Stay For the Summer
Pairing: Michele Morrone x Reader
Tags: DBF!AU, age gap, smut, tension, teasing, slow burn turned fast burn, forbidden romance, summer setting, one bed (briefly), oral (f receiving), protected sex, mild possessiveness
Hey y’all! No one probably gonna read this but I decided well damn might as well post this fic especially since I haven’t seen anything recently of him on here so I figured why not don’t judge my writing y’all I typed this up randomly one night depending on if this flops I may or may not delete this LMAO
You hadn’t expected Michele to look that good.
It had been years since you last saw him, back when you were just your dad’s teenage daughter tagging along at barbeques and boat trips. But now he was standing barefoot on the deck of your family’s beach house, salt-windswept and tan, shirt open just enough to show a teasing hint of chest hair and golden skin.
“Goddamn,” you muttered under your breath.
He glanced up, caught you staring.
And smirked.
“You’ve grown up,” he said, voice low and gravel-thick, like a man who knew exactly what that did to a girl.
You forced a smile. “So have you.”
The days passed in a blur of summer heat and tension. Your dad had invited Michele to stay after his divorce, saying the beach would “clear his head.” But Michele’s head didn’t seem very clear whenever you wore your tiny sundresses or walked past him in your bikini, dripping from the ocean.
You could feel his gaze like heat on your skin.
Lingering.
Slow.
Hungry.
But he never touched. Never spoke a word out of line.
Until one night.
The house was quiet. Your dad had gone into town to meet an old friend. You were curled up on the patio sofa, wearing nothing but a sleep shirt and a pair of tiny shorts, reading a book under the warm glow of the lantern light.
Michele walked out with a glass of whiskey, his eyes catching on the curve of your bare legs.
“You always read this late?” he asked, taking the chair across from you.
“Only when it’s hard to sleep.”
He chuckled. “What’s keeping you up?”
You.
You smiled. “Too hot.”
His eyes flicked to your chest, where your shirt stuck slightly with sweat. “Yeah… I’ve noticed.”
You stared. He stared back.
Something cracked between you. Months of unsaid tension snapped in the silence.
“You like watching me,” you said softly, boldly.
He exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a fucking saint,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “And you keep walking around like some kind of dream I’m not allowed to touch.”
You stood up.
Crossed the space between you.
He looked up at you, eyes dark. Wanting. Waiting.
So you climbed into his lap.
“Michele—”
He cut you off with a groan and crushed his mouth to yours.
The kiss was filthy. Desperate. Like he’d been starving all summer and you were finally within reach.
His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down against his growing hardness. You gasped into his mouth as he thrust upward just once, just enough to make you feel the shape of him through his shorts.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, breaking the kiss, panting.
You shook your head, fingers in his hair. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all he needed.
He stood up, carrying you easily, and took you inside into the guest room where he’d been sleeping.
Laid you down on the bed like you were breakable.
And then he devoured you.
Your clothes disappeared fast. His mouth found every inch of you, starting at your neck, your breasts, your stomach, then down, down, until you were writhing under his tongue.
“Michele—fuck—”
“You taste like summer,” he growled between licks, eyes locked on yours.
When you came, thighs trembling around his face, he didn’t stop. Just kept kissing your skin, working you through it, whispering in Italian that made your toes curl.
Then he pulled back, unbuckled his belt, and paused.
“Last chance,” he said, voice tight. “Tell me you want this.”
You reached for him, guided him between your legs.
“I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you on that deck.”
He slid inside slowly, thick, hot, so deep, filling you in one long stroke that had you gasping.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck. “You feel too good. I can’t—”
“Don’t hold back.”
He didn’t.
He moved hard and deep, gripping your hips, biting your shoulder, groaning your name like a prayer and a curse.
It was fast. Furious. The release of everything you’d both held back for too long. You came again, and he followed soon after, panting, head buried in your neck.
Later, when he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your shoulder, he whispered:
“I’m not just staying for the summer anymore.”
You smiled.
“Good.”
Bow borders by @ cursed-carmine
