obsessed Aero

||You need me, right?.

Аэро Гилберт

– Give me a video call, I want to see you. Do it without question, otherwise I will come and you will get your ass kicked.  Reading this, I blush more and call him, turning on the camera so that he can see me. He answers immediately, and I see him: water is dripping from his hair, and the tattoos on his neck are visible to me. He's obviously taken a shower. The man puts down his phone, dries off and puts on a shirt and trousers to look chic.  – Go to your father and figure out where you can spend the night tonight. I'm coming for you," he says bluntly, looking at me. I'm frowning.  "Why?" I don't want to go anywhere," I say in an offended voice, and Aero looks at me, and then laughs softly.  – You have 40 minutes, chamomile. I'll pick you up, and my car will be parked at the intersection on the left side of the house so that the cameras won't get in. Put on something warm, we'll go to the same place," he winks, and I have a feeling in my chest of wanting to go with him.

Mafia men

– You are our treasure.

Punishment from Aero

Arm or belt?

Forbidden passion

— Will you kiss me? Itself, — I whisper, looking into her green eyes. Too beautiful; you want to drown in them or stare until you go mad. That's exactly what I'm doing now. Going mad for this girl, because she's too stubborn and too sexy. She nods slightly, and I smile victoriously. I remove my hand from her neck, slide it to the back of her head, grab a handful of her hair in my fist, squeezing so that Lya winces slightly. That's right – she needs to know her place, because I'm not going to tolerate her antics. — Kiss me, — I say in a commanding tone, and Lya flinches. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek – gently and innocently. I clench my jaw, because this is far from enough. — On the lips, — I snarl, and jerk her head back, pulling her hair. — I'm not your mommy to fulfill your whims, — she whispers, thinking I'm deaf and can't hear her whisper. She's mistaken. — And I'm not your daddy, and I'm not going to play babysitter with you. I won't call you 'princess' as if you're the only fool like that in this club, — I snarl roughly. With my other hand, I grab her hip, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints.

Lorenzo

The quiet hum of the fading dishwasher was the only sound left in the apartment. Lorenzo shrugged, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel and tossing it over the back of a chair, finishing the last chores around the house. The city lights outside the window looked hazy; a storm was settling all around. The work emails had finally gone silent, a half-empty bottle of wine stood on the counter, and dinner consisted of leftover ricotta and spinach ravioli he’d made two days ago, by now forgotten how tasty they were. Gianna had sent a message three hours ago from Prague: blurry nighttime photos of her and her college friends stuck by some canal. She seemed fine. The itch of loneliness flared up, then quickly faded. He was alone. No house calls, no dumb urgent clients. Just silence, carrying him into this beautiful Friday evening — no dating app notifications, no plans. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and headed to the bedroom, adjusting his belt on the way. The room filled with the familiar click of the belt buckle coming undone and the quiet hiss of a zipper. Finally, damn it. He wheezed as he sank to the edge of the bed, pulling his pants down to mid-thigh. His member was freed, already half-aroused. This was what he had planned for tonight. Just a hand and some solitude to deal with the nagging need building all week. He absentmindedly spat into his palm and started a few deep, slow strokes—slow enough to savor the growing pressure on the head. The pre-cum spread quickly over his palm. He’d been getting sensitive lately. “Sh…,” he muttered under his breath, eyes shutting for half a second as he leaned back on his free hand. Images flickered through his mind, ones he’d fought off all day: Lia sitting at his kitchen table last week wearing that very favorite shirt, their silly laughter that made him act like a fool just to hear it again. Her voice echoed in his head on repeat, softly and close as she said his name, and… Bzzzz! He startled. The buzzer at the front door ripped him out of his fantasy; the sudden noise muted the warmth spreading somewhere deep in his belly. He froze mid-stroke. “What the hell?” he grumbled. Furrowing his brow, he pulled his boxer shorts back on and stood up. His member pulsed, but he ignored it, covered by fabric. Barefoot, he walked over to the intercom panel, standing on the cold wooden floor. The small screen lit up with grainy black-and-white lines, and Lorenzo’s eyes widened in surprise. Lia? Lia stood there, their shoulders tense. They looked… upset? Like some sad kitten currently being accused of AI in social media. No umbrella, no jacket in a storm like this. He pressed the speaker button and cleared his throat. “…È tardi. (It’s late.) You’re late for a visit, don’t you think?” Lorenzo let them in anyway, not waiting for apologies. Lia had always been a welcome guest in his home, whether he wanted it or not. Each step back to the bedroom grew heavier. He pulled his pants up properly and buttoned them just as there was a knock at the door. What the hell could have happened for them to come here like this at such an hour? Lorenzo flung open the door, and the warm apartment light flooded Lia’s figure in the hallway. Something was wrong. “Merde… What happened?”