One Hot Italian Summer

by Karina Halle

  “Holy fuck,” I cry out softly, stifling my words into a whimper, and I’m coming in his mouth harder than I’ve ever come before. If Vanni wasn’t across the hall, I think I would have screamed.

  I’m still being torn by my release, still pulsing and sensitive, and totally wired, when I feel him shift onto the bed, grabbing my left leg and raising it up so it’s straight and lying against his chest, then he’s slamming his cock into me.

  I barely have time to breathe. He slides into me with such slick, delicious ease that it makes my mouth water.

  “Oh, Grace,” he says through a tight moan as he pushes himself in and out, the rhythm quick but controlled. “What are you doing to me?”

  What are you doing to me? I want to ask, since I’ve barely calmed down from my orgasm and he’s already fucking me.

  And the man knows how to fuck. His hips grind into me in small, quick circles, his cock hitting each sensitive nerve, and with my senses putting all the focus on us, on our bodies, on our pleasure, I can feel another orgasm building within me.

  “Touch me,” I whisper, no longer too sensitive.

  I tense in anticipation, and then his thumb rubs against my clit, creating friction that will carry me through again. Pleasure overwhelms my senses, while my senses add to the pleasure.

  The sound of his raspy breath and the gentle creak of the bed.

  The feel of his cock as it rams inside me, the rough side of his thumb sliding over my sensitive flesh.

  The smell of our sex, mixed with almonds and sunshine.

  The taste of my own sweat on my upper lip.

  I am so fucking alive.

  And then … then it’s too much.

  I silently beg for him to keep going. I’m so close, so close.

  And then I’m there.

  A mess of nonsense words choke inside my throat, and then my body is convulsing, shaking with ferocity. I am utterly boneless, my senses blown apart, and I see galaxies behind my eyes. If you were to see me right now, there wouldn’t be just one Grace Harper, but many of her, all of them scattered like blissed-out confetti.

  “Oh god,” Claudio says through a quiet grunt, and then I’m squeezing him, trying to wring every last bit of energy from him. I feel his body still and tense up, and then with a low groan, he almost collapses on top of me, his breath loud and rough in the room.

  We don’t say anything for a few moments. He pulls out and lies down beside me, both of us trying to get back into our minds and bodies again.

  Then he reaches over and removes the blindfold.

  The dim light of the room feels like being on the sun.

  I turn my head to see his dark eyes raking over me, then he leans over and unties my wrists.

  I pull them down toward me, shaking them out. My arms had fallen asleep and I hadn’t even noticed. I was numb to everything else but him.

  I guess that was the point.

  “Wow,” I finally say, letting out a deep breath.

  His smile is so sweet, like he’s proud of himself. I suppose he should be. The man made me see stars.

  “You were wow,” he says, his finger drifting from the top of my head, down over my nose, over my lips, to my chin, his gaze following. His eyes are the most beautiful after sex, so lazy and heavy-lidded, filled with peace and something so, so tender that it often takes my breath away.

  Like right now. I could die in his tenderness.

  We stare at each other like this for a few minutes, just so incredibly happy in what we’ve created for each other. Then he sits up, swinging his legs over the bed.

  “In a couple days, we are going to Elba,” he says simply, eyeing me over his shoulder. “Try to get as much writing done as you can before then.”

  I stare blankly at him. “Elba? The island?”

  He gets up and walks around the bed to pick up his briefs, slipping them on while I wait for an answer.

  “Yes,” he finally says, snapping his waistband against his sleek stomach. “To visit my parents. You and me and Vanni. You will enjoy it. It’s good for you to get out of this house.”

  My chest warms at the idea of going on a trip with him, even if it is to see his parents.

  That part scares me.

  “Are you sure you want me to go?” I ask. “It sounds like I would be ruining a family trip.”

  And parents are serious business and are we even serious?

  “You ruin nothing. Don’t you see, Grace? You are everything to me. And I have a possessive heart. It wants only you.”

  It’s hard to argue with that. Sometimes Claudio’s emotions and feelings feel too big for me to handle, too much for my heart to take. But then, if I just let myself sink into them, revel in them, I can’t get enough.

  And I truly can’t get enough of him, or his possessive heart.

  “Okay. Yes. I would love to go,” I tell him, breaking into a grin.

  Oh, Grace. You are so screwed.

  Sixteen

  Claudio

  “Are you ready?”

  I pause at the top of the stairs, listening for Grace’s response.

  Silence.

  “Grace? It’s only for three nights. You need as few clothes as possible.” I pause. “In fact, the fewer the clothes, the better.”

  I wait a few moments, then hear her door slam. “I’m ready!”

  I glance at my watch while I hear her thunder down the stairs, dragging her carry-on behind her. We’re cutting it close to making the ferry, but I don’t need to remind her of that again.

  I lock up the house and stow the bags in the luggage shelf behind the seats of the Ferrari, securing them with the car’s original leather straps. Then we’re buckling up and zooming out of the driveway.

  Things moved fast when Grace agreed to go to Elba with me. I called up my parents to let them know I wanted to come by with Vanni and that I was bringing a friend of mine. I never mentioned what type of friend, and I sure as hell didn’t tell them that she is Jana’s client. They, like my sisters, are not a fan of her whatsoever.

  But when I broke the news to Vanni, he visibly shuddered. I guess spending a few days with us at his grandparents’ house, no matter how grandiose the location, or how beautiful the island, was too much for him. He insisted that he be allowed to spend the time at Paolo’s house.

  After talking to Paolo’s parents, they were more than happy for Paolo to have company for a few days.

  Which meant that I had Grace all to myself.

  Okay, so it isn’t that simple. Of course we’ll be staying at my parents, and Grace has noted a few times that she wants us to give the illusion of being friends. I tried to tell her that my parents don’t care, but she seems to think the information will get back to Vanni or Jana, even though that’s not the case at all.

  I have to admit, I’m trying hard not to get frustrated or hurt when Grace seems to be keeping me at a distance. Everything with her is so focused on sex, and I’m not complaining, but obviously things are getting more complicated than that. I just keep telling myself that I know where she’s coming from, and I have to remember that.

  The ferry terminal to Elba is down the coast at the town of Piombino, and I spend most of our drive gunning it down the motorway so we can make the ferry on time. Of course, when we get to the terminal, it’s a confusing mess of cars, but eventually we get in line and then drive onto the ferry.

  Grace wants to explore, so we walk about the ferry, getting a glass of wine in the cafeteria before we hit the outer decks.

  “Wow, the breeze feels so good,” Grace says, smiling, her hair whipping across her sunglasses. She’s leaning against the railing, watching the waves crashing below us. She points to the landmasses dotting the horizon. “That closest one, is that Elba?”

  I nod, standing next to her, shoulder to shoulder. I can never get close enough.

  “Sì. And that over there is the northern tip of Corsica.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  I nod. “Yes, but I prefer
Sardinia. Perhaps we can go one day.”

  She licks her lips for a moment, then gives a nod. “Aye. There are a lot of one days, aren’t there?”

  I slip my hand around her waist and pull her toward me, still marveling at how I’m allowed to touch her like this. “One days will always turn into the present, as long as you’re with me,” I tell her, nuzzling my face into her neck. I take in a deep breath of her orange and vanilla shampoo. She smells like happiness.

  It’s not long before the ferry motors along the rugged coast of Elba and pulls into the harbor, at the town of Portoferraio. Grace marvels at the colorful red-roofed houses clinging to the cliffs and the tower of the old fortress before we have to head down to the car.

  “So, did you grow up here?” she asks once we’ve departed the ferry and are burning around the traffic circles leading out of town.

  “I did,” I tell her, adjusting my grip on the wheel. “Well, I was here until I was twelve. Then we moved to Lucca when my father decided to open the gallery. Not too far from where the villa is.”

  “That must have been nice, growing up on an island,” she says.

  “It had its moments,” I tell her. “My father prefers to be submerged in nature, but I personally can’t be too far from the city. My inspiration comes from people. Here, it is very beautiful, but there is a lot of peace and quiet. Even the tourists rarely find this place. They all go to Capri instead.”

  The road quickly goes from suburbs to farmland, and then starts twisting as it winds its way along the curves of interior mountains. Grace seems besotted with the journey, the window down, wind in her hair, ruffling the edge of her short blue dress. The scent of rosemary and dry grass wafting into the car, and Grace has her eyes closed, breathing it in.

  The warmth in my chest spreads like a rising sun.

  I am in trouble with this woman. I know I am. I can’t even look at her anymore without having myself tested. And it’s not just my body being tested, even if I can resist looking at her pale legs or the soft curves of her cleavage. It’s my heart that’s being tried.

  I’ve always been confident around women, and I’ve never had any problems attracting them. I think my appeal isn’t just my looks, but that I never seem to need anyone. And this is true. It’s not an act. I don’t play hard to get, per se, but my heart never seems to follow where my body does.

  As a result, I’ve had just a few long-term relationships. I’m not even sure Jana counts, to be honest. She got pregnant with Vanni after that one night I had with her. I got a phone call from her six weeks later, telling me she was going to have an abortion.

  I’ll admit, my first thought was of relief. I was twenty-six and just coming into my own as an artist. I was afraid I would lose momentum if I got together with Jana, if she had the baby (though now looking back, perhaps this is what Grace feels when she thinks about us. The loss of her momentum).

  But then the guilt set in. Good old Catholic guilt. I thought about my parents, and as complicated as they are, they’ve always made me strive to do more with my morals. There was definitely some pressure as well, when I broke the news to them. I would persuade Jana to have the baby, then I would marry her. It was the right thing to do, and I was raised to do the right thing. I’d just never been tested like that before.

  So I convinced Jana to have the baby. I asked her to marry me.

  And while our marriage was brief, it did resemble a relationship of sorts.

  But my heart never opened for her. It opened for Vanni, of course. The love I felt for my son when he was born blew me right open, like it brought me into another world I didn’t even know existed.

  That love was enough for me. The romantic, obsessive, head over heels love that I should feel for a woman? That didn’t interest me anymore. And when Jana and I divorced, I carried that preference with me. Even with Marika, I loved her company, loved the sex, but I didn’t love her. I didn’t need it. My art was enough to keep me challenged and whole and happy.

  But now? Now … we’ll, I don’t know what’s happening, but my art is starting to feel like it’s not enough for me anymore. My art has always been about control. About creating an outcome with my own skill and persistence.

  The way I feel about Grace? I have no control here. All I have is persistence, and the hope that however I feel about her, she might feel the same way. Right now we’re at that stage where the sex is amazing and I’m overly infatuated with her, but I’m balancing on the edge that separates the now from the future, ready to fall for the first time.

  She glances at me, her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. She grins. “You’re thinking about me.”

  I can’t hide from her. That’s the other thing.

  “I’m always thinking about you,” I tell her. “You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. And you’re in every single thought in-between.”

  She swallows, her shoulders relaxing. I know I come on strong. I wear my heart on my sleeve, I say things that perhaps are better suited to poets back in the day. But this is all part and parcel of me. I can’t change that. I don’t want to.

  And it hasn’t scared her away. Yet.

  The drive through the interior of the island takes a while longer. Grace gasps appreciatively when slices of the Tyrrhenian Sea start appearing beyond the hills. Soon, the car is coasting along the bays that make up the south side of the island, the sea an ombre of colors from deep, jewel-like navy blue, to turquoise and pale azure.

  The sea breeze sweeps through the open windows, blowing Grace’s dress up just enough that I catch a glimpse of bare flesh.

  “Mio Dio,” I say, my throat already hoarse at the sight. “Please tell me you’re wearing underwear.”

  She clamps the skirt of her dress down and gives me a sheepish smile. “We were in such a rush to catch the ferry … I guess I forgot.”

  But from the way she’s biting her lip, I know it was no accident.

  I’m immediately hard.

  Fuck.

  “Show me,” I tell her, my eyes going from the winding road ahead to her lap.

  “Nooo,” she says with a sly laugh. “You need to keep your eyes on the road.”

  “I know this road and this car like the back of my hand. I can see it with my eyes closed. Your pussy, however … I’m afraid I need a little more experience.” I lick my lips, feeling my skin buzz with power. “Show me.”

  She looks away, eyes on the cars ahead. Then she slowly slides her hands up her inner thighs, pushing her dress up until her pussy is bare for me to see, the sun coming through the windshield and hitting it just right.

  My god.

  I grip the steering wheel, bringing my eyes to the road as we handle another turn.

  “Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice hoarse with want. Traffic starts to get heavy coming toward us, so I keep my attention focused straight ahead for a few moments, until we turn around a bend and the blue expanse of the sea appears again, sailboats bobbing in the distance.

  But the view does nothing for me.

  I look to Grace, and to my surprise, she’s leaning her seat back, her legs spread wide, the fingers of her right hand sliding up and down over her clit.

  I didn’t think she’d do it, but now that she is, I realize what a mistake this is. This is pure torture, having to watch her do this and not have her myself, and I’m most likely going to drive this car right off a cliff.

  I clear my throat. “Okay, you can stop,” I tell her. “This isn’t fair.”

  “It was your idea,” she says. She opens her legs wider now and starts inserting her fingers inside. The sound is wet and lewd inside the car, her fingers shining. Her head rolls back against the seat and she lets out a low moan that I feel in the marrow of my bones.

  I’m dead.

  I tear my eyes away from her, my breath coming harsh now, while my cock is straining against the fly of my pants, growing tighter, bigger, and begging for attention. Heat c
ourses through my veins, the temperature rising with each passing second.

  “Oh,” she moans.

  My eyes pinch shut for a moment, opening in time to take another curve.

  I steal a glance at her again, watching as she fucks herself with her fingers, the sight, the sound, her wet and open mouth, all of it about to make my heart explode.

  “I’m so close,” she says breathlessly, dragging out each word. I don’t care if she’s putting on a show or not, it’s dangerously hot all the same.

  “Fuck it,” I growl.

  I see a sliver of space on the side of the road, right below a rough cliffside of rosemary, and I yank the car over, slamming on the brakes. A cloud of dust rises up around the car, as other vehicles whiz past us, probably wondering why I would make such a harsh landing with a vintage Ferrari.

  Because of Grace Harper, that’s why.

  “Claudio,” she says, looking around.

  I waste no time. I reach over and quickly unbuckle her seatbelt, then do the same to mine. Then I unzip my pants, my hand taking a firm hold of my cock as I pull it out, thick and hot in my grasp.

  “Take off those sunglasses and come over here,” I tell her, slamming my seat back to give her more room. “I can’t stand another minute of this.”

  She’s twisted in her seat to face me, but she doesn’t move. Her mouth is open in shock. I reach out and take her sunglasses off her face, tossing them into the back seat.

  Her wide blue eyes stare at me.

  “Claudio,” she says in a hush, eyes darting from me to the road. “We can’t … people can see.”

  “Fuck them,” I growl. “And fuck me before I lose my damn mind.” My smile is lazy but quick, fueled by this intense need to screw here right here, right now. I reach over and grab her hips, picking her up, and she easily slides across the low, smooth console, onto my lap, my cock stiff and ready for her.

  “B-but we…” she says, her voice so small, unsure, and yet catching with her own lust.

  “You don’t think they haven’t seen someone fuck in a Ferrari before? Bella, this is Italy,” I tell her, wrapping my fingers around her waist and lifting her up so that the tip of my cock is pressed against her, already so wet and willing.