Olivia's POV
"You're màd," I told him, shaking my head disapprovingly, and turned to leave his room.
Riccardo laughed before taking hold of my wrist, pinning me to the nearby wall with his signature sinister smirk. "Màdly in love with you."
As I tried to pull my wrist from his grip, he replaced his hands on my waist, and I leaned back, trying to avoid any further advances.
"Let go."
"I don't want to."
"I want you to."
"How can I let go of you? It's not every day I get the opportunity to touch you without you being a bràt." With a swift move, he pecked my neck, and a shudder ran through my veins. "God, you have no idea how much I love the way you react to my touch. I love the way you're affected by it, how much effect it has on you. I just love it."
He doesn't have an effect on me.
Why would a person like him have an effect on me?
Impossible.
"You are delusional," I retorted, more calmly than I intended.
He chuckled, then slowly tilted his head forward, lowering his lips to touch mine. My eyes fell to his lips, inching closer and closer, and just when I thought he would kiss me, my lids dropped, the anticipation building up in me.
My fists clenched his shirt tightly while my eyes remained closed, my patience running thin. I opened my eyes only to see him staring down at me with a smug and overly self-satisfied grin.
No matter how much I wanted to push him away for toying with my feelings, I couldn't, not when he was staring at me with so much admiration, adoration, and so much love. "See? You do love my kisses."
Do I?
I opened my mouth to refuse, to deny, to do anything to convince him otherwise, but my tongue seemed tied in a knot. My hands also seemed to have a mind of their own as they lifted up, caressing Riccardo's face.
The absolute shock on his face was definitely less than the one I was feeling, but for some reason, I couldn't stop. "So, what if I do? It is not bad. You're my husband, aren't you?"
The bewilderment that flashed through Riccardo's eyes couldn't be hidden on his face or in his voice. "Sunshine, you just called me your husband."
Seeing him this... taken aback is kind of cute because he is always the one taking me by surprise.
My heart raced like it does every time he calls me by that nickname. My fingers smoothed the wrinkle on his black shirt, and I flattened my palm against the rippling muscles of his hard chest. "Aren't you? We got married, didn't we?"
Oh, my God!
Am I flirting with him?
Why am I flirting with him?
He should disgúst me.
Why isn't he disgústing me?!
"We did. We did get married. I'm your husband and you're my wife," Riccardo replied, more to himself than to me, as if he was trying to convince himself that he is truly my husband. His grasp on my waist then tightened as he drew me impossibly closer to him, closing the non-existent distance between us.
The proximity is suffocatingly good yet bàd at the same time; good because the fresh scent of his soap still lingered in the air around him and on his body, bàd because I can't breathe whenever we are this close to each other. His lips brushed against mine so gently I barely felt it.
"You are my wife," he repeated again, to himself.
I am.
I'm married to him and no matter how much I try to deny it, I simply can't. I also can't stop the amount of nàsty and siñful thoughts running through my head about how he will look above me, completely nakéd, while he... takes my ability to walk.
His gaze stayed on my lips longer than necessary, his eyes darkening with contemplation on whether or not he should do what his mind was telling him before his lips came crashing down on mine, hard and rough, without mercy.
The kiss was absolutely merciless, savage, and literally and figuratively breathtaking. One of his strong hands rode up my waist, going under my crop top and squeezing my bare skin, I m0@ned, and he swallowed it.
Suddenly, he withdrew his lips and licked it. His other hand that wasn't under my crop top brushed harshly against my bottom lip, then he leaned in and bit it. I was way too breathless and on cloud nine to feel whatever pain that came with the bite.
"Next time you go for a run, let me know. I'd love to join," he said.
I wanted to retort, 'I'd rather you join me in a different kind of activity, like one that involves the bed,' but I settled for, "I prefer running alone."
"You're not alone." His fingers tenderly stroked my stomach, setting off a whirlwind of butterflies. "I'm with you."
His words, touch, gaze, and that little smile only made the butterflies more frenzied.
How many girlfriends had he had to become such a smooth talker?
"Be with yourself," I mentally slapped myself for that childish comeback.
"Why would I when you're here with me?" His question was clearly rhetorical, leaving me silent, searching for a retort other than 'I hàte you,' but finding none. "You're cute when speechless."
I shot him an icy glare and snapped, "Don't call me cute."
"Cute. You're so adorable." He further aggravated me by pinching my cheeks and using a baby voice. "So cute."
Why did I find him attractive again?
I frowned while Riccardo laughed at me.
"Come on, smile."
"No."
A minute later, I found myself running away from his tickles, our laughter filling the room. As I tried to evade him by circling the sofa in the living room, he caught me and playfully pushed me down before resuming his assàult.
"See, now you're laughing," Riccardo, my husband, said as he tickled me, hovering above.
I squirmed beneath him, trying and failing to stop his relentless assault. "S-s-s-stop," I laughed hysterically. "I-I-I can't breathe."
He stopped, then began peppering kisses on my head and every reachable spot, and I let him, not because I had no choice, but because I wanted to.
Each nanosecond his lips touched my head and neck, the thump thump thump in my heart accelerated. Just as it was about to intensify, a female voice called out Riccardo's name. He got up, revealing a blonde girl my age, her hands spread wide with a big smile on her face.
"Asia!" Riccardo went to her, lifting her off the floor and spinning around, both of them laughing.
I don't like her.
I sat up, watching them hug like long-lost family, forcing myself not to roll my eyes.
Riccardo broke the hug, "Sunshine, this is Asia, my childhood friend. Asia, this is Olivia, my beautiful wife and the mother of my future kids."
I shouldn't have felt proud, but I was, proud as a peacock. The pride was so overwhelming that I didn't even have to fake a smile as I stood and extended my hand to her.
She smiled, "Hi. You're very pretty."
"I know," I replied before I could stop myself, smiling back.
"Excuse me for a second," Riccardo said, then went upstairs.
As soon as he was out of sight, the overly smiling woman's expression turned scornful. "Listen, you little thing. I don't know who you think you are, but you need to get lost from Ricky's life. He's mine."
"Call me a 'thing' one more time and your hair will turn red."
"What, will you dye it?"
"Yeah. I will, with your blôod."
Her scorn faltered, "Did you just threatén to make me bleéd from my head?"
"No. I just told you what will happen if you pass your boundaries, Africa."
"It's Asia."
Who cares?
"Whatever you say, Africa," I muttered loud enough for her to hear. "This is your first time in my house. What would you like? Water, poisôn, juice, wine?" When she opened her mouth to reply, I waved a dismissive hand in the air, laughing. "Just joking. I wouldn't serve you to save my life."
We glared at each other with so much hatréd, as if we were archenémies from the past. As soon as we heard Riccardo's footsteps approaching, we forced smiles on our faces.
"Sorry, Asia. I had to make a call," he said to her with one of his irresistible dimpled smiles before facing me. "What would you like for breakfast, sunshine?"
For her to leave.
"I don't know, maybe toast and coffee. You?"
"Same," he beamed at me. "What about you, Asia?"
"Oh. Do you have salad?"
"No. You still eat salad?"
"Well, yeah. I'm a model, are you forgetting?"
"How can I forget? Your pictures are in every magazine," Riccardo said as he intertwined our fingers together, his eyes on her but his hand on me.
I smirked, staring down at our interlaced fingers and then at her before mouthing, "Is he really yours?"
✯✯✯✯
After ten long hours, she finally decided to leave. Apparently, she has an early morning shoot tomorrow, which is why she's here in America, New York from Poland.
She's one héll of an actress. That's what she should have been instead of a model. She put on an incredible act of liking me and complimenting me in front of Riccardo even after I left them to prepare my breakfast.
Of course, I didn't go back to them. I did everything I could to kíll time so I wouldn't kíll her instead. Luckily, I had Dahlia, who is kind of getting used to me, and apart from her, the atmosphere and surroundings were serene and calming.
I hàte Riccardo, but I love his choice. Here is peaceful and quiet, no cars zooming back and forth, no pollution in the air, no honking and honking, just peaceful quietness.
"I was thinking I should make pasta for dinner, what do you think?" Riccardo came to my room to ask me after the human had left.
"No. I ordered pizza."
"Junk food isn't good. Let me cook."
Before I could bite down on my tongue, I blurted out, "Do I look like your model friend? I can and will eat whatever I want whenever I want. Leave."
"Did I do something?"
Yeah. Having a bítch like her as a friend.
I had only met his two best friends once, at the reception party after the wedding, and I liked them. They're funny in their own way. But liking Africa would take a while, and by a while, I mean never.
"Go away."
"Fine," he said and left.
Fine!
Good riddance, who the héck names their child after a f+cking continent?!
TBC 📖✍️
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