You see, there are these apps where anybody can write books, stories and the sort and one day, scrolling the FB (which I don't usually do but I kill time with it on occasions) my eyes fell on a title that made me scoff.
The title, 'Mafia in Love'...
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Damn the water I left running in my bathroom!
My concern right now is just how much Raffa has witnessed from the scene between the sexy French guy and me. Not that there was something to witness but the guy was literally drooling around me.
Raffa's face is straight and hard, the only emotion displaying, if any, being a coldness that can freeze even the sun itself.
"I...", I try to mumble an excuse but my lips forget how to utter words.
Showing no interest in what I have to say, he moves in a feline-like walk, waving his manly aura and wrapping me in a void that suddenly sucks all air around.
I wished I could move. I wished I could run but my stubborn self wants only his touch, his breath close to my skin and my wish is granted.
If not for his bulky arm wrapping around my waist I would have certainly fallen to the ground, my knees shaking like a reed in the wind.
He bends over me till his lips reach my earlobe where my skin feels his breath erecting goosebumps and my eardrums suddenly become the strongest amplifier of each of his breaths.
I'm dying for a kiss! Not just any kiss, I'm dying for Raffa's kiss. My entire skin feels burning with each and every hair standing and vibrating and I believe I have never had a time in my life before when I felt more invested in a man as I am with Raffa.
"Andiamo...", he whispers in my ear making me exhale loudly. (Let's go).
"Dove?" I ask in the most natural accent ever, gluing my eyes to his surprised stare. (Where?)
"Stiamo andando a casa," he says and grabs my hand leading the way through the crowd of people and aiming at the exit. (We're going home.)
I follow him so obediently that even father would have been surprised.
"Excuse-moi... pardon... je suits desole ..." he says to each person he needs to move out of our way and I find it the sexiest thing on a man, keeping decency at the peak of anger. (Excuse me... pardon me... sorry).
"Ma non voglio tornare a casa," I say pulling his hand and making him turn around and look at me once we are at the exit. (But I don't want to go home).
He stares at me for a few moments and I can tell his mind is frozen. That anger to have seen me here seems to have blocked his brain because he neither says no nor says yes, just stares, making shy and shift from one leg to the other and stealing short looks at his face.
I can't stop it. I feel like having finally been returned to my home whenever I look into his black big eyes sparkling with such intensity.
