Strawberries, Cherries, And An Angel’s Kiss In Spring…

Strawberries, cherries, and an angel’s kiss in spring…

* nsfw: messy & filthy cockwarming, no sex, dom!luigi *

It’s April in Sicily. You and Luigi have been here for a week now, tucked away in your sun-drenched villa perched on the edge of the Aeolian Islands. You booked a springtime retreat to satisfy the yearning for a life woven only of each other, under the soft gaze of the Mediterranean sun.

The warmth kisses your bare shoulders as you wander through the gardens of your villa, the breeze curling around your body. Barefoot, the grass and earth are soft under your soles, and you twirl lazily, gathering wild spring flowers in your hands: delicate white blooms, tiny pink buds, yellow petals that smell of honey. You weave them into your hair, threading them through the messy braid you’d tossed over one shoulder, smiling softly at how pretty you feel, how free.

You’re wearing that little babydoll your boyfriend loves, the pale pink fabric fluttering against your thighs, nearly translucent when the sunlight hits it. You’re a dream under the sparkling spring sun — it’s mid-afternoon now, when the warmth of the Mediterranean is at its peak, and as you move through the garden with the petals, you anticipate the way you know Luigi will look at you when you step back inside. Reverent and doting, those dilated pupils that tell you each time how utterly lovesick he is for his girl.

The hem of your babydoll brushes the tops of your thighs as you skip a little toward the entrance of the villa, clutching the last handful of blossoms. The heavy wooden door swings open with a soft creak, and the coolness of the stone floor soothes your feet as you step inside. The house smells like sunlight and salt and something sweeter, and you follow the scent into the kitchen.

Luigi is standing by the table, the late afternoon light accentuating the olive of his skin. His curls are tousled, messy from the earlier breeze. You pause at the door to watch him, taking in his existence. He wears nothing but beige linen shorts that hang low on his hips, and you blink twice to focus on the sight of the back muscles that decorate his broad figure. He’s focused on a little wooden bowl, slicing ripe strawberries and pitting cherries, his fingers stained pink with their juices.

You stay still in the doorway as Luigi hums under his breath, completely relaxed. When he glances up and sees you, his gaze both softens and deepens at the same time.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice already rough with affection.

You pad toward him, flowers still clutched in your fingers, and as you’re setting them down, he catches you by the waist and tugs you into his lap, lowering you onto his thigh at the table, turned sideways so you’re half-facing him.

His arms wrap around your middle immediately, strong and warm, pulling you snug against his chest. He rocks you gently, back and forth, savoring the moment of resting his girl in his arms. He leans down and presses kisses along your jaw, featherlight, his nose nuzzling your temple, your cheek, your ear.

“My beautiful girl,” he breathes against your skin. His hands roam lazily, tracing circles over the bare skin of your thigh, your hip, your ass under the fluttery hem of your babydoll. “Look at you, baby…”

You loop your arms around his neck, giggling when he nuzzles into you again. Your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck as you both sit there, wrapped up in each other, the warm, lazy afternoon stretching around you like a cloud… or a dream.

“Princess,” he murmurs again, a little dazed. He pulls back just enough to look at you, hazel eyes glowing so much so that you see the flecks of green. His gaze is slow and hungry as it travels over your body: the sheer babydoll, the golden flush of your skin, the wildflowers tangled in your braid. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pout at him with a pretty smile, wrists resting on his shoulders. “You just told me that, Lu.”

“Because I just can’t believe you. Can’t believe you’re mine, cara mia,” Luigi whispers.

The way he’s looking at you — full of hunger, of warmth, of devotion — makes your stomach flutter and your thighs press together instinctively. You giggle again, a little shyly this time, ducking your head against his shoulder, but he doesn’t let you hide.

He keeps tracing slow, lazy patterns over your bare skin, teasing touches that make your panties dampen embarrassingly fast. You hope he doesn’t notice, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming a little on his thigh — the movement might be subtle, but Luigi notices everything about you, especially when that squirm is paired with the sense of something wet on the hem of his shorts.

The moment he feels the first little damp patch seep onto the fabric, he pauses, then leans back just a little, tilting his head. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek as he raises an eyebrow at you.

He speaks soft, voice amused but with that usual reverent authority. “You okay, baby?” His hands spread wide over your hip, holding you still against him. He presses a kiss to your temple, so soft it almost makes you whimper.

You lift your head, meeting his eyes with a wide, innocent gaze, your lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout. “Mhm… fine, Lu.”

Luigi just hums, clearly unconvinced. His hand sneaks down under the fabric of your babydoll and squeezes your ass lightly, making you gasp — and then he smacks it, just a little. Just enough to make you whine and instinctively grind down onto his thigh. You feel his muscles flex under you and it makes your head spin.

“You don’t need anything, angel?” he teases, voice low, syrupy sweet. His fingers trail up and down your side, ghosting over your ribs, your waist, setting you on fire with the softest touch.

You shake your head a little, but your body betrays you, rocking against his thigh like you can’t help it. The wetness between your legs grows hotter, stickier, soaking through the flimsy fabric.

“Tell me, baby,” Luigi says softly, nudging your chin with his thumb and index so you face him properly. His brows are slightly furrowed, and his gaze is sweet and focused. “What’s the matter?”

You only whimper, nuzzling into his neck, and you can feel him smiling now against your hair. His hands slide up your back, then down, then lower—

“Up,” he murmurs, tapping your thigh. “Straddle me and tell me what’s wrong.”

Obediently, and maybe a little too eagerly, you shift, swinging one leg over him so you’re sitting squarely on his lap now, facing him, your babydoll pooling around you like a cloud. You lean forward immediately, your clothed breasts pressing against his hard, warm chest, arms wrapping tight around his neck as you giggle breathlessly. You feel dizzy with how good it feels to be so close to your man, how safe you feel in his lap, how solid and broad he is underneath you.

“That’s my pretty baby. Come here, give me a kiss,” he whispers into your hair. He inhales the scent of a fresh blossom petal.

You lean back from him a little to face him, pressing your forehead against his as your lips meet. You both can’t help but smile as you pull away, and Luigi’s hands slide down to your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to make you squeal softly. Then he smacks it again, sharper this time, and you shudder against him.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw, your ear, the side of your neck. “My perfect angel, so pretty…”

You’re rocking against him without even meaning to, grinding your soaked panties over the crotch of his shorts, desperate for friction.

Luigi bites his lip, eyes raking over you as if he’s deciding what to do with you. He moves his hands slowly between your ass and your waist, and you don’t even realize that you’re moving a little faster, more wetness seeping from the fabric of your panties and onto his half-hard clothed cock. The little noises that leave your pretty lips have him entranced, but outwardly his doting, authoritative gaze doesn’t shift.

After a few moments of near silence — the air filled with nothing but your soft whines and squeaks and the rustle of fabric against fabric, he speaks again.

“You want my cock, baby?”

He asks it like he’s asking if you want a piece of fruit, so casual it makes you clench around nothing. Pathetically, all you do is whine in response.

He raises his eyebrows, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and he grips your hips tighter.

“Shh. Listen to me, angel. I’m gonna give you what you want if you just tell me, okay? Use your words, you know I like when you do.”

Another breathless whine leaves your lips as you attempt to move again, but his big hands still you, keeping you in your place. You lean forward so that your lips brush his ear, and nod frantically. “Please, Lu,” you whisper, voice trembling with need. The ache is unbearable now. “Want you—fuck—so bad.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes raking over your body with an unreadable expression. “You shouldn’t curse like that. Ask nicely, baby.”

You exhale and comply, your voice light and airy. “Please can I have your cock, Lu? I’m your good girl… I love you, handsome.”

You know he likes it when you call him that, especially when you’re looking into his eyes as you are now, all doe-eyed and desperate.

Luigi growls low in his throat, and his hand slides under the front hem of your babydoll, fingers slipping between your thighs. He finds your clit with ease, pressing against the soaked fabric of your pretty pink panties — the ones that match the lingerie you’re currently wearing.

“Matching for me, baby. Pretty princess, as always,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on the wetness pooling between your legs despite the fabric.

You giggle, attempting to grind down again. Two of his fingers circle your sensitivity, achingly slow, before he suddenly smacks your clit, not too sharp, but just enough to send a shocking wave of pleasure through you that causes you to cry out softly into his neck. His hand slips under your panties, palm against your clit, and you rock against his hand.

“Mmmhmm, baby,” you whine. Luigi hardly takes his eyes off you — only twice, to assess the mess you’re making in your panties.

“Bellissima, la mia ragazza…” he whispers, as you continue to grind your clit against his calloused palm. He coos at you through your soft noises, and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Shh, baby. You’re my good girl, soaking my hand…”

You’re lost in the feeling — he’s still not really doing anything, you’re just using him for your pleasure, rocking back and forth, knees bracketing his thighs. And amidst his soft words and doting gaze, he doesn’t prepare you for the abrupt moment he takes his hand out of your panties.

You pout, eyes glassy, another soft whine escaping your throat. “Lu…”

You feel his hand, slick with your arousal, settle on your hip, the other firm against your ass, slow and coaxing, as he shifts you slightly. His touch is so gentle, so reverent it almost makes you want to cry. You feel dizzy, drunk on his existence.

“Lift up a little, baby. You don’t have to do anything else,” he murmurs against your ear. You obey, rising up on shaky thighs, clutching at his broad shoulders for balance.

Luigi leans back in the chair slightly, still cradling you in his lap, his hands firm and steady on your hips. His thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, grounding you, voice low and sweet as he kisses your forehead once, then twice, lingering like he doesn’t want to rush a single thing.

"You okay, beautiful? You ready?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod without hesitation, heart fluttering with anticipation, your body already aching for him. You can feel him beneath you, thick and hard, straining against the fabric of his shorts — and when he shifts slightly, the outline of him drags against you, making your thighs tremble with want.

You watch through heavy, awestruck eyes as he slides one hand down, undoing the button of his shorts with a slow, deliberate movement. The rasp of the zipper coming down sounds almost loud in the quiet kitchen. You can hardly breathe, your mouth going dry as he pushes the fabric aside and frees himself.

He’s so big — thick and heavy in his hand, the flushed tip already slick with need. His cock rests against his lower stomach, proud and weighty, a deep, dusky pink that contrasts so beautifully with the golden tan of his skin. A small, neat patch of dark hair crowns the base, soft-looking and masculine, just enough to make your head spin.

You whimper quietly at the sight, your thighs clenching around him, your whole body yearning to be filled. He catches your reaction immediately, a slow, knowing smile curving his mouth.

"Yeah, you hungry?" he murmurs, his voice a low, affectionate tease. "Just wait, baby. I know.”

The scent of him fills your head, intoxicating and real — sun-warmed skin and a faint hint of salt, like the sea breeze clinging to him; a whisper of soap still lingering from his morning shower, fresh and clean. And underneath it all, the faint, dizzying musk of him — no cologne, just Luigi, so natural and perfect it makes you ache.

He leans back slightly in his chair, his big hands resting heavily on your hips, grounding you against him. His cock, thick and flushed, rests hot against your panties, the head brushing right against your soaked center.

Without warning, he shifts his hips just a little, and with a low, almost playful hum, he lifts his cock in his hand and smacks it lightly against your aching core through the thin cotton.

The sound is wet and obscene — a sharp, sticky noise that seems to echo in the stillness of the kitchen. You shudder violently, the sudden contact sparking a bright, electric shock up your spine. Your panties are already drenched, clinging to your folds, outlining everything shamelessly — and now, with each lazy slap of his cock, more of your arousal seeps through the fabric, darkening it even further.

The heavy head of him nudges directly against your throbbing clit, and you gasp, clutching at his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Every little movement, every slight shift, makes the mess between you grow even slicker, even stickier. You feel it all — the heat of him, the slick slide of his precum mixing with your own dripping wetness, smearing together in a hot, glistening mess right against your panties.

The scent rises, thick between your bodies — sweet and musky, the unmistakable perfume of your combined arousal. It fills the air, rich and humid, wrapping around you both.

Luigi's eyes are locked between your bodies, watching with an intense focus. His lip is caught between his teeth, brows furrowed slightly as he watches the way your panties grow wetter and wetter with every teasing pass of his cock.

"What a mess," he murmurs under his breath, voice so low and rough it vibrates straight through your chest.

Your cheeks flush hot, your whole body tingling with both embarrassment and pride — because it’s for him, because he loves it, because he’s looking at you like you’re something precious and sacred.

Moving slowly, teasingly, Luigi hooks one finger into the side of your panties and tugs them aside. The soaked fabric clings stubbornly to you for a moment before peeling away, revealing your glistening folds underneath.

He groans low in his chest at the sight.

Your pussy is flushed and swollen, slick and glistening with need, every inch of you shining under the golden light streaming in through the kitchen windows. Your clit is plump and needy, peeking out from between your soaked folds, trembling slightly from how much you want him. The evidence of your arousal is messy and dripping, strands of wetness coating your folds.

"Bellissima," Luigi breathes, the word full of reverence. He runs the thick, heavy length of his cock along your folds, gathering even more of your wetness and smearing it along himself, leaving both of you slick and shining.

You moan softly, your hips instinctively starting to rock forward, grinding against the broad, hot length of him. The head of his cock catches against your clit again, dragging over it with every little movement you make, sending sparks shooting through your trembling body.

But you stay patient for him, just like he loves — rocking your hips gently, slowly, not rushing, waiting for his permission to do more. Your hands stay obediently on his shoulders, your chest pressed close to his, your eyes shining up at him because you’re his perfect girl.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Luigi watches you with a look so soft and proud it makes your throat tighten. He shifts slightly under you, tilting his hips up just a little to tease you even more, the broad underside of his cock dragging slowly, deliberately against your clit, sending fresh, aching pulses through your whole body.

"I love you, dolcezza,” he murmurs, his voice like warm honey. "Take your time. Feel me."

One of his big hands slides up to the small of your back, holding you steady as you grind so sweetly against him, your needy, dripping pussy rocking along the thick length of him. His other hand drifts lazily down to stroke over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently, grounding you further against him.

Every movement, every breath between you is soaked in heat and affection, in something deeper than just lust — something endless, timeless.

"You’re so good for me," he whispers, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "So pretty... so perfect."

You whimper softly, rubbing yourself against him with slow, desperate need, every part of you slick and trembling. And Luigi just holds you tighter, letting you grind against him, letting you feel everything, keeping you wrapped up safe and loved in his arms.

"This is what you wanted, hm?” he soothes you, guiding your hips up with careful hands. "Need you to lift up a little again, baby, gonna give you this cock now.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you lift yourself slightly, hands gripping his broad shoulders. He holds himself steady beneath you with one hand, the other still cupping your hip tenderly, stroking comfort into your skin. His head tips back against the chair, watching you through hooded eyes, dark and full of devotion.

Luigi lines you up carefully, the broad head of his cock brushing against your entrance, and you both shudder at the contact. He rubs slow, gentle circles over your clit with his thumb, coaxing you, easing you into it with such overwhelming tenderness it makes your chest ache.

"Nice and easy, angel," he coaxes you, voice like warm velvet. "I’ve got you."

You start to sink down, and immediately he’s there — whispering sweet, grounding things into the golden afternoon air around you.

"Just the tip, there you go," he breathes, kissing your forehead softly.

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, and he rubs slow circles against your clit again to soothe you, to make it easier. The stretch is delicious and overwhelming, and Luigi’s touch, his voice, helps you through it.

"One inch," he counts in a low, reverent murmur, pride thick in his voice. "My good girl."

You bite your lip, moaning quietly as you sink down another fraction, feeling him stretch you even more.

"Two," he says, his hands tightening on your hips just slightly, steadying you.

Your whole body shudders against him, overwhelmed by how good it feels, how deep he already is inside you, and you’re not even halfway yet.

"Three," he whispers, kissing along your collarbone, nuzzling the warm skin there.

He smells so good — sun, skin, soap, salt — and you bury your face in his neck, breathing him in as you lower yourself even more.

"Four," he coos, his voice laced with awe, one big hand sliding up your back to hold you closer.

You gasp softly, the fullness almost too much, but the way he rubs your clit and strokes your back keeps you grounded.

"Five," Luigi murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You’re doing perfect, cara mia. So pretty for me."

You whine, overcome by how deep he is already, how much you love him, how perfectly he fits inside you.

"Almost there, baby," he whispers. "Just a little more."

With a final soft moan, you sink all the way down, your hips meeting his, your body trembling with the effort and the overwhelming sense of being completely, utterly filled.

"Seven inches," he breathes, his voice thick and full of wonder. "All mine."

Your breath hitches as your ass settles snugly against his thighs, stuffed full of him. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of fullness, of heat.

Before you can even catch your breath, Luigi's hand swings back and delivers a sharp, playful smack to your ass, making you squeal and jolt in his lap.

He smirks against your hair, his big hands smoothing over the sting almost immediately. "There," he murmurs, full of love. "My beautiful girl."

You can feel how proud he is of you — every soft murmur, every kiss to your cheek, your shoulder, your jaw. He wraps one strong arm around you, cradling you tight against his chest, his heart thudding steadily beneath your ear. His big hand strokes your back, soothing you, keeping you grounded, while his thumb continues to rub slow, lazy circles against your clit, coaxing little shivers from your body.

"You’re perfect," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. "So good for me, baby. So beautiful."

And he holds you there for a few moments, rocking you gently in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, the two of you wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the lazy hum of the afternoon.

"Stay still," he reminds you, voice all sweet authority, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Just let me hold you, yeah?"

You nod, whimpering, your body screaming to move, to grind, to chase that unbearable pleasure... but you obey, trembling slightly as he leans forward casually, reaching for the bowl of fruit he'd been preparing earlier.

You watch, wide-eyed, as he plucks a glistening cherry from the bowl, holding it up between two fingers. His gaze is heavy-lidded, dark with affection and hunger.

"Open your mouth," he murmurs.

You part your lips obediently, and he pops the cherry into your mouth, smiling when you giggle around it, juice spilling just a little at the corners of your lips.

You shift without thinking, grinding a tiny bit on his cock stuffed inside you, desperate for more.

Luigi tuts softly, tilting his head in mock disapproval. "What did I say, sweet girl?"

You whimper around the cherry, your cheeks burning, and try to stay still again, but it's impossible — the pulse of him inside you, the slow throb of need in your abdomen makes you roll your hips the tiniest bit.

He chuckles low, his hand slipping between your thighs again to deliver a light, teasing smack to your aching clit. You gasp, shuddering against him, squeezing around him so hard he groans under his breath.

"My baby," he coos, feeding you a slice of strawberry now, the sweetness bursting on your tongue. "Can feel you soaking my cock, angel, but you can wait a little longer for me, yeah? Just wanna cuddle you like this.”

Fruit juice dribbles down your chin, trailing dangerously close to the delicate fabric of your babydoll. Before you can panic, Luigi catches it with his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

He brings his thumb to your mouth, tapping it lightly against your bottom lip. "Suck for me," he whispers.

You obey without hesitation, lips closing around his thumb, your tongue swirling around it as you suck obediently, tasting the fruit and the salt of his skin.

His eyes darken visibly, hand tightening on you for a split second before he forces himself to stay still, groaning softly.

"That’s it, princess. Taste sweet?" he rasps, pulling his thumb free with a soft pop.

“So sweet,” you nod.

"Stay still," he orders again, a little firmer this time — but there’s a smile playing at his lips, affectionate and teasing, as you whine and tremble in his arms, desperate to move.

You lean forward even more, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder. You kiss the slope of his neck tenderly, desperate for some outlet for the need burning through you. You mouth at his skin, breathing him in, and he lets you, his hand smoothing up and down your back.

After a few minutes, his hand slides up your thigh again, slow and firm.

"Alright, baby," he murmurs. "Get off my cock for me just for a second, yeah?"

You whine, shaking your head against his shoulder, but he only chuckles, squeezing your ass gently. His speech is gradual, line by line, refusing to let you in on what he wants you to do next.

"Come on, sweet girl. You’ll be right back where you belong, I promise."

Pouting, you lift yourself up, feeling him slide out of you — the loss making you clench helplessly, your whole body aching for him.

"That’s it, angel," he praises, and the words make your heart soar.

He pats his thigh lightly. "Now come sit again. But turn around for me this time, yeah?"

You climb back onto him, this time facing away, your back to his chest. His hands guide you carefully, steadying you as you sink down again, his cock sliding back inside you in one long, unbearable stretch.

You both groan low in your throats as you settle back against him, fully seated on his cock once again, his chest pressed flush to your back.

"Stay still," he reminds you softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "Just let me hold you like this."

You shiver, melting against him as he reaches up to toy with your hair, undoing your messy braid with deft fingers. He combs through the strands slowly, gently, threading the wildflowers back into a neater braid with such careful attention it makes your chest ache.

"My pretty baby," he murmurs over and over, between kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. "So beautiful like this... all mine..."

You whine softly, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it, the slow tenderness.

He reaches around you again, picking up a slice of strawberry, holding it to your lips. You open obediently, letting him feed you, your hands clutching his thighs for balance.

Juice trickles down your chin, but he’s there again instantly, thumb brushing the spill away and tapping lightly at your bottom lip. Your lips instinctively close around his thumb, tongue swirling.

"You’re such a good girl for me," he praises, his voice a low rumble against your back. "Sitting so pretty… letting me feed you and do your hair while you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

Every once in a while, he leans down to murmur something against your ear — praises, promises, little sinful things that make your core tighten even more around him.

"Your pussy’s perfect for me, baby... so sweet and warm around me."

"You wanna stay stuffed with me all day? We can sit like this for hours, just wanna hold you so close forever.”

"My perfect baby... my sweet angel."

The sun dips lower outside the villa, bathing the kitchen in molten gold, and you're still there, sitting so prettily in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, your body trembling with the need only he can satisfy — and he has all the time in the world to love you like this.

As he finishes braiding your hair, his hands gentle against your scalp, you feel the warmth of his body press tighter behind you. His fingers linger at the nape of your neck, smoothing the final strand into place before he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer to him, making you feel the weight of his body anchoring yours.

For a moment, everything slows. His cock still fills you, deep and firm, but the urgency of it fades into something more... soft, secure, tender.

You shiver as his lips press against the side of your neck, and then you hear the faint rustle of paper. “Hold on, princess," Luigi murmurs softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. He leans back just enough to reach over to the counter, picking up a small, folded notebook. "I’ve been making a few notes... things I’ve been thinking about you lately."

His voice is soft, grounded, deep with affection, and you feel your chest tighten as he clears his throat and begins to read aloud, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your waist, steadying you in his lap as his words wrap around you like a blanket.

"The way your smile lights up everything around you," he starts, his voice low but clear, every word tender as it rolls from his lips. "How you look at me like you can see into my soul... and the way I feel when I know you’re thinking of me even when we’re apart."

You sink deeper into him, the rhythm of his voice steady and comforting, as though each word is a caress, even though his cock is still buried deep inside you, still sending waves of heat through your body.

He pauses, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, then continues, his words flowing with an ease that makes you feel treasured.

"I don’t think I ever told you how much I love the way you laugh," he says, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "It’s like music to me, baby. Every time you giggle, I feel like I could just listen to it forever... it makes me feel like I’m home."

Your heart flutters, and you press back into him, both your hands clutching at his forearms now as his strength surrounds you, offering that steady protection. He leans in closer again, lips brushing your ear as he recites another note.

"I love the way your voice sounds when you say my name," he murmurs softly, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "How it always has this... this softness to it, but when you want me, it gets all breathy, all needy. It drives me wild, baby."

You sigh softly, feeling that same need stir inside you, your body instinctively rocking ever so slightly on his cock, though you know he’s guiding you to remain still for now.

"And when you wear that babydoll," he adds, his voice dipping lower, "it makes my heart skip a beat every time. It’s like you’re made for me, just like this... so perfect, so delicate."

You shiver at his words, your skin tingling under his touch when he plays with the hem of your lingerie. Your body aches for him to do something more, to give more, but you stay still, focusing instead on his words, on his affection.

He continues feeding you fruit, his hand holding another strawberry to your lips as his words drift around you.

"You remind me of everything beautiful in the world, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice thick with admiration. "You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and more. I never knew it was possible to feel so lucky to have someone until I found you."

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, moved by the tenderness in his voice, the pure love that shines through every word. He doesn’t just want you; he adores you, and it makes your heart ache, your body tense with the weight of that realization.

"Fuck, I love you, baby," he murmurs, just barely above a whisper. "So much it hurts.”

“I love you, Lu.” You grip his hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles as you lean further back into his chest. You feel him twitch inside you at the slight movement and he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Then his arms tighten around your waist, and he savors the way you tremble in his lap, the way you rock ever so slightly, despite his gentle insistence to stay still.

"You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart," he says, voice low and full of pride. "You’re perfect in every way."

He doesn’t need to say any of this; you know it already. But he does, he tells you daily, and the words settle deep in your heart, warming you from the inside out, making your pulse quicken with a fresh wave of longing.

You start to grind a little again, and he holds your waist firmer.

"Stay still for me, baby," he whispers, but there’s no harshness in his voice. He’s not angry. No, he’s just soft, his tone coaxing and sweet, as if he wants to spoil you, to give you every ounce of pleasure you deserve.

And even though your body is begging for release, you can’t help but obey, staying still, letting him continue to hold you, feed you, speak to you. He weaves his hands through your hair again, adjusting the braid and fixing the flower petals, taking care of you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

"My pretty, pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice full of love and adoration. "I’ll never get tired of having you."

And you can feel it, every word sinking deeper into your soul. The sensation of being loved so completely by him, wrapped up in his arms, makes everything feel so right — so fulfilling.

A few moments later, Luigi shifts slightly under you, his big hands sliding from your hips to your waist. You whimper quietly in protest, but he soothes you with a kiss to your temple, his voice a low, commanding murmur against your skin.

"Off, baby. Turn around for me," he instructs, his tone impossibly tender and sure. "Need to look at you.”

Reluctantly, you lift yourself off his cock, a soft, sticky sound filling the space between you as you rise. You both groan at the loss of connection, but he just guides you, steady and patient, helping you turn in his lap to face him properly again. His cock, slick and glistening with both your arousals, stands between you, aching and thick.

"Good girl," Luigi praises softly as you straddle him again, easing yourself slowly back down onto him. You both moan together as you take him once more, inch by thick, aching inch, until you’re fully seated, stuffed full of him, trembling and clinging to his broad shoulders.

The moment you're settled, Luigi leans back slightly, dark eyes drinking you in like you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His hands stay firm at your hips, keeping you steady on his cock, not letting you move just yet.

You giggle breathlessly, cheeks warm, and reach for the bowl of fruit left forgotten on the table beside you. Grinning playfully, you pluck a strawberry and bring it to his lips.

"Open, Lu," you tease, voice sweet and breathy.

He smiles indulgently, lips parting, and you feed him the berry. He takes it slowly, never looking away from you, chewing lazily as if savoring the taste of your affection just as much as the fruit itself.

Then, a glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes, and you grab a ripe cherry by its stem, twirling it between your fingers.

Still perched pretty on his cock, still feeling him pulsing thick and hard inside you, you lean in closer, batting your lashes up at him, mouth forming a soft, teasing pout. Your tongue flicks out, wrapping around the cherry stem as you pop the fruit into your mouth, sucking it slowly, obscenely, as you grind your hips ever so slightly against him.

Luigi’s pupils dilate instantly, his jaw tightening, nostrils flaring just slightly as he watches you with that heavy, stunned adoration he can never quite hide.

The pad of his thumb strokes your cheekbone tenderly, almost reverently, as if he can't quite believe you're real — his sweet girl, stuffed full of his cock, looking up at him with those wide, helpless eyes.

You moan low in your throat around the cherry, feeling him throb inside you, feeling the heat of him radiate up through your body. And then, still grinding softly on his cock, you begin working the stem between your tongue and teeth, slowly, deliberately tying it into a knot.

A soft, filthy noise vibrates from deep in Luigi’s chest — a strangled growl of possessive pride.

"Fuck, baby girl," he breathes, his hand cupping the back of your neck now, thumb still stroking softly along your jaw.

When you finally finish, you stick out your tongue to show him the knotted stem proudly, cheeks flushed, lips glistening.

"You’re incredible," he murmurs thickly, voice rough around the edges with barely contained need. "That’s my girl. So filthy... and so beautiful for me.”

He leans in and plucks the knotted stem from your tongue with his teeth, tossing it lazily into a nearby napkin, all without looking away from you for a second.

You squirm in his lap, feeling the heat and need growing unbearable now, and you start trying to bounce on his cock, desperate for more friction, more connection, more everything.

But Luigi clamps his hands firmly on your hips, holding you down easily with that calm strength that makes you melt.

"Shh, I told you to keep still," he laughs softly, the sound low and indulgent. "Not yet."

You whine pathetically, trying to move again, but he keeps you pinned.

"You’ll make yourself sick, bouncing on me with all that fruit in your belly," he scolds gently, thumb caressing your cheekbone. "You don’t want that, do you?"

You pout, nuzzling into his neck, your whole body thrumming with need.

"Be good," he murmurs, his arms wrapping fully around you now, his cock buried deep and pulsing inside you. "Just sit here with me and savor this, baby.”

You have no choice but to obey, still stuffed full of him, your walls clenching instinctively around his cock with every tiny shift of your hips, every shivery breath you take.

Luigi’s big hands move up, combing slowly through your hair, fingers weaving carefully through the soft braid, straightening the flower petals nestled within it. His touch is so tender, so loving, it makes tears sting behind your eyes.

He whispers against your temple, smoothing your hair back. "My sweet spring baby."

You moan softly, pressing even closer, clinging to him, your heart feeling too big for your chest.

As he continues combing through your hair, slow and patient, he leans down to nuzzle your ear.

"Where do you want to go tonight?" he murmurs. "Somewhere by the water, maybe? A little trattoria tucked away from the crowds?"

You nod against him, too overwhelmed to answer properly. He smiles against your skin and kisses your hair.

"Whatever you want," he promises. "Decide later."

And so you sit there, wrapped around each other in the golden light, your body stretched wide and full around him, the scent of fruit and sun and salt lingering in the air, your hearts beating in slow, perfect rhythm together.

Despite the comfort, your thighs burn from the effort of staying so still as you’re straddling him. His cock throbs deep inside your soaked, stretched pussy, and you cling tighter to his broad shoulders, breathing him in — that delicious mix of sunscreen, clean sweat, and sun-warmed soap that clings to his skin — while he calmly reaches for another cherry from the bowl beside you.

But before he feeds it to you, Luigi shifts a little, tilting his head to look down between your bodies with lazy, fascinated pleasure.

The mess between you is obscene now. Your slick is everywhere — glistening along the thick base of his cock, smeared wet and sticky over his bare thighs, dripping slowly onto the chair beneath you both. His precum is leaking steadily from his tip, pooling warmly inside you and spilling out around where your bodies are joined.

With a low chuckle, he dips two fingers lazily into the mess gathering along his thigh — thick and shiny and stringing between his skin and yours — and lifts it to your mouth without hesitation.

"Open, dolcezza," he says, voice like velvet, so soft and sure it makes your stomach twist with need.

You part your lips instantly, so obedient, so needy for anything he gives you, and he pushes his fingers between your lips, smearing the taste of you both across your tongue.

You moan around his fingers, cheeks flushing deep red as you taste it — sweet, musky, salty, the proof of how much you want him and how much he wants you, sticky and rich and intimate. He watches you with blown pupils, his thumb brushing so gently over your jaw as you suck on his fingers, tasting every drop.

"That’s it," he praises lowly, slipping his fingers free with a wet pop.

Before you can beg for more, he’s already pressing a cherry to your lips, his thumb wiping a smear of slick from the corner of your mouth tenderly.

"Now this," he says with a crooked smile, slipping the fruit past your lips.

You take it with a soft little whine, still tasting him faintly even as the sweet juice bursts across your tongue. You chew and swallow obediently, rocking your hips ever so slightly on his cock — not enough to disobey, but enough that your clit catches deliciously on the slight movement.

Luigi watches every single twitch and tremble of your body, the veins in both his neck and his cock jumping as he fights to stay patient. His big hands run soothingly up and down your spine, grounding you.

"You’re my messy little girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with pride and hunger. "Look at you... stuffed full of cock, tasting how sweet you are for me."

You whimper brokenly, burying your face against his neck, desperate for more.

But Luigi just combs slowly through your hair again, fingers tugging gently through the petals still braided into the strands, as if you have all the time in the world. As if sitting on his cock like this, soaking him, trembling, dripping, is the most normal and natural thing in the world. At least it is for the both of you.

"I know, baby, I know you’re feeling full. Just rest with me,” he murmurs against your shoulder as your head rests on his.

You moan helplessly, rocking just a little more, chasing any tiny bit of friction you can steal, and Luigi hums a soft warning against your ear.

"Behave yourself," he reminds you, his tone indulgent but firm.

You nod, teary-eyed, nuzzling against him, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent. "You smell so good, Lu," you whisper without thinking, drunk on him.

He chuckles, low and pleased, kissing your temple. Then he shifts under you, his broad hands sliding down to your hips with a firm, grounding touch. You shudder against him as his cock twitches deep inside you, and just when you think you couldn’t possibly need him more, he murmurs low against your temple:

"Sorry, baby."

He pulls out of you in one slow, dragging slide, every thick inch slipping from your soaked pussy with a lewd, wet sound that makes your cheeks burn.

You whine — high and needy — a pathetic, broken noise that spills out before you can even think to stop it, your thighs quivering from the loss of him. The emptiness is devastating, and you chase his cock instinctively, trying to grind yourself back onto him.

"Shh," he coos, his voice deep and teasing. "You crying for your man’s cock?”

You whimper again, burying your face against his neck, but he’s relentless — dragging the head of his cock up between your soaked folds, smearing the mess of your slick and his precum all over you. He’s hot and heavy against your pussy, shaft slick and shining, every vein and ridge glistening with the mixture of your arousal.

Each slow stroke catches on your swollen clit, making you gasp and jerk against him, your thighs shaking with the effort of staying still. His dark pubic hair gets slick too, glistening with the mess you’re making together, sticking slightly to his skin with every lazy grind of his cock against you.

Luigi watches you intently, biting his bottom lip as he drags the thick head against your entrance, against your folds, making everything even wetter, even messier.

"You’re so pretty like this," he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice rough and reverent. "When you’re all messy for me."

He pulls back slightly, smacks his cock against your clit, and you jolt in his lap with a cry, your whole body shivering from the sharp pleasure.

"Sensitive," Luigi murmurs, enjoying the way you melt against him.

You sit there, straddling him, your pink babydoll clinging sweetly to your hips and the tops of your thighs, the delicate sheer fabric already damp where it brushes your messy pussy. The thin straps have slid off your shoulders from all the movement, exposing more glowing, sun-kissed skin. The flowers braided into your hair are slightly askew now — white and pink and yellow petals tangled in the messy strands — and your face is flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with need.

You look like a perfect, ruined angel in his lap — barefoot, beautiful, body trembling and slick, marked by him.

"La mia ragazza," he murmurs, hands running up and down your sides, slow and possessive. "My pretty angel."

He lets his cock rest against your folds, leaking heavily now, the thick bead of precum mixing into the slick already dripping from you, making everything between your legs shine and stick deliciously.

Without warning, he dips his fingers into the mess again — two thick fingers glistening with your combined arousal — and brings them up to your lips.

"Open, sweetheart," he commands gently.

You obey instantly, mouth falling open, tongue lolling out a little. He slides his fingers into your mouth, and you suck greedily, your eyes fluttering closed at the taste of both of you together — musky, salty, sweet.

While his fingers are still in your mouth, he grabs another strawberry with his free hand, holding it to your lips. You moan softly around his fingers and bite into the fruit at the same time, the juice bursting messily across your tongue.

Strawberry juice dribbles down the corners of your mouth, mixing with the sheen of slick already smeared there. A drop nearly splatters onto your babydoll, and Luigi chuckles, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop.

"Careful, baby," he coos, smearing the dripping mixture of strawberry juice and arousal from your mouth across your cheek and chin with slow, teasing strokes. "You’re making such a mess."

You giggle breathlessly, wriggling on his lap, the movement making his cock rub hot and heavy against your folds again.

"Sorry, Lu," you breathe, voice small and sweet and a little ruined. "M'sorry..."

He just smiles fondly, shaking his head slightly as he wipes the juice and slick across your skin like he’s painting you with it, leaving you glistening, marked, utterly his.

"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs. "You’re perfect. Just gotta be careful... don’t wanna ruin that pretty lingerie, huh? It’s my favorite.”

You shake your head shyly, bottom lip trembling slightly as you lean into his touch, desperate for more, for anything he’ll give you.

"Need you," you whisper, voice cracked and desperate.

"I know," he coos, stroking your hair again, rearranging the disheveled braid and tucking a loose petal behind your ear. "I know, beautiful girl. You’re doing so well for me."

He kisses your messy cheek, tasting the mix of strawberry and salt on your skin, and you sigh, clinging to him, your whole body alight and strung tight.

Still, he doesn't slide back inside you yet. Instead, he keeps rubbing his cock against your folds lazily, smearing every inch of you with slick and precum, making sure you stay messy and desperate in his arms.

And then, so slowly it makes your head spin, he tilts your hips down with a firm hand on your waist and eases just the tip of his cock back inside you.

A slow, hot stretch — your walls parting inch by inch, fluttering around him, welcoming him back in.

You both gasp softly at the feeling.

"There we go," he coaxes, almost a whisper, nuzzling his nose into your temple. "Take me slow, beautiful girl... that's it..."

The thick length of him fills you, spreading you deliciously wide. He rocks you just a little to help you sink lower, his hands steadying you as you moan helplessly against his neck.

"So tight," he mutters, almost reverent. "So warm..."

He counts quietly under his breath, the words vibrating against your skin as you sink down on him:

"One... two... three inches... good girl..."

"Four... five... almost there, sweetheart..."

"Six... seven... that's it, all of it, dolcezza..."

You sob a soft, desperate little noise into his shoulder when you're fully seated again, stuffed full of every thick inch. His cock throbs deep inside you, nestled snug and hot, his pubes brushing damply against your over-sensitive clit.

He presses a slow, heavy-handed smack to your ass, making you jolt on his lap with a sharp gasp.

"Such a good girl for me," he coos, his hand soothing over the spot immediately after, thumb rubbing lazy circles over your hot skin. "You love sitting pretty on my cock, hm?"

You nod, tears stinging your lashes, but he just laughs softly — so in love with you he could drown in it — and kisses your cheek.

And then he murmurs casually against your ear:

"Pick up the flowers, baby."

You blink, confused for a second, so he tips his chin toward the little pile of wildflowers you’d picked earlier, now scattered messily across the kitchen table — tiny white blossoms, pink buds, golden yellow petals.

You reach out, gathering them up carefully, your bare thighs quivering around him.

"Tell me what you picked," he murmurs, one big palm cupping your ass possessively, the other sliding up to tease your breast through the thin, sheer fabric of your babydoll. His thumb flicks slowly over your nipple, making you arch into him helplessly, gasping at the electric shiver it sends through you.

Your voice is breathless, shaky, as you speak:

"Um... white jasmine... pink daisies... I think... and some little... little yellow ones..." You trail off with a whimper as he tweaks your nipple through the fabric, your hips rolling in tiny, instinctive circles over his cock.

"Good girl," he soothes, his voice a low purr against your cheek. "My beautiful baby, picking all the prettiest ones."

He keeps teasing your breast with lazy, possessive strokes, the warmth of his hand branding you even through the thin fabric of your babydoll. The soft petals brush against your wrist as you hold the flowers clumsily, your fingers trembling.

"You’re making such a pretty mess, sweetheart," Luigi murmurs, almost fondly, as he glances down.

Your thighs are glistening even more now, smeared with the mix of slick and precum, and every tiny movement you make presses his cock deeper against that sweet spot inside you, making you gasp.

"You feel so good," you whine against his neck, so overwhelmed you could cry.

"I know, baby," he soothes, planting a kiss to your hair, inhaling the scent of sunshine, flowers, and your skin.

You look like a dream in his lap: barefoot, pink babydoll hitched high on your hips, petals tangled in your messy braid, your cheeks flushed and shiny with a mix of strawberry juice and slick. His big hand palms your breast slowly, thumbing over your hard nipple, while the other hand holds you steady against him, thick fingers splayed wide over your ass and waist.

"Talk to me, princess," he urges softly, hand squeezing your hip. "Tell me more about your flowers."

You cling to him, babbling shyly about the ones you picked, your breath hitching each time he rocks his hips just a little — enough to grind your clit against his pelvis but not enough to let you ride him properly.

"So pretty," you whisper, voice shaking as you talk about the flowers — but you’re not really talking about the flowers anymore, not when the only thing you can think about is the way he’s keeping you split open around him, stuffed full, so much you can hardly breathe.

"You’re pretty," Luigi murmurs. His big hands roam lazily, petting your messy braid, tracing along your flushed neck, smoothing down your bare spine, until he’s sliding one hand up under the hem of your babydoll. The fabric rides high, baring your ass completely where you sit perched on him.

"Keep talking," he coaxes, thumb brushing teasing circles over the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh. "Don’t get shy on me while you’re stuffed full of my cock, angel. Tell me more about your little flowers, huh?"

You try — you really do — but your breath hitches again, voice breaking when he grinds up into you just slightly harder. Your thighs spasm around his hips. You’re soaked, throbbing, stuffed full, your pussy gripping him like a vice.

And then, while you’re still stammering through your broken sentences, Luigi reaches for the little bowl of fruit again. He selects a plump, ripe strawberry, and holds it up to your lips.

You part your lips obediently just like before, dazed and pliant. He presses the berry into your mouth, smirking when you close your teeth around it — juice immediately spilling over your tongue, sweet and tart, sticky on your lips.

And while you chew and moan softly around the fruit, his free hand slides between your bodies, down the curve of your stomach, slipping under the rucked-up hem of your babydoll.

Two fingers, warm, sure, so achingly slow, find your clit where it's flushed and throbbing, swollen from the constant friction. He starts to rub. Barely any pressure. Just the slightest tease: slow, steady circles.

"Shh, there you go," Luigi coos, nuzzling your temple.

Your whole body trembles, caught between the overwhelming fullness of his cock inside you, the dizzying sweetness of the fruit on your tongue, and the maddening slow tease of his fingers stroking your clit in tight, lazy spirals.

The petals still tangled in your messy braid brush against your flushed shoulders every time you move. Your pink babydoll clings damply to your overheated skin, the sheer fabric riding high over your hips, exposing the soft roundness of your ass where Luigi keeps you pressed tight against him.

He breathes you in — the sweet, sun-warmed scent of your skin and the faint perfume of crushed flowers. His thumb strokes the corner of your mouth, smearing a bit of sticky strawberry juice there, and you whimper at the gentle touch.

Your breath hitches when Luigi finally tilts your chin up with two fingers, the pad of his thumb sweeping across your sticky, strawberry-smeared lips. He looks at you like he’s starving: hazel eyes burning, jaw flexed.

"Come here, baby," he says, low and soft.

You barely have time to react before his mouth crashes down on yours, urgent and hungry. The kiss is messy from the start — open-mouthed, desperate, the taste of sweet fruit and your own need coating both your tongues as you moan helplessly into him.

His tongue pushes deep into your mouth, tasting the lingering syrupy strawberry juice and the faint taste of his precum mixed with your slick from earlier. You whine into him, hips instinctively grinding down against his lap.

You feel him smile into the kiss — that lazy, cocky smirk you know so well — but he still doesn’t let you move too much. His big hands lock around your hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise, guiding you into slow, heavy grinds against the thick heat inside you without letting you lift up, not even an inch.

"No," he murmurs against your mouth when you try to bounce, voice deep and teasing. "I’ll let you grind now, baby, but don’t bounce.”

You nod, dizzy, clinging to his shoulders. Then he slides his hands higher, gripping the soft curve of your ass in both palms, kneading and squeezing like he owns you — and he does, with the way you’re stretched open, helpless, gasping into his mouth.

In one rough, smooth motion, he pulls the top of your babydoll down, baring your breasts to the cool air of the kitchen. Your nipples harden instantly, flushed and sensitive.

Luigi groans low in his throat when he pulls back — you’re so beautiful, so messy, perched on his cock in your soft pink lingerie, your braid loose and falling apart, petals sticking in your tangled hair.

"Look at you," he breathes, dragging his mouth down from yours to kiss the corner of your mouth, then the sticky line of your jaw, down to your neck. "My sweet, messy girl."

You feel the rough scrape of his unshaven jaw against your throat as he nips and kisses and savors every inch of you he can reach. One big hand comes up to cup your breast — his palm broad and calloused, so warm — and he thumbs your nipple, the motion timed with the slow, shallow grinds of your hips.

Your whole body rocks gently— stuffed so full of him you feel every throb, every twitch of his cock pulsing against your walls.

“Yeah, baby, come on, I got you,” he coos, and you shudder when he bites your lower lip, pulling gently before kissing you again, sloppier this time — tongues tangling, sharing the taste of fruit, heat and pure aching want.

You pull back and hum innocently, fluttering your lashes at him — and then, you reach over to the bowl of fruit to pluck a bright red cherry.

"For you," you whisper, your voice still breathless and dainty, like a little secret between you.

Luigi laughs low in his chest, and you feel his cock twitch at the sight of you all flushed and sparkling, offering him something so small and sweet. He parts his lips, and you pop the cherry in.

He eats the fruit, and then you watch, wide-eyed and beaming, as he works the stem between his tongue and teeth, slow and deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours — heavy-lidded, dark and amused — as his tongue moves inside his mouth, twisting and curling with casual skill.

You wriggle a little on his lap, grinding down just a tiny bit, feeling his cock pulse inside you, thick and hot. He hums, the sound vibrating against your chest where you're pressed together, and after a few more seconds, he sticks his tongue out — revealing the cherry stem tied into a perfect little knot, just like you’d showed him earlier.

You dissolve into soft, sweet giggles, hiding your face against his shoulder as he laughs, pulling you closer.

"Che ragazza cattiva," he teases softly — what a naughty girl — one hand stroking up your spine, the other squeezing your ass gently as you squirm in his lap.

You lift your head again, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with giddy affection. He catches your face in both hands — so big, so careful — and kisses you sloppily, without any hurry, tongues tangling and lips sticky with fruit and need.

You melt against him completely, moaning quietly into his mouth when his cock twitches again inside you, sending another lazy wave of pleasure through your body.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both grinning, foreheads pressed together, breathing eachother in.

"You’re a dream," he murmurs, soft as he brushes a few stray flower petals from your tangled braid.

You nod, dizzy and dainty and perfect in his arms, and you snuggle into him — still stuffed full, still sparkling with strawberry juice and love and a mess only he could make of you.

🍒

tags: @luiluvr @velvet-kissesss @multi-culti-girl @annanotherthingg @palmersluvr @lilbadblueeee @fligniuz @briarloves @daydreamingwithluigi @alleviatcd @mangionesdoll @dracula-reborn @bambimangione