Carlotta Angela Vasiliev is a 17 year old girl living with her adoptive Russian mafia family of 4 brothers and father. Ever since she was a child, she's had no sense of belonging, abused by the Swedish mafia in her youth, her Russian saviours are th...
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I try to control my breathing, knowing I'm over-reacting and everything is okay.
The memories are just too overwhelming and being trapped inside rooms triggers the fight or flight response in me.
I suddenly hear movement come from deeper within the bathrooms though, making my breathing flare out of control yet again.
I scramble to get to my feet as I see a tall figure emerge from one of the stalls, his shirt off and scrunched in his hand as he holds it up to his nose.
He stops short when he sees me, just staring for a few seconds before speaking in a deep baritone voice, "I'm sorry, the guys room was locked and I needed somewhere to-"
When we connect eyes, I feel something shift in my heart.
Holy shit.
This man is beautiful.
He had dark brown fluffy hair that looked a little tousled. The hand holding his shirt to his nose dropped when we connected eyes, revealing his beautifully sculpted face, which in a sick way looked even more gorgeous with blood running down his nose.
His eyes were a dark forest green, so mesmerizing that I don't know how long I stared into them.
My traitorous eyes traveled down to his bare torso, revealing hard lines of sculpted pectorals and abs, littered with small doodles of tattoos. Following his defined v-line I feel my tear stained cheeks heat at the happy trail of hair that leads further down his sweats.
I quickly avert my eyes, realising I seem like a complete perv before I notice the guy probably didn't even realise my staring, too caught up in his own.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I cross my arms over my chest making him snap out of his own thoughts, and clear his throat looking away from me, and-
Is he blushing?
The cutest shade of pink tinges his cheeks, making his rugged appearance all the more appealing.
I suddenly realise I'm fawning over this man's appearances when he's clearly injured.
Gods, I'm an asshole.
I widen my eyes in concern of his nose and without thinking take closer steps to him, only to realise he's like the tallest man I've ever seen.
"Oh my god..." I whisper out, feeling weirdly concerned with the gorgeous mans well-being, "Are you okay sir?" I say, completely innocently as I don't know how to address him. He obviously has some years on me, and I feel the need to be respectful to the injured stranger.
He falters for a brief second before clearing his throat yet again, "Uh, yes, yes I'm fine don't worry about me, αγαπημένος." He replies in his deep baritone voice.
(sweetheart)
Oh that voice.
I can detect a hint of an accent in his English, rolling off his tongue flawlessly.
