Don

7

Pietro's Mustang rolled into the apartment complex parking lot.

His hand had been on Melanie's thigh the entire ride.

"Come, we will watch a movie."

Melanie frowned.

"A movie?"

"Sí. I am proficient in English, though it's not my native tongue. I am sure that's what it is called, no?"

Melanie scowled. "Don't be cute, Italy. You know what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

He did it again. He needed to find a substitute phrase for that. Everyone he knew broke out in song whenever he said it.

"I mean, why a movie? That sounds like a date."

"Call it what you wish, bella." Pietro shrugged nonplussed.

"No Italy, that's a date. Now, I'm good with smashing and dashing—"

"—Then I'm sure you'll find smashing and dining in just as enjoyable." He interrupted calmly and reassuringly with a silent edge.

"Now, you have approximately five seconds to get out of my car before I sling you over my shoulder."

Melanie glared at him but opened the door.

"You salty." She declared indignantly.

"Yes," He said nonchalantly, "Well iodine is a rather abundant mineral in the Mediterranean so, I suppose I am."

"Asshole," she grumbled.

"Everyone has one of those, bella. Are you sure you're in college?" He taunted, opening the door to the lobby open for her.

"Stop looking at my ass, asshole," Melanie scowled.

Pietro just grinned at her, smacking her ass instead.

"Hey," he shrugged when she turned around with a glare, "You said stop looking."

Pietro pressed the up button for the elevator. When it didn't come immediately, he pressed it again. And again. And again.

He wanted to shoot that damned elevator button to bits.

"That doesn't make it come any faster," she says flatly.

"That's what you think," he pouted.

He pressed the button again, giving Melanie a triumphant look when the elevator came.

Melanie sighed, a smile twitching her lips at his childish antics. Since they had to go 6 stories up, Pietro turned to talk to Melanie to pass the time.

"Shouldn't we be making out like mad right now?" He asked curiously.

Melanie couldn't help but grin.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, every movie or book I've ever read or seen has an elevator scene. And every time, the characters dry hump against the wall like animals," he shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't get it."

Melanie laughed. He was right.

"There's always an elevator scene, a food fight—"

"I don't get that either!" He exclaimed with passionate and genuine exasperation, much to Melanie's amusement.

"I mean, why not eat the food and get into a real fight?"

Like a gunfight...

"Because real fights don't lead to messy make out sessions," she chuckled.

"They could!"

"No, they couldn't," Melanie disputed breathless from laughter.

The elevator opened, but Pietro refused to let it go, claiming he was not Elsa and was under no obligation to do so.

Unlocking his apartment door, he dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.

"So what are we eating, Italy?"

Melanie flopped down onto his sofa, making it sink under the sudden weight.

"Pizza." 

"Just had that for breakfast."

Pietro stopped hanging his jacket on the rack to look at the little woman that dwarfed into his sofa.

"We are scarily alike."

Melanie shrugged.

"Anyway, I don't mean the American bastardized version. I mean real Italian pizza. Like my Madre makes."

Melanie's eyes glittered.

"There's another type of pizza?" She asked in awe.

Pietro smirked at her, amused at her enthusiasm.

"Completely different universe of pizza."

"Well! What're you doing standing around talkin' to me for?!" She yelled, pushing him into the kitchen with all her might. "Get to cooking, Italy!"

He barely budged. Pietro tapped her nose for such a cute effort, dodging her fist with a laugh.

"Don't be salty, Melanie." He taunted. "You're American; you have no excuse."

Melanie came to him viciously. It was cute until she kicked his shin. Hard.

"Ohi! What is wrong with you?!"

(Ouch!)

Melanie smiled devilishly.

"Now I can't cook pizza. I'm injured." he moaned.

"You are. Use some of that Mediterranean salt to make it better."

Pietro stared blankly at her before announcing, "You're mean."

Melanie just smirked viciously as if to say, wanna see just how mean I can be?

"Make my pizza or die, Italy."

"This is abuse!" he cried.

"As long as you have my pizza, it won't be."

With that, she left him standing there looking astounded and quite stupid with a throbbing shin, a battered ego, and pizza to make.

⚪⚫⚪

Pietro fixed 3 pizzas; one for lunches(which was about 4:00) and the other two for the rest of the night.

"Netflix?" He asked.

"My Netflix? Why mine?"

He shrugged before stating casually, "You have to contribute more than your presence, tigrotta mia."

(My tigress)

"Fine." Entering in her information, she chose the movie before he could protest.

"Contributing, remember?" she repeated his words.

He pushed her forehead back, sending her head into the chair. "Stop!" she whined, scrunching up nose.

"Quiet topolina, the movie is starting."

(Little Mouse)

She smirked when the movie started. "Aw, really!"

"Yep. And we're watching all seven.

⚪⚫⚪

By the fourth Fast and Furious movie, they'd gotten into the 'chill' part of the evening.

It was 10 at night, and somehow Melanie found herself under Pietro.

He laid on top of her, his head on her stomach, watching the subtitles.

He'd insisted that if she'd torture him, she could at least do it in his native tongue.

"Topolino," he whined, "no more. Please, no more."

"Hush it, Italy. We'll take a break at the end of this one, I promise."

He pouted, knowing she was lying because she said the same thing for last two movies.

He figured he needed a new tactic, one that didn't involve a bullet lodged in his expensive tv.

Pushing up her t-shirt, he peppered kisses on her stomach in a line.

Melanie tried hard to pay attention, but he would not allow it.

"Come on, tigrotta." He coaxed, kissing higher, "Just a little taste?" 

He pushed her shirt up as he went, lifting himself off her body a bit. He leaned down to lightly brush his lips against her exposed cleavage.

Pietro brushed a whisper of a kiss on her lips.

"You belong to me tonight, tigrotta mia."  He whispered into her mouth.

Easing the remote from her hands, he captured her lips.

The lips he'd been aching—dying to taste for months. Melanie didn't notice the TV going off, or the missing remote.

The electricity hummed and crackled between them, his body being drawn to hers like a magnet to steel.

She didn't even register the possessive statement he'd made, nor did she surmise the extent to which he meant it.

He'd said: You belong to me tonight.

But his tone suggested: You belong to me.

She didn't hear his tone or his words as he caressed her with his low voice, murmuring in her ear, wrapping her in desperate need.

Pietro smirked triumphantly at the dazed look in his Topolino's eyes and the fact he put it there.

Melanie didn't get dazed often.

Still between her legs, he raised her shirt off her body, his eyes locked on hers. His fingers danced over her smooth skin as he unhooked her bra.

Melanie arched to allow him to push it aside.

Glancing down hungrily at what was before him for a moment, he quickly grabbed her eyes and held eye contact.

He eased down and latched onto her breast, holding brown to black. Melanie held her breath, unable to look away from him.

He captured her eyes, refusing to let go, charging the air with an erotic aphrodisiac and an unexplained intimacy.

His tongue moved around her n****e in sinful ways, black eyes challenging her to tell him to stop.

He slid down her body, licking his way back up. Eyes daring her to deny herself what she wanted; what they both wanted.

Slithering his way down again, he tugged at her jeans playfully, fingering her belt loop and pulling, arching her body toward him, amusement shining in his eyes.

"Pietro," Melanie pleaded breathlessly.

"I haven't done anything to have you saying my name yet, tigrotta mia." He smirked a low, sexy chuckle.

Pietro teased her more, pulling at the waist of her jeans.

"Give me what I want, Italy." She growled at him.

Pietro just chuckled.

"Say please. Be a good Topolino," He teased, looking at her while he fingered her jeans.

"Please," she begged.

Pietro laid a loving kiss on her tummy above her jeans.

He grabbed the waist of her jeans, tapping her thigh to signal her to raise her hips.

She did so with bated breath, her breath catching in her throat at his eyes latching onto hers greedily.

Pietro himself could hardly breathe. He thought he'd try the eye contact thing; he thought it would sexier—and it was. It definitely was.

It presented a problem, however, a unique one. He couldn't stop the rush of emotions when he looked her eyes and he couldn't look away.

The need to own her, keep her, mark her as his; things he never wanted before.

He wanted to please her; needed to see it in her eyes—the pleasure he gave her.

He inched her jeans down her long slim legs, peeling off her panties with them.

The haze of ecstasy shrouding her brown eyes sent a rush of pleasure, lust, and satisfaction burning through his veins lighting him on fire.

Pulling them off completely and throwing them on the floor, he stopped to look at her.

His eyes roved over her curves and valleys. His stare didn't make her self-conscious, though.

It wasn't an evaluating stare; it wasn't even appreciative. It was similar to how one would observe a Van Gogh painting.

A mixture of awe, wonder, and need.

The need to own such beauty, but knowing that you could never afford it; that I'd never stay in your possession for long. Knowing all you could do was look. Look at the masterpiece and dream.

He looked back at her, brown to black, fire burning in his eyes.

"I'm going to have you tonight," he informed her, "I'm going to. have you like you are mine. And you will be here in the morning when I wake up."

That was it. Not please be here when I wake up. Not will you be here when I wake up?

No, just a blanket uncontested fact; you will be here when I wake up.

"And if I don't?"

Pietro gave her a wolfish, predatory grin, a throaty chuckle escaping him as if he'd been waiting for that question.

Before she could blink, he flipped her over on her stomach and pressing her body down with his; every part of them touching.

He leaned into her ear, clutching her softly but firmly.

"Then I will find you," He whispered, a dangerous vow laced with his words, "And there will be consequences."

His weight disappeared, and a breathless Melanie found herself on her back again.

"We don't want that, now do we?"

Melanie shook her head, but she wasn't sure. She might like those consequences.

"Come," he held out his hand for her to grab. When she did, he yanked her to him, making her yelp in surprise.

He hoisted her onto his waist and carried her to his bedroom. Melanie's naked body against his clothed one, irritated her.

She tried to tug his shirt off, but he simply spanked her.

"Patience, tigrotta."

(Tigress)

Opening his bedroom door and shutting it behind him, he threw her on the bed.

Shedding his clothes, he crawled on the bed, yanking her ankle to draw her closer.

Pietro hooked her ankle around his waist and entered her with no warning.

Melanie moaned at the sudden intrusion, a dazed smile on her face.

Then, things got strange.

Pietro connected their eyes, pulling out and slowly sinking back in, kissing her. With all his roughness, in the beginning, she expected rough s*x.

But that's not what happened.

Instead, Pietro plowed into her slowly and fully, hitting every spot she had while he kissed her breathless.

When he wasn't kissing her, he stares into her eyes while he thrust into her slowly, pushing into her with a subtle force that took her breath away when he bottomed out.

As she lost herself in pleasure, he buried his face into her neck, murmuring things in his bliss that he didn't really mean.

"Per favore cara, non andare. Ho bisogno di te. Ti amo."

(Please baby don't leave. I need you. I love you.)

Thrusting into her twice more, he emptied himself into her, sending her head first into another orgasm.

He just held her close to him she spasmed in pleasure.

C O M M E N T

V O T E⭐️

F AN