“I want it. I want you.”
I grab her ass hard, lifting her off the ground and sitting her down at the edge of the table, sliding her dress up with my hands.
I pull my lips from hers, feeling the void but needing to see her face, her reaction, as I trail one finger down her cleavage as I stare into those eyes that are as blue as the sea we’ll be swimming in tomorrow.
“Tell me I’m the first to taste you.”
“I don’t want to say,” she says innocently.
“Just tell me the truth, even if it’s not what I want to hear.”
I can’t tell if she’s even breathing right now. I know I’m not.
“It is what you want to hear.”
“What is?”
“My answer.”
“Tell me your answer.”
“No,” she demands.
My hands find her hips, jerking down her panties and as she leans back, her hands grabbing the table.
Her back arches and her legs wrap around my back.
It’s too much, and like an animal I bury my face in her chest, mouthing her breasts through the fabric before I jerk her dress up mid stomach and get on my knees, pulling her forward to the very edge of the table as I slide her panties down her legs and past her stilettos before staring down her glistening pussy.
“You’re so fucking wet for me. So ripe.”
“Uh huh.”
“Tell me where you want me to put my mouth.”
“There,” she says, motioning with her head toward her groin.
“Say it, naughty girl.”
“On my…”
“Where?” I growl.
“My pussy.”
I dive in head first, licking straight up her folds, drawing a loud moan from her and immediately her body twitches and her hips buck as she explodes on my face.
All it took was one touch of my tongue to set this girl, my girl, wild and now I’m drinking from her fountain as she spews like the finest of wines right into my mouth.
And I’m going to drink every last drop.
Her ass tightens on the wood below, her glutes flexing as she shoves her pussy into my mouth and I lap up her creamy goodness.
“You taste as amazing as you smell,” I moan into her channel and her hips buck wildly again, as she continues to unload onto my tongue, which is laid out like a red carpet for her sticky sweetness.
The sound of the heavy, wood, front door closing startles her and she grabs for the fabric of her dress, yanking it down over my head.
I slide back and out and help her off the table, as I grab for the tablecloth, trying to get it back on the table as it was.
She dives for her panties, sliding into them just as Alessandro is wheeled out back where we are.
“Stefano!” he yells, in true Italian form.
I go to him, kissing him on each cheek before greeting his caretaker Monica.
“And this must be Sloane,” he says, pronouncing her name like Sloan-ay, with his Italian flair.
She turns her body to the side like a nervous little girl and then moves toward Alessandro, offering her hand.
“That’s not how we do it here, sweetheart,” he says, showing her that he may be wheelchair bound and ninety-three, but that doesn’t mean he’s not as strong as an ox with the grip of a blacksmith to match.
Her body jerks towards his and she smiles as he kisses her on each cheek. If it were anyone else I’d feel jealous, but the laughter that comes from her after his strong greeting has me smiling.
I never smile, but there’s something contagious about the smile from my woman.
And now that I’ve tasted her, and made her climax on my face, she is indeed mine.
Because as much as I wanted it, needed it, the most important thing is her words…
She wanted it too.
CHAPTER 18
Sloane
I can barely focus during lunch and it’s not because of all the Italian accents. Stefano’s has gotten even thicker since we arrived, but I’m not complaining at all.
Stefano makes a joke that if you cut an Italian’s hand’s off they can’t talk. It’s true. Everyone is so expressive, not just with their tone, but with their body language too. I get to see Stefano in a bit of a new light too. He seems more relaxed, and more expressive himself, here too.
I wonder which side of him is the real Stefano. The one who’s calm cool and collected back in the States, or the one who seems more at ease here in Sicily?
I know one thing for sure, my blood pressure has certainly dropped since he absolutely drove me wild on the table where we’re currently enjoying a lunch that’s now pushing three hours.
Finally, I understand this whole Mediterranean lifestyle thing and how it works. In the west scientists are trying to find all the secrets, but the secret is exactly the reverse…don’t try and find it. Just let it, and the day, come to you. Don’t be in a rush. Enjoy. Relax. Heck, drink wine and smoke cigarettes if you want, although no one here is smoking. It’s all about stress free living, and the worries from back home are starting to melt away.
“I’ll get everything cleaned up. You and Sloane probably want to get some proper rest after your flight I’m guessing?” Monica asks Stefano.
“Yeah, we’ll be heading upstairs,” he confirms, without mentioning anything about rest. That slow, hungry manner to him returns and he motions for me to stand, which I do.
I don’t like being told what to do, but I do need to stretch my legs after sitting so long. Not to mention I’m curious in just what kind of way he’s planning on stretching my legs upstairs.
He takes my hand in front of Alessandro, whose eyebrows raise. It’s not lost on me that this is no small gesture.
Leading me upstairs and into what appears to be the master bedroom, I’m a bit surprised that it’s not occupied by Alessandro. And I’m even more surprised by the elevated view of the vineyard from the window.
This is truly paradise. I didn’t even know there were vineyards in Sicily, thinking they were mostly all located in Tuscany. And right now I can clearly feel that Stefano is located right behind me.
He doesn’t even have to say anything, to breathe hard, to move at all. I can literally feel his presence as his hands find my shoulders and I jump slightly before melting into his touch.
“Is that what I think it is?” I motion to the wall.
“It depends on what you think it is.”
I smile, feeling his lips find the side of my neck and my eyes close.
“It looks a lot like the Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence, which is also known as The Adoration.”
“You know your art,” he says, his hands sliding the strap of my dress to the side so he can kiss my shoulders.
“It was in a book I read, but I also know…it was stolen back in the 1960’s from Palermo, Sicily…which is where we are now.”
“Reported stolen for insurance, but it was gifted to Alessandro for his…protection, but not in the way you think.”
“Tell me how I’m thinking.” How in the world did they shake down a place into handing over a painting from 1609 by Italian Baroque master Caravaggio? It’s nearly six square meters, and if I remember correctly it was supposedly removed by two thieves.
“You’re thinking it was protection as in if they don’t hand it over we’ll rough them up.”
“I might be thinking that.”
“It was actually the opposite. The museum needed money and other families were trying to make a move down here in Sicily. We weren’t having that, and neither were they…so we came to an agreement.”
“An agreement, huh? Seems like you’re pretty good at those.”
“The best. And I have another proposal for you to agree, or not, on.”
“Which is?”
The painting is so large it’s only then I realize it’s actually hanging from ropes. Stefano’s hands come off my body and I miss his touch already. He moves toward the wall where there is some similar r
ope to the one holding the Caravaggio. I love the rustic look of this place, which perfectly matches the exterior of the home and the landscape. Ropes to hang a twenty million dollar painting. Who would have thought?
Stefano wraps the rope around his massive shoulder and elbow and comes back over to me.
“You ever play…what’s the American word…leapfrog as a child?”
“Sure, who hasn’t?”
“But have you ever played it as an adult?”
“An adult?”
“Clothes. Off,” he commands.
I turn, taking a step away from him looking at him and the rope wondering just what he’s thinking.
And I sure as hell know what I’m thinking. I want more than just his tongue inside me this time. I want the whole thing.
I wiggle my hips wide as I slide out of my dress, watching Stefano’s trousers tent and his breath shorten, and toss it on the bed. I feel so damn powerful standing here in my white panties and matching bra. They may be from the Target discount rack, and one hundred percent cotton, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like it’s the finest spun silk from an Italian fashion house like Gucci, Prada, Fendi, Armani, or one of the many others.
“All of them,” he says, his words rushed, but his voice still deep and domineering.
I bring my hands around my back and unhook my bra, carefully taking it off, but covering my breasts with my hands.
“Don’t be shy. Show me what’s mine.”
“What you paid for?”
“Did I pay for this…or do you want this?”
I freeze, knowing the truth and knowing there’s no way I can slide anything but the truth past Stefano.
“Tell me.”
“I…want this.”
“Then show me.”
I slowly move my hand away feeling like there are a million things wrong with my body, and if I had to choose I might even start with my breasts. But the look in Stefano’s eyes tells me he finds them to be…
“Perfection,” he growls. “Mine. Panties.”
I slowly slide out of my already soaked panties, which are glistening wet and would probably stick to the wall if I tossed them against it.
“My turn,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a Julius Caesar tattoo over one pectoral muscle and another figure over the other. He’s completely inked and I’m completely his.
Seconds later he’s down to his underwear, never breaking eye contact with me as he undresses. When he slides down his Armani briefs his dick springs up like a diving board but it doesn’t return to it’s horizontal position. It’s completely vertical, and the head of his cock is higher than his belly button.
“See what you do to me?”
I nod the smallest amount possible.
“See what only you’re able to do to me and no one else in the fucking world?”
I do nothing, except take in the sight of his massive member and wonder how in the world that thing’s going to fit inside me.
“And now you’re going to see what it’s like to be mine.”
He moves closer toward me, grabbing me by the hair and kissing me hard as he leads me to the bed. His grip is firm, possessive, and even territorial. I definitely feel it, but I want to feel it. I want to feel alive, and Stefano is definitely delivering that.
When we reach the edge of the bed he motions for me to get on, but in the direction of the foot of the bed and not the head, and when I don’t he slaps my ass hard.
“You don’t turn around faster and I swear I could come right now…or spank you again.”
“Promise?”
“I guar-an-fucking-tee both.”
I get into position, my breath hitching as I wonder what he’s going to do next. He backpedals to where he was standing, never taking his eyes from mine as he grabs the rope and comes back to me. “Time for leapfrog,” he says.
I’m on all fours and his hand slides in-between my legs. I feel dirty, naughty, and completely turned on at the fact that he’s literally staring right into my asshole right now.
He wraps the rope around one of my ankles, tying it firmly as the feeling of the rough material it’s made from slides over my skin.
He leans forward, grabbing my wrists in one hand and brings them together, jerking them from the bed and back through my legs. My head falls to the bed and I taste the sheets.
I crane my neck to look back at him, watching him tie the rope around both of my wrists and then my other ankle.
I’m completely bound, my hands poking back through my legs as all my weight rests on my knees and the side of my face.
“You’ve got two choices. You can watch me, and watch what you do to me. Or you can stare at that Caravaggio behind me. Either way you’re going to see art. And I’m going to do my own kind of art on the most priceless beauty on the planet…when I paint the inside of your womb with my come.
Goosebumps cover my skin and I feel my juices drip down the inside my leg.
“That’s right,” he says, staring at the mess I’m making. “That tight little hole of yours is primed for me. But that pretty pink pussy of yours isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine.” He pauses. “Isn’t that right?”
I nod, feeling the strain in my neck.
“But first, you’re gonna tell me if I’m the first. I know I’m the first to ever see you like this…your ass in the air, your legs spread out wide.” He looks in-between my cheeks right at my asshole before looking right back at me.
“See this,” he says, stroking his massive cock out to the side, the precome glistening on the tip. “This is what I’m gonna put in that tight, little, virgin cunt of yours…and your pussy is pure, isn’t it?”
No more games. No more holding back. I just want him inside me. I need to feel him. For him to feel me. Everything.
“Yes,” I whimper and his eyes open wide immediately.
“Say it again.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’m…in…experienced,” I say feeling self conscious despite being bound in this crazy position and seeing the need in his eyes.
“Say the word…you know the one.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“You’re my virgin.”
“Yours,” I say.
He grunts, sliding in behind me and running the crown of his cock through my folds. I damn near explode right then but I focus on breathing and manage to hold back, despite my pussy acting like a sucking vortex, trying to pull him into my world.
One hand comes down hard on my ass and I lunge forward, more pressure being put on the side of my face and I fucking love it. Am I going to be sore tomorrow? Damn, right. Every part of me and I’m going to love every second of it as I remember this then, and for the rest of my life.
He kneads my ass cheek like it’s spaghetti dough and continues working his crown up and down my folds.
I stiffen my face and try to push back onto his dick, willing him inside me.
“You think you’re ready for all this dick?”
“Uh huh,” I cry out.
“Good, because I’ve been ready to give it to you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
In one motion his hand slides from my ass to my hip and his other hand takes my other hip and he thrusts into me…every last inch.
My whole world goes still and the prick of pain feels oh so damn good. I was so wet for him, but still…his cock is one helluva load.
I look back at him, his eyes closed and everything about him still. He’s framed from behind by that incredible painting.
And then slowly he starts to work in and out of me, and I feel dizzy, followed by intensely alert. I can’t control anything about me right now as his hips thrust faster.
“Look at the painting!” he yells.
“Uh huh,” I moan as he takes me over and over and over again.
“You see that angel? That woman? That baby?”
“Yes,” I whimper as I feel my climax approaching.
“That’s you. My angel. My woman. And the mother to my baby when I fill you with my seed.”
“Fill me!” I yell and through gritted teeth he growls as the feeling of his balls smacking up off my underside stop and his entire body freezes as he rotates his hips down and up, squeezing his glutes as he finds another level of depth inside me, hitting my cervix before he explodes inside me…sending me right into complete bliss of my own.
Dad's Italian Mafia Friend (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 109) Page 6
