Belly Strings by Drea Rhodes

Author:Drea Rhodes [Rhodes, Drea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-18T18:30:00+00:00

Seventeen

I faintly hear the buzz of my alarm leisurely getting louder and louder. I think to myself that I need to reach over and turn it off, but just then I feel him lean over me and hit the stop button before I can manage to so much as move an inch.

I let out a weighted lungful into the pillow, my eyes still closed as I’m not ready to leave the comfort of his bed. I want to stay here for as long as humanly possible.

I gently turn my face as he settles back beside m,; his arm draping over my waist as his large palm rests in between my shoulder blades. His breath dusts across my cheek as he taps my nose with his, something that seems to have become our thing. His leg is hooked over mine as I wake more, realizing it’s not his arm grazing my thigh.

I deliberately open my eyes, lazily gazing at him through my eyelashes.

“Hi,” he whispers with his hazel-green eyes dilated and stormy, his brows bowed.

“Hi.”

“What time do you need to meet Finn?” he inquires, brushing my hair from my face.

I huff. “I told him I’d pick him up at nine.”

“And what time does your mom normally get up?”

“She’ll definitely be starting coffee soon,” I groan, knowing I had set the alarm for just after six-thirty.

“This will need to be rough and fast then,” he huskily breathes into my lips before taking them between his. I don’t have time to object—as if I would, anyway.

In the same motion of rolling me to my back, he slides inside me, causing a whimper to escape my throat and land in his. When he said rough and fast, he had meant it; truly fucking in every sense of the word. I craved it, endured it, and needed him to steady me when I tried to get out of bed after.

“Take a shower with me,” he says, holding my waist and nearly all my weight. “You don’t want to go home smelling like you just had sex.”

“What a shame,” I pout as he drags me to the bathroom.

The bathroom is tiny—a micro single person shower stall and a pedestal sink with an older wood medicine cabinet hanging above it; Luca himself barely fit in here. Somehow, he manages to stand under the spray of the old porcelain stall, smashing my body into his in the process. His hands run through his hair, while I trace the fine lines of his torso. I love how mature his body is; even at twenty-two, most men aren’t fully developed, as the average male is twenty-six before he truly stops growing in all places—frontal lobe included.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, little girl,” he mutters testily as my fingers run along the dark wisps of a happy trail between his hips.

I look up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he replies, picking me up just long enough for us to switch places. He turns toward the small window/shelf with frosted glass, grabbing his musky body wash.

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