PURE | 18+

𝐗𝐈𝐗.

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❦

Atelophobia
[a -tel -oh -pho -bia] Greek

(n.) The fear of
imperfection ;or never
being good enough

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𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚

As I slowly emerge from the depths of slumber, I'm greeted by the exquisite sensation of two strong hands enveloping my waist with a possessive yet tender hold.

The warmth of Riccardo's breath dances across the delicate skin of my neck, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through my body.

With a languid exhale, I luxuriate in the comfort of his embrace, allowing the memories of our passionate liaison from the previous night to flood my consciousness.

It is quite astonishing how willingly I gave him my innocence, devoid of any remorse. The recollection of that moment remains etched in my mind, every intricate detail, each resonating moan, cuss, and groan he made.

These memories linger, refusing to fade away. However, what truly shocks me is the realization that I would let him do it over and over again, without an ounce of shame.

Oh goodness gracious, Elena, what are you turning into?

A deep yet alluring groan fills the air, causing a rush of warmth to flood my cheeks. The hands that were once resting on my waist now venture to explore the curves of my thighs

"Buongiorno, amore mio," his voice resonates with a deep and husky timbre, sending shivers down my spine. He  trails a path of open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin of my neck, eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure from deep within me.

"Buenos días, papi," I whisper back.

I let out a gasp as he skillfully rotates us, placing me above him. Our eyes lock, and a soft smile graces his face, causing my cheeks to flush with a delicate blush.

"How are you feeling?" Riccardo asks, his hands sensually caressing my exposed thighs. Despite the undeniable arousal building between us, I try my best to maintain composure, ignoring his hardness pressing against my bare center.

"Sore," I answer truthfully, even though I haven't tried walking, but I can feel a tinge of discomfort through my current movements.

He smirks at me and I playfully smack his chest. He did warn me that I would be able to feel him for the next few days.

My gaze trails down his exposed chest, captivated by the sight before me. Unable to resist the temptation, I lift my hands and lightly brush my fingertips against his prominent pecs, savoring the contrasting sensation of their hard yet surprisingly soft texture.

He has a really nice build. I'm positive he exercises daily. "Do you exercise every day-" I begin to ask him, but my words trail off as I notice his intense gaze fixed upon me.

His deep brown eyes dilate as they sweep over every feature on my face, causing my cheeks to flush a deep crimson. Nervously, I inquire, "W..why are you looking at me like that?"