She shrugs nonchalantly. And I must admit the little innocent act is charming. Especially when she’s a brat majority of the time. “I mean, you gave me two nicknames. The least I could give you is one.”
Giving into temptation I wind her hair up in my fist and give it a slight tug. She hisses but her pupils are blown.
Fuck.
Images play in my head.
Illicit ones.
Her flesh bound in rope. Body writhing and needing. Eyes blindfolded. A whimper falling from her lips that turns to an orgasmic scream. Her calling me God.
She would be the very first. And I want her to be the last.
My nose brushes along hers. Intentionally I inhale her scent. “I’m positive I could earn another nickname quick.”
Her breath falters. A shiver runs down her spine.
Desire so easily for me to read upon her face.
And it’s dangerous. Everything about exploring this need within me is dangerous. The metaphorical itch I just can’t seem to scratch. And knowing even if I did scratch it, it wouldn’t lessen the impulse. No, it would only make me claw my own skin, tear it until I would be down to the sinews of muscle and bone. Yet still I would scratch.
Our lips are so close. All it would take is less than an inch to close the distance.
“Rico!” The voice that never fails to give me a neurotic headache severs us. My hand unwinds from her hair. She takes a healthy step back. A coldness resides within me now. I immediately want to pull her against me to bring back the warmth.
Imogen has become the sun to my perpetual night.
Pietro comes in dramatically. Fake whimpering with a pout on his lips and his hand clutching over his heart. The bastard even wipes a pretend tear. Roll out the red carpet and give this man his Oscar.
“Please tell me you forgive me and that you are here to rekindle the flame of our bromance. I don’t want to go through with the funeral. I’m sorry, Rico.” His voice chokes. When he reaches me he places both of his hands on my shoulders in a desperate plea.
“Fucks sake.” I breathe thinly.
He hangs his head and feigns to sob uncontrollably. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
With a shrug of my shoulders I shake him off and he crumples to the floor.
“Is he being serious?” Imogen wonders aloud.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I tell her tiredly. “Get off the floor, Pietro.”
“I’m too weighed down with despair. Leave me be you heartbreaker,” he wallows.
“You said you would do anything?” I ask him.
He perks from the floor. “Si. Anything to revive our bromance.”
“Apologize.”
His brows draw together as confusion mares his features. “I already did.”
I nod my head towards Imogen. “Not to me. To her.” Imogen’s brows shoot up to her hairline. Pietro appears to be even more confused. “If you want my forgiveness you will apologize to her. Capisce?”
“Don’t you agree this is a little extreme? I didn’t hurt the girl.”
But he did.
Inadvertently he caused her irreparable damage. The kind a stitch or ointment can’t heal.
