whole body tensing as your orgasm starts to build. He breaks the kiss with a grunt, resting his sweat-dampened forehead against yours.
‘Cazzo!’ He groans. ‘Sto per venue.’ He seems as if he is speaking to himself, pleasure glazed eyes blinking at you slowly. His eyes regain focus locking onto yours and you feel that pleasurable shudder run through you again.
‘I need to feel you cum on my cock mia cuocoina.’ His hands grip your hips holding you still as he starts to fuck you harder, his precise thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His upper body covers yours, his comforting weight and more deliberate attentions making your breath come shallow and fast until your head is spinning. You grip his shoulders tightly needing something to ground yourself as. WIth a growl he shakes off the blanket, kneeling back so he can fuck in to you even harder. You would miss his closeness if you didn’t feel so connected by his burning gaze and iron grip on your hips, pulling you back to meet his every thrust.
Even without the blankets the heat between you is stifling as you both hurtle towards your climax. You can’t even speak, barely lucid enough to keep breathing when his thrusts begin to stutter and lose rhythm. His thumb finds your clit rubbing barely in time with his thrusts but it's enough and you cum with a gasp, your hands gripping his waist like your life depends on it.
‘Fuck, fuck, FUCK!’ He moans as he rides out the pulses of your climax. He throws his head back with a groan pushing as deep inside you as he can as his orgasm overtakes him, his thrusts shallowly matching the pulsing of his cock. He pants for breath above you, his cheeks pink from the exertion but a smile creeps over his face that you can’t help but match.
‘Fuck,’ you sigh, still feeling light headed with pleasure. As you look at him you feel a rush of feelings you still don’t quite want to put a name to but you push aside those thoughts for now to focus on the moment. Using what little strength you can muster you open your arms and he eagerly accepts, his exhaustion already creeping up on him.
‘Fuck,’ he murmurs into your chest as he settles in your arms. Your fingers wind your way into his damp hair, smoothing the strands from his forehead so you can drop a gentle kiss in its place. He sighs contentedly, his eyes drifting closed. The telly continues playing the unwatched mid morning drama but nothing could pull your attention from the man falling asleep in your arms.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
The rolls themselves can be made ahead as well. The dough rolled out thin and precise circles then carefully wrapped around cylindrical mould. Your oil should be hot and ready, maintaining a steady temperature for the quick work that is ahead. It takes but a minute for them to cook perfectly crisp, golden brown and bubbling on the surface. While still warm remove them from the mould and place on paper towels allowing excess oil to wick away and when cooled you can carefully package them away.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
It’s not even that the two of you have become insatiable now. You still cook him three square meals and all that entails and you still head to your own room at the end of each day. He still attends to his reduced duties in a timely manner. It was just now when he looked at you with darkened eyes and lascivious smirk it went further than the flirtatious innuendo it used to end with. Though the tension had been delicious you can’t be anything but thrilled with the turn of events.
This time your only warning was the sound of him entering the kitchen to find you leant over the table in the middle of the kitchen finishing some preparation. He says nothing, only squeezing your hips firmly before easing his hand up your spine encouraging you to lean forward. In anticipation you slide your chopping board out of the way until you are bent over the surface as he cups the back of your neck with another more gentle squeeze as if asking for your permission to continue. With the small amount of room he has given you to manoeuvre you turn your head to the side and you can see him at the corner of your vision. As you nod though your head knocks the chopping board and you suspect your food prep needs to be moved to a much safer place before he continues.
‘Papa, the food,’ you say, hoping he understands what you are trying to communicate, struggling to put together a more elaborate series of words in your current state.
‘You stay exactly where you are.’ His commanding voice makes you shiver and you give thanks to Satan that he understood your meaning as he slowly walks around the table. One at a time he moves the chopping board and bowls off the table. Your field of vision doesn’t allow you to see exactly where and you dare not move, knowing without seeing that his eyes are locked on you checking for any signs of your disobedience.
‘Are you happy now?’ He asks when what you can see of the table is clear.
‘Yes Papa.’ He circles back around the table resuming his position, one large hand on your hip and the other gripping the back of your neck, pinning you in place.
‘Now where were we?’ He presses his erection against your ass, groaning at the little friction he is allowing himself.
‘Do you know,’ he starts, his conversational tone so at odds with the way he is touching you. ‘How many times I have imagined you like this?’ The hand at the back of your neck starts to move, caressing across your shoulders then down your back leaving goosebumps in its wake. Both hands settle on your ass cheeks, squeezing firmly until you gasp. He grinds his cock against you again, the hard ridge of his arousal catching you perfectly. You are already so wet when he pulls back your skirt is stuck to you and he lets out a long slow breath when he notices. He lifts the hem of your skirt up revealing you to his gaze.
‘Puttana,’ he mutters, freezing in place for just when he realises that you hadn’t bothered with any underwear this morning. ‘Cazzo,’ the sight of you wet and ready for him to take must chip away at his self control, he grabs your wrist twisting it to the small of your back and directs you to hold up your skirt for him.
‘All spread out over this table just for me.’ He has barely even touched you but your breath comes in pants as you listen to him opening his trousers, the pop of buttons, the click of clasps clasps and the hurried unzipping of his fly. You feel the heat of him before he even touches you but instead of fucking into you like you need he pushes the head of his cock between your thighs. His breath stutters at the sensation of your pillowy thighs squeezing his cock as he slowly thrusts. The sensation only makes you more desperate as he takes his pleasure from your body without giving you anything in return.
‘If I had known how desperate for me you were before,’ he says, slowly, softly, making you wait even for his words when he finally, finally angles his next slow thrust upwards. The tip of his cock gradually pushing through your folds and nudging at your clit with the same slow precise rhythm of his carefully chosen words.
‘That every time I had the urge I could have bent you over.’ His every action seems designed to drive you mad with want. He finds your entrance with ease, the pressure just enough to make you clench in anticipation but yet not enough to give you any satisfaction. ‘And fucked you.’
You aren’t quite used to it yet, the delicious stretch, the perfect angle of him. He must be watching himself fuck you, pulling out infuriatingly slow before thrusting back in, knocking th air from your lungs each time. His self control doesn’t last for long though, the tight wet heat of you pulling him in over and over again until he is pushing into you hard and fast. The heavy table creaks at the onslaught and you are sure to have bruises on your hips where he is pressing you into the edge but it feels too good for you to consider stopping for a second.
It’s not long before you sense him getting close, leaning over you for support, his soft stomach pressing your hand into your back. For a moment you find yourself again wishing you had taken the time to pull off each other's clothes so you could feel his bare skin against you, the soft scratch of his chest hair, but there would be time for that. Next time you promise yourself yet again, as you feel your orgasm washing over you.
You stare through the table top, your head buzzing, somewhat detached from reality. His final thrusts jolt through your body as he joins you in bliss, his strength seeping out of him as he collapses against your back. The world comes back into focus with him panting against the back of your neck, the welcome weight of him slightly less welcome this time now you are pressed against the kitchen table.
‘Terzo, the table is quite hard,’ you inform him, attempting to push yourself into a more upright position.
‘Oh! Mi dispiace,’ he says hurriedly lifting himself off of you. You grab his wrist before he can get too far though turning to face him.
‘I’m going to think about that every time I am preparing food now,’ you tease him with a smile, drawing him in for a kiss.
‘Mmmm but I was already.’ You giggle as he kisses you, languid and warm until his rumbling tummy makes you break apart with laughter. You both look down at his complaining stomach, then back up at each other, laughing even harder.
‘I think I better finish off this meal,’ you say, righting your dress. ‘Before we get any more complaining out of you,’ you joke, giving his tummy a gentle poke. He swats away your hand before flopping into one of the chairs just out the way, watching you get back to work with a dreamy expression.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
The filling is as important as the dough being one of only two components and can be flavoured to your preference. Generous spoonfuls of ricotta and mascarpone are whisked together with sugar and candied fruit peel added to taste. The mixture is ready when it is light, airy and just sweet enough. Spoon into a piping bag and you are ready to assemble the final product.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
‘Terzo are you busy?’ You ask knocking on the door frame. He had mentioned craving something sweet earlier so you were hoping he would have the time to indulge both you and himself. You held the tray of cannoli behind your back, admiring him as you waited for him to finish with his work. He is once again wearing his glasses as he sits at his desk, reading over some documents. Though his brow is creased in mild frustration at whatever he is reading, his expression lifts as he acknowledges your interruption, a smile crossing his face as he drops the documents on the desk and spins his chair to look at you properly.
‘Not any more,’ he says, eyes raking you up and down over the rim of his glasses. ‘What can I do for you cara mia?’
‘I have a surprise for you,’ you reply coyly, slowly making your way towards him.
‘A good surprise?’ He questions. You are almost insulted, when have you ever given him a bad surprise?
‘I would like to think so,’ you say, not willing to give away the surprise yet especially while he is questioning your motives.
‘Ok then, come and surprise me.’ He pats his lap beckoning you closer. You take a few steps closer then with a flourish present him the plate and his face lights up.
‘Cannoli? For me?’ His face lights up in delight and you think that you want to make him happy like this everyday for the rest of your life but you push that aside for later.
‘You said you were craving something sweet,’ you say instead.
‘Ah mia cuocoina always making sure I am satisfied.’ He reaches for the plate but you wave his hands away a sudden idea coming to you on how you might satisfy him even further. Placing the plate on his desk just out of his reach you settle sideways across his lap leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around your waist holding you close and he presses a kiss to your cheek murmuring in thanks.
‘Let me taste,’ he demands but this is one time where you have no intention of following his orders. You pick one off the top of the pile and hold it to his mouth forcing him to lean forwards to take a bite but just when the treat is within his reach you pull it away.
‘No teasing cuocoina’ he says sternly.
‘You didn’t say please,’ you remind him sweetly.
‘Please. Now.’ he rolls his eyes at you as he says it, barely humouring you and yet expecting you to obey. You hold the treat towards him again but at the last second eat it yourself. He watches you in shock as you moan exaggeratedly at the taste, licking the escaped cream from your fingers and your lips.
‘Cara mia why would you tease me this way?’ He asks as if he isn’t the worst tease you have ever known.
‘You didn’t say please,’ you repeat. He did say it technically, but he didn’t mean it and you were enjoying watching his frown lines deepen the more you wound him up.
‘I did,’ he says indignantly.
‘You need to mean it,’ you say, reaching for another one and sucking the cream from inside first before popping the outer shell in your mouth.
‘Please mia cuocoina! Ti prego, per favore, please!’ He looks pleadingly between you and the plate as he begs and as much as you want to give in and let him taste you decide to push him a little bit further.
‘Show me how much you want it.’ He drops his pleading act in an instant the terrible man, his eyes darkening and a smirk pulling at his lips now he has figured out your game.
‘If you insist.’ In a moment he is fully in control, his hand finding the back of your head to keep you in place as he shows you exactly how much he wants it. He kisses you fiercely, tongue delving between your lips searching out any left over flavour of the treat. He pauses to catch his breath and you take your chance, twisting in his lap and helping yourself to another. You lean back against his chest, tipping your head back against his shoulder and letting him watch you delicately lick the cream from inside before eating the pastry in two bites.
‘You are an insufferable tease mia cuocoina,’ he growls it into your neck, nipping at what he knows is a weak spot for you as he watches you eat.
‘It takes one to know one.’ You are being childish, you know that but you are having fun. It’s not very often you get under his skin and you want to stretch it out for as long as possible.
‘I thought this was my surprise.’ And even despite his grumbling you can feel him getting hard beneath you.
‘I decided you need to earn it.’ You push even as you tip your head offering him more of your neck to torture you in return.
‘Oh.’ You’re in for it now you can tell by the sound of his voice but you couldn’t be happier. He slides his hands down your waist and over your thighs, spreading your legs and bracing you either side of his lap. ‘I see how it is.’ He unbuttons your habit slowly working from the hem up to your neckline peeling back the material. He sighs in satisfaction when he sees your underwear, delicate purple lace with sparkling gold embroidery.
‘I like this,’ he comments as he slips his hands into the cups of your bra, teasing your nipples with controlled pinches and flicks of his fingers.
‘Have another,’ he tells you, pinching your nipples sharply when you take a bite. This is his payback, you realise when he doesn’t relent, alternating between massaging your breasts and stroking your nipples, surprising you with hard pinches everytime he thinks you have got too comfortable. You need more, more of something but he offers you nothing, spreading his legs inside yours so you can’t even grind down or press your thighs together to get some relief. He pushes you until you are whining with every breath, every part of your body except your voice screaming please.
‘Not nice is it mia cuocoina.’ He sounds so smug you almost want to scream except this is what you wanted wasn’t it? You should have known you could never beat him at his own game.
‘Ok ok,’ you give in, reaching for another cannoli and holding it to his mouth and finally let him take a bite revelling in his moans as the flavour fills his mouth.
‘So good,’ he groans, accepting you surrender as he finally reaches into your underwear circling your clit deftly working you until you are again writhing in his lap. Clearly having run out of patience himself he pushes you forward against his desk giving him just enough room to fumble with his trousers. He takes your hips encouraging you up just enough that he can find your entrance with his bared cock and as soon as he does he pulls you down until you are once again seated on his lap but this time full with more than just cannoli.
Before either of you move you offer him another; he eats it messily, licking spilled filling from your fingers before bracing your hips and helping you ride him in his seat. You are both so worked up you find your rhythm easily bouncing and grinding in his lap the sweet taste of dessert on your tongues. His hands roam your body squeezing and caressing before he finds his way back into your underwear stroking you in time with your movements until your legs start to feel like jelly.
When you can no longer coordinate your movements he lifts you up bracing yourself against the arms of his chair so he can fuck up into you. His angle is perfect, hitting you over and over again in exactly the right spot that has sparks flying across your vision. Your arms start to shake but you focus every bit of strength you have left to staying exactly where you are, his legs are shaking too and you know he is just as close as you are.
With one last thrust he pulls you back down into his lap, moaning as he cums inside you, losing himself in his pleasure. You can feel the pulses of it as he finishes not quite enough to tip you over the edge but intensely satisfying all the same. After a moment he comes back to himself finishing you off with his fingers and moaning along with you as you cum around his spent cock.
In a daze you look down at yourself, almost fully dressed aside from your open habit and curse yourself once again for you rushed fucking. Next time, you swear to yourself, next time you will insist on doing things properly. He nuzzles against your neck now, soft kisses where before there were sharp nips.
‘Have I earned my treats now?’ He asks sweetly, starting to button you back up without letting you move an inch away from him. He had more than earned his treat, as many as he wanted so you feed him another without any further resistance, pausing between each to kiss the taste of cream from his lips.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
At the last possible moment you want to fill them, as you want to serve them straight away. Placing the nozzle into the centre you fill each roll generously ending with a flourish in the shape of your favoured piping nozzle. Coat the end with your topping of choice then set on your serving dish. Before long you will build a rhythm, fill, top and display. Fill, top and display until every last one is cream filled. Finally dust with a fine layer of sugar and they are ready to be devoured.
• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •
You had been trying to leave this time, you really had. Admittedly it was getting harder and harder as time went on. Many weeks ago he had started walking you to the door each night, long before even your first proper date. Lingering conversations had become lingering touches which had all culminated in tonight.
He had you pinned up against the door both your wrists grasped in one hand against the hard wood. The leg you weren’t wobbly balancing on was hooked around his hips keeping him close, your underwear already dangling from your ankle. At some point he had managed to undo his trousers, the loose belt buckle digging into your hips where he was pressed up against you and somehow his fingers were buried inside you twisting and stroking perfectly despite his arm being trapped between you.
He was kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck, probably leaving terrible marks but you couldn’t care less. Lost in his muttering against your skin. How irresistible he finds you, that you are a temptation he would never resist, how he can’t bear to be separated from you without the scent of you on his fingers or the memory of being inside you. It’s pure filth but from him, in his melodic Italian drawl it sounded like the most romantic poetry you had ever heard. Overwhelmed with pleasure you clench down on his fingers always needing more, more, more of him.
‘I need you now,’ he groans, pulling away from your neck and withdrawing his fingers, leaving you empty and wanting and even more desperate. He fumbles between you trying to line himself up, his quiet speech turning from seductive to frustrated. It doesn’t quite work, aborted thrusts not hitting home. He tries again standing on his toes, trying another angle which fails again. There is no deliberate tease this time, not when you are both this heated, this desperate. One last time and when he doesn’t hit his mark you both feel the tension snap.
He snarls, losing patience entirely he grips your hips firmly and moves. One minute your feet are firmly on the ground the next he has lifted you clean off the floor encouraging you to wrap your legs around him. Your now free hands grip his shoulders as he lines up again. With gravity now on your side you sink down on his cock and for a blissful moment you enjoy the fullness of him inside you after the drawn out torturous wait that is until he tries to move.
A concerning yelp escapes from him at his first thrust, his leg giving out beneath him. Somehow in the tumble you find your feet steading him where he is knelt before you both fall to the floor. All your frustration turns to worry in an instant as you rub his shoulders as soothingly as you can manage.
‘Terzo are you ok?’ His forehead rests against your stomach for a moment before he offers up his hand asking without words for some help to get to his feet.
‘I forget sometimes, I am no longer a young man,’ he says wryly as smooths his hair looking anywhere but at you.
‘It's ok.’ you say reassuringly. I like you exactly as you are.’ You press a kiss to his nose and wrap your arm around his shoulders once again. His lips start to pull up at the sides and he finally looks at you.
‘Si, you do,’ he says before shifting his weight to his leg with a wince, his expression becoming more serious.
‘Do you think?’ He hesitates. ‘Maybe it would be more sensible to take this to a bed, si?’ It is your turn to hesitate wondering if he is really suggesting what you think he is. This has been another one of the two of your unwritten rules. You had never stayed the night with him always returning to your own rooms a reasonable time after serving his dinner. Yes that time had stretched longer and longer but it was a line neither of you had ever broached. Until tonight.
‘Would you like to spend the night with me?’ He asks, seeming to sense you needed him to properly state his attentions and as he does your heart starts beating faster. The rush of your feelings is overwhelming all of a sudden. This was real, not that you had doubted him for a long time but this felt like a bigger step, a bigger declaration then any of the other things that had happened before and it was just for the two of you.
‘I would love to spend the night with you.’ He kisses you softly, taking your hands in his. He leads you towards his room, pausing every few steps, unable to keep his lips from yours for long, as you manage to dodge around the armchairs and side tables in his sitting room. Realising you finally have your chance to feel all of him you eagerly reach for his collar unbuttoning his shirt in between kisses pushing it from his shoulders to puddle on the floor. Your knickers are long gone, abandoned back in his office but he doesn’t hesitate to pulls your dress over your head and your bra removed not long after his dexterous fingers make quick work of the clasp.
The dining table proves a difficult obstacle but you take advantage, pushing him against the edge so you can pull his vest free of his already open trousers and finally get to run your hands over his bare chest. He moans as you scratch your fingers through his chest hair, his hands resting on your ass pulling you ever closer. After another moment he spins you away from the table walking you back and towards his room.
You find yourself pressed against a door once again, the cold wood contrasting his warm softness against your bare skin. He fumbles for the handle even less inclined to interrupt your kiss now he is so close to finally getting you where he wants you. The door opens and you are through. You had been in here a few times before but never like this never with the intention and invitation to stay.
He breaks away from you stepping towards the foot of the bed watching you as he shimmies out of his trousers so he can lie back on the bed gesturing you closer and you don’t need to be asked twice. You crawl over him revelling in feeling all of him. The soft hair of his chest against your nipples, the give of his soft stomach, the way your thighs spread to accommodate his hips and his beautiful face watching you with such fondness and desire. All it takes is a guiding hand and a shift of your hips and he is finally inside you again.
This feels like more than sex, then lust as you move together, the closest you have ever been. You had been avoiding it for a long time putting a name to the way you feel about him but it’s undeniable. You love him. You love everything about him. The more you have got to know him, the real him, the harder you have fallen. It wouldn’t matter if you were told to stop working for him tomorrow, you would want to make sure he was happy and looked after and being with him like this only makes that stronger.
‘I love you,’ you whisper against his lips not wanting to hold it in for a second longer.
‘What?’ He blinks at you in confusion, like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
‘I love you Terzo.’ You say more firmly giving him no room for doubt. He stares at you for a moment longer. Then he kisses you so passionately he takes your breath away. WIth a surprising amount of grace he rolls you over, wrapping you securely in his arms beneath him. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. He shows you exactly how much you mean to him with his attentive kisses and reverent touches. By making love to you in a way you had never experienced before until you were left with no doubt at all that he felt the same way as you. And later, as you fall asleep in his arms for the first time you can’t help but dream about the perfect future you are certain is laid out for the two of you.
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