Fiorella The city outside Rocco's penthouse felt softer at night , as if the strife of the day dissolved to turn soft and tender once illuminated by the glow of streetlamps. Outside the glass wall, the skyline sparkled like a living painting. The hum of cars down there, distant and muffled.I sat cramped on the couch, one of Rocco's massive shirts swallowing me up, my legs bare and tucked up under me. The slightest scent of him, smoke, leather, and dark warmth, lingered in the fabric, and it was comforting.The TV showed a movie neither of us was really watching. Something sentimental, ironically enough. The characters on the screen fought, their lips nipping, their pain too real. But here, with Rocco's arm slung over my shoulders and his thumb drawing slow circles down my arm, the world stood still.His skin was heat and strength against mine, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling holding me steady. My face against him, my fingers tracing the path of his veins on his forearm a
最終更新日 : 2025-11-25 続きを読む