Hunger

Chapter 8

I woke up aching. My eyes felt heavy and my mouth was dry. I was reluctant to admit that I was awake. Especially remembering last night.  Peeking through squinted eyes, I noticed the bed was empty. Hallelujah. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and curled into a ball under the duvet. I hurt all over, physically and emotionally. I noticed how cold my hands were against the skin of my stomach, glancing under the covers I saw I was no longer wearing my dress. What? How?

I sat up and searched the room for a clock. After being unsuccessful in locating one, I slipped my bare feet from under the covers and made my way along the vast room to the wardrobe in my underwear. Thats when the lock in the door clicked open. I yelped and ran into the bathroom, straight into another body.

My chest collided with his bare one and we both fell, sprawling to the floor. Marco, crap. He looked so surprised, he must of thought I was attacking him. He was only wearing sweatpants, his beautifully sculpted body bare and I was sprawled on top of it.

"Oh... My god." I gasped, trying feebly to cover myself. He was laughing, I wanted to kill him because I knew he was laughing at me. But it was the most genuine and vulnerable I had ever seen him as he threw his head back, his chest moving up and down in time with his laughter. I grimaced and tried to get to my feet. Halfway standing, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back down to his chest. I opened my mouth but he securely covered it with his massive hand, squashing all sound.

An Italian woman voice came from the bedroom, "Mr. Marco? Sono venuto a pulire." She sounded unsure.

(I have come to clean)

"Non adesso , Bella. Sono... occupato." As they conversed in beautiful Italian, I could feel my cheeks heating at the contact between us.

(Not right now, Bella. I'm... busy)

I heard the bedroom door close and lock once more and I looked back at Marcos face. He was staring at me, he looked amused. I raised my eyebrows and moved my eyes from his to his hand clasped on my mouth and then back to him.

"Oh," He released me, moving that hand down to my waist which was resting on top of his hips. The touch was electrifying.

"Can I get up now?" I challenged, trying to move my thoughts from his hands.

He smirked. "Are you sure you want to, petalo?"

I thumped him in the chest, he didn't flinch. Grimacing, I tried to detangle myself from him, only to be suddenly yanked down to the freezing bathroom floor. He rolled half on top of me, his face inches away from mine. My breath became uneven.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I stuttered, feeling my cheeks heat up, "Yo-you can't do that."

"Your body tells me differently, petalo." He smirked, moving his lips down my cheekbone, "besides maybe I want to play with you."

"I'm not a toy."

"Don't worry I play nice with my belongings. Sometimes."

"I-I don't belong to you." I tried to keep my voice confident as he started talking, his lips moving against my neck.

"Oh but you do. I own you, petalo" 

Before I could respond, he started speaking in Italian as his lips grazed my collarbone. "Oh , ti desidero così . Ma perché, Petalo?".

(Oh, I desire you so. But why, petal?)

He raised his face to mine, he seemed troubled. Stroking my cheek with his hand, he uttered four words. "Tu sei la mia debolezza"

(You are my weakness.)