Ian felt as though someone had knocked the life out of him. She was repudiating his surprise, and worse, she seemed to detest it. “What do you mean you cannot accept it? Why not?”
“Did I say ‘cannot’? I meant will not. I will not accept it. Damn you, Ian, I fall in love with you, and in return you treat me like one of your whores.”
Ian looked as if he suspected someone of tampering with his hearing. He knew he had misunderstood the first part of her statement—he was likable, not lovable—and the second part made only a touch more sense. “Giving you a present is treating you like a whore?”
“Yes.” Bianca nodded vigorously. “You are giving me this so you won’t have to give me something else, something infinitely more valuable and more difficult. You are giving me this,” she moved to sweep the box off the table but Ian caught it, “so you don’t have to give me your trust, your affection, or your love.”
It would have been the perfect time to tell her that he thought she was innocent, to tell her that he trusted her implicitly, and that he suspected he felt some affection for her, some strong affection, but he was too rattled by the failure of his surprise. Plus, she was leaving.
Ian gripped her by the arm, hard, and brought her back to the bench. He put the box back in front of her. “Open it,” he commanded.
Bianca sat and stared straight in front of her.
“Open it,” Ian said again, more firmly.
Bianca shook her head.
Ian caught her face in his hand and gently turned it toward him. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “Please, Bianca. Open it.”
It was not his words but the look in his eyes, the hungry look of a gambler risking everything on one slim chance, that finally made her acquiesce. Still petulant, she brought the box toward her and lifted the hinged lid.
What she saw inside rendered her at once remorseful and breathless. “They are beautiful! They are perfect,” she said drawing her father’s precious scissors, now fixed, from their green velvet casing. “Oh, Ian, how can ever I thank you?”
The adoring expression on her face when she turned it toward him was all the thanks he wanted, or almost. He cleared his throat, met Bianca’s eyes, cleared his throat again, and opened his mouth. There was still one little question nagging at him.
“Would you like some soup?” was what he was sure came out of his mouth.
“You are irresistibly attractive,” was how he was sure Bianca responded.
“It is pumpkin soup,” Ian went on as if she had not spoken.
“My heart beats faster every time you touch me,” Bianca went on as if he had not spoken.
“It is best while it is hot.” Ian was nonchalant.
“You are everything I’ve ever dreamt of.” Bianca was nonchalant.
“There is just a touch of cinnamon.” Ian shifted so she could not see his face or the unaccountable moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“I think you are the most wonderful man alive.” Bianca moved closer to him.
“You might try it with some almonds.” He handed her a small bowl.
“Ian Foscari, I love you.” She raised his hand to her lips.
This time there was no mistaking. She had said it. She loved him. The almonds fell to the floor with a clatter, but neither of the diners heard it, Bianca because her heart was beating too fast, Ian because his ears were still ringing with her words. He crushed his lips to hers, wanting to lift the magic sentiment from them and impress it on his soul. He could not remember ever feeling better in his life.
The table was suddenly an unbearable impediment to their comfortable movement, as were Ian’s tight leggings. Scoffing at the voice in his head that suggested he might soon want food, Ian took the gold carafe in one hand and two goblets in the other and motioned Bianca toward a door at the back of the alcove.
The smell of jasmine faded as they entered the room, which was filled instead with a musky scent that perfectly complemented its decor. Depicted on each wall of the octagonal room were couples engaged in what appeared to be extremely pleasurable acts in a variety of positions. Bianca was momentarily tempted to pause and study them, particularly one that featured a large feather headdress, but Ian’s fingers on her shoulder filled her with a more immediate yearning. He led her toward the central attraction of the room, a massive square bed. The cover was silver silk, edged in gold braid with immense gold tassels at each corner. Sterling silver sconces hung from the bedposts, emitting both light and the fragrant smoke of an exotic incense. Every aspect of the room exuded sensuality and seduction.
Bianca was still absorbing the atmosphere of the magical space when she felt Ian’s hands fasten something around her neck.
“If I say I bought them more for me than for you, will you wear them? As a favor?” Ian had never been so uneasy about giving a woman a fortune in sapphires before.
Bianca’s hand went to her neck, and she looked around for a mirror. Realizing what she was seeking, Ian pointed up to the ceiling above them. It was covered in one great mirror, designed so that the inhabitants of the bed could easily compare their activities with those painted on the walls around them. As she looked at the sapphires interspersed with diamonds that banded her neck, Bianca was too preoccupied with wondering if the Foscari palace had more mirrors than any other building in Venice to berate Ian about giving her jewels. How could she, since he said he had bought them for himself? she reasoned logically. It was certainly easier than admitting, to him or to herself, that she was moved by his present and rather liked the feeling of the cool stones against her flesh.
“As a favor, I will wear them,” she answered nobly. “But only if I am permitted to ask a favor in return.”
“Certainly. Anything.” Ian, having weathered that dangerous storm, was feeling magnanimous.
“Undress.” It sounded more like a command than a favor, but Ian was undaunted.
Bianca seated herself on the bed to watch. Under her unwavering gaze, he slowly unhooked the diamond clasps on his jacket and shrugged out of it. Her eyes were locked with his as he undid the fastenings on his silk shirt and let it fall to the ground. When he reached for the lacings on his hose, he could feel her eyes follow his hands to where the cords were knotted over his straining shaft. Under her intense gaze his throat grew dry and he found himself strangely nervous. He worked slowly, his fingers trembling with excitement. He could not remember ever feeling this entranced, this vulnerable, this sublime. The laces slid gradually from their holes, each one taking longer than the last, until he was sure her breathing had quickened to match his. Then he turned, displaying first his beautifully muscled back to her and then his impossibly graspable rear as he stepped out of his hose.
A thousand fantasies flashed through Bianca’s mind at that moment, a thousand ways she would like to bite, lick, kiss, hold, push, knead, and caress Ian’s body, but none of them superseded her earlier fantasy. She rose from the bed and ordered Ian to lie down on it.
She admired the rise and fall of his behind as he turned, the enchanting movement of his hips as he approached, the straining of his shaft as it preceded him, the flexing of his thighs and of his calves as he climbed onto the bed. He extended his body to its full length, lying on his side with his head raised on one elbow, a look of intense desire on his face. He found his breathing grew difficult as Bianca reached for the carafe of sparkling wine and filled her mouth with it. His temptation to reach out and wipe the splashes from her lips was quenched when she leaned over him and took his straining organ in her mouth.
Bubbles floated by his shaft, cold liquid encased it, her tongue skimmed over it, her tender warm lips caressed it, and Ian forgot to breathe altogether. When she swallowed, sucking him into her deeper, her cheeks pulling in to make the passage tighter, Ian’s breathing resumed but only because he began to moan. Encouraged, she encircled hi
s shaft with the fingers of one hand, moving it with her mouth, up and down its length, her thumb running ceaselessly over the organ from its base to its tip. Ian opened his eyes long enough to watch Bianca in the mirror above and wonder how she had known what he would never have guessed, that feeling her mouth on him would be even more arousing if she was clothed.
As he was reaching down to stroke her head, she began to flick the underside of his shaft with her tongue, still using her fingers to stroke the other side. A voice was shouting out with pleasure, and Ian realized it was his only when he saw his mouth open in the mirror above. All at once he could hold out no longer. He arched his back, pressing against her lips, and released himself into her waiting mouth, shuddering repeatedly as she relentlessly drank him dry.
Bianca was well pleased with her experiment. Still clothed, she wriggled her way up his body and into the crook of his outstretched arm.
“We must never do that again,” Ian said breathlessly when he had gathered her to his chest.
Worried she had mistaken cries of pain for cries of pleasure, Bianca regarded him wide-eyed, looking rather than asking the question.
“I have only your best interests at heart when I say that,” Ian resumed seriously, still panting. “If you entirely exhaust my vital powers, I shall be in no shape to attend to your needs.”
He smiled when he finished speaking, and Bianca could have told him that with a smile like his he barely needed to lay a finger on her to attend to her needs, but decided not to give in too easily.
“That is terribly thoughtful of you, my lord,” she said finally. “But you need not worry. Right now what I need most is food.”
“Mmmm.” Ian nodded thoughtfully. “Ahhhhhh,” he said slowly. “I see,” he admitted finally, and then abruptly said, “No.”
“No?” Bianca raised her eyebrows.
“No.” Ian shook his head positively.
“No what?” Her eyebrows were still raised.
“No food. No food until you have taken off your lovely gown. You might soil it.” Having said that, he reached for the silken ribbons that tied it together in the back and began unlacing them.
“Your solicitude for my wardrobe is touching, my lord.” Bianca spoke over her shoulder as he continued to rid her of her dress but left the sapphires in place.
“Someone needs to think about it,” Ian said, his beleaguered tone indicating the full weight of the responsibility he had assumed.
“Mmmmm,” Bianca was now saying as Ian ran his fingers lightly down her naked back. “Ahhhhhhhhh,” she added when he cupped her behind in his big hands, and then, “No!” as he pushed her off the bed.
“You said you needed food,” Ian explained, producing two silver silk robes from an armoire Bianca had not noticed before. “Perhaps if you are good, we can attend to both your needs at once.”
Incited by this prospect, Bianca eagerly donned the robe and followed Ian into the other chamber. The table had been cleared of their earlier leavings and completely reset, this time with a dark red damask cloth. Just moments after their return three servants entered, each of them carrying a lidded platter, followed by a fourth with a silver flask. Ian declined their offer to serve, and they quickly left.
This time the wine was a bold Tuscan Chianti to accompany the thick beefsteaks prepared Florentine style. Though neither romantic nor terribly refined, it was Ian’s favorite dish, and he had asked his cook to prepare it because he felt a strange compulsion to introduce Bianca to all the things he liked best. As Ian sipped his wine and watched her, she not only spoke her approval of the dish but demonstrated it, using a piece of the fresh baked bread to soak up the last of the meat’s juices from her plate. When she had captured every remaining morsel, she looked up at him and grinned. Ian, who had never considered it possible that someone could grin while wearing sapphires, could not keep himself from grinning back.
“I have had enough food,” she announced, savoring the flavor of the Chianti on her tongue. “Is it time to satisfy my other needs?”
Ian nodded thoughtfully. “I was just asking myself the same question. Let us go and see if the room is ready.”
Rather than responding to Bianca’s look of puzzlement, he led her back into the salacious bed chamber. From the threshold she noted that the silver cover had been pulled off the bed and the linen sheets turned down, but only upon stepping into the room did she see the large platter holding a block of ice carved into a bowl which contained multicolored balls. She had long since given up wondering how the servants knew what to bring where, but she was curious about the identity and purpose of the colored balls.
“Flavored ices,” Ian told her unasked, holding out a little gob of the pink one. “Try it,” he coaxed when she looked skeptical.
Bianca’s eyes closed and her head tilted back as the flavor of raspberries filled her mouth. Before she could reopen her eyes, Ian had removed the spoon and brought it back to her lips, this time with peach. He had her recline on the bed, then repeated the exercise with all of the remaining flavors. After each one she announced positively, “I like that one the best.”
Filling her mouth with a large serving of her most recent favorite, blood orange, Ian abandoned the spoon and used his hands to remove both their dressing gowns, letting his fingers gingerly caress her body. When she demanded “lemon,” he gave them both big spoonfuls, then bent his head to suck in her nipple.
The contrast between the cold ice and his warm mouth ignited Bianca’s desire into a sharp, white heat. She rubbed her pelvis against Ian’s thigh, with the idea of subtly reminding him of her needs. It seemed to work, for he drew away for a moment and when he returned, he began moving down her body, trailing a stream of icy cold liquid.
But instead of following her unspoken directions and taking her sensitive nub into his mouth instantly, he took his time, licking up the stream he had left behind, then letting the ice drip slowly, maddeningly slowly, between her legs. As it melted it began to drip more quickly, and Bianca soon felt herself responding to the cold drops, each one making her more aroused.
Ian bit the scoop of the ice he had taken, almond flavor, in half. He slipped one half in his mouth, then began gently rubbing Bianca’s most sensitive place with his lips. He darted his tongue out, extending its cold surface over the tense little nub, moving it from one side to the other as Bianca twisted and pushed herself toward him. Finally he slipped his mouth over her tender bud and sucked her into him, using his tongue now to push her against the cold little orb of ice.
The contrast between hot and cold that she had felt on her nipples was nothing compared to the way it felt between her legs. Bianca was wild with pleasure, unable to push herself into Ian deep enough, to feel the hard, cold ice and his wet, warm, yielding mouth enough. It was melting quickly, filling his mouth with pockets of hot and cold liquid that deliciously surrounded Bianca’s body. She gasped as, instead of sliding the other half of his ball of ice in his mouth, he slid it instead against the opening of her tight little passageway, letting it melt in the collected heat of her arousal. He opened his mouth wider to take that part in too, holding his tongue flat against her and massaging her nub with his teeth. Then he began running his tongue up her whole length, from the bottom of her opening to the tip of her nub and back down again, flicking the delicate bud a little harder each time he reached it.
She remembered the mirror in the ceiling, and she tilted her head to look. Wide-eyed, she saw his head moving up and down as he pressed his whole mouth against her, then she watched as, mouth as wide as it would go, he sucked her into him. She saw herself arch up and throw her legs over his shoulders to pull him closer, saw him slide his hands under her, first holding her bottom, then slipping his fingers into where his mouth was. She watched as he took his mouth away and pressed her hot, waiting lips open with one hand, using all five fingers of the other to stroke the tend
er nub that proudly stood out from them. He began grinding it between his thumb and forefinger, and then, when he saw she was close to a climax, covered it once again with his mouth. His fingers pushed her into his tongue, pressing and kneading her against its abrasive surface, until, nipping at her with his teeth, he sent her over the edge. She bucked against him once, twice, thrice, then collapsed with a wild moan, her thighs still straddling his shoulders.
Disentangling himself from her legs minutes later, Ian moved up her body until he was lying beside her, admiring the way the sapphires sat against her collarbone.
“Was that all right?” he asked disingenuously.
Bianca opened one eye. “It was likable.”
“More likable than I am?” Ian sounded worried.
Bianca opened the other eye. “About the same.”
Suddenly Ian sat up. “Did you mean what you said before?”
“Before?” Bianca looked confused, then amused as comprehension dawned. “About the soup you mean?” When Ian nodded, she pulled him back down and pressed her body against his.
He was not sure if he had gotten an answer to his question, but with her body pushed close to his like that it suddenly seemed unimportant. Bringing her to her climax had made him thoroughly aroused, a condition only exacerbated when she twisted his ankles between hers and wrapped her arms around him. His already hard shaft was being tickled by her soft patch of curls as she moved her hips in small circles.
“Shall we make love again, Ian?” she asked in the voice of one whose sensual hunger was anything but slaked.
“If you insist,” Ian answered gallantly, pushing his organ between her thighs and into her.
It had begun like their lovemaking always began, but there was something different about it, and they could both feel it. Neither of them even noticed the mirror on the ceiling, too intent were they on looking into each other’s faces. Ian studied Bianca as he lay over her, peering into the depths of her fascinating eyes, searching for a clue to help him understand the miracle of her caring about him. Bianca looked back up at him, trying to convince him he would be safe with her, to penetrate his last defenses. They gave themselves to one another without reservation, without apprehension, without limit, and without question.
The Stargazer: The Arboretti Family Saga - Book One Page 27
