Innocence

by Lucy St. John

Chapter 23

  Dante told the rest of his co-workers that he would close the place. I soon learned that he was no mere employee, either. He was the son of one of the three brothers who owned the shop, actually a small chain. It was one of three locations they had in the area. Pizza and college students amounted to a solid-gold business plan, and the Bartoli Bros. had the best pies around.

  Dante had lived with his mother, who remained in the old country. His maternal grandmother was ill, and his own mother would never leave her. So he stayed, too, the man of the house, until he was 16. Then he came over. By then, the business was thriving, and there was more work than the family could possibly undertake. In short, his father needed him. So he went to work at the shop, never really finishing his high school education and with no thoughts whatever about college, even though he now lived in the biggest college town in the state.

  As soon as the last of his co-workers left the restaurant at around three in the morning, Dante key-locked the door and turned out the neon signs in the window. He also extinguished the harsh fluorescents in the restaurant and instead lit a couple of candles that dripped red wax over empty Chianti bottles.

  The flickering light animated his handsome features as he walked the candles toward the back of the restaurant to the table where I was sitting.

  Nervous energy welled up inside me. I was all alone with this man, whom I knew little about. Yet there was excitement. So much, it was nearly excruciating.

  “This way, they leave us alone,” Dante said, placing the candles atop the red and white cloth covering the table.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Drunks,” he said. “The drunks who want to eat.”

  I nodded.

  “I be right back,” he said, walking away in the darkened restaurant with the practiced skill of one who knew every inch of this place. That’s when it dawned on me. I was on his turf. He was in control. What had I signed up for?

  Only I knew. And so did he. The attraction between us had been electric. Our eyes threw sparks every time they met. And the dim glow of the candlelight could not hide these facts. We were hot for each other. And I was horny. But how far was I prepared to take it? And was Dante prepared to stop, should I want him to?

  He returned cupping a pair of long-stemmed glasses in one hand and an opened bottle of wine in the other. He rested the glasses on the table, then raised one to the bottle, pouring out the wine like the waiter he was. He presented it to me, smiling. I took it, holding it before me but not drinking.

  “Taste,” he urged.

  I shook my head. “You’re not serving me, Dante. Give me your glass.”

  He did so, and I stood to take it. Then I reached for the bottle and poured wine into his glass, then handed it to him. I rested the bottle on the table and retrieved my own glass.

  Then, I faced him.

  “To us,” I said, staring straight into his deep, dark eyes and raising my glass.

  “To us,” he repeated, then gently clanked my glass with his.

  We watched each other over the brims of our glasses as we drank. And then when we lowered them, with our lips painted red by the wine and our eyes smoldering with desire in the faint candle light, Dante stepped forward.

  Without a word, he moved his free hand to the small of my back and pulled me into him. Our wine-wet lips met in a hot kiss, then Dante opened his mouth and explored mine with his tongue. That first kiss was all hunger and desire. And with him pressing into me, his body so firm with muscle and his package down there so pronounced and only growing bigger, I thrummed with want and tingled with arousal. All these impulses of pleasure, making their way south, down there.

  Without looking, we unhanded our wine glasses on the table, freeing ourselves to explore each other’s bodies with both hands.

  My hands roamed up his strong, V-shaped back, then down to his tight, taught buttocks. I used both hands to squeeze him and push his awakening loins into mine.

  He moved a hand up to the back of my neck, then firmly gasped my hair, tugging my head back and more deeply pressing his mouth into mine. I felt his other hand wandering down from the small of my back, over the rise of my behind, then reaching between my legs from behind.

  His fingers were firm and urgent and they pressed and probed. Finally, he hiked up my skirt, which was frilly for the unseasonably mild fall night. He kneaded my ass cheeks, which were bared by my string thong.

  I went from pressing his hardening loins into mine and reached a hand between us, guiding down over his rippled, washboard abs, and running it over his jeans, which bulged with the impressive outline of his hardening manhood. I rubbed and stroked it through the material, feeling the power and heat in its length and girth.

  He squeezed my ass, then reached down lower, extended his fingers between my legs from behind, straining for the hot, humid and moistening zone of my privates.

  His fingers wormed their way underneath the thin fabric of my thong, then flicked at my labia, so hot and juicy now. But he could not reach my pleasure button. Not from behind. But I pulsated with desire, nonetheless. And everything down there felt like a hot, cascading monsoon in some drenched, decadent rainforest.

  Our mouths remained locked as I pushed back from him, reaching both hands to undo his jeans, ripping open his fly and unleashing his erection, which pulled at his tight underwear. I ripped those down, too, freeing him. I gripped his thick length, and he was molten hot in my hand. Then, I pumped him. His manhood rippled with veins and had a thick ridge at the head. But he was uncircumcised and his penis was sheathed in foreskin.

  His hands moved to my front, and he lifted my skirt and ripped aside the front of my thong. Then his dexterous hands went to work on my delicate pleasure spot. It was as if he were fine-tuning the volume of my passion and pleasure until reaching an excruciating, mind-numbing eleven on the scale. My legs quivered with the electricity of our desire. I thought they would give out beneath me. I dripped with wetness, and he throbbed in my hand.

  Then our mouths parted, he moved his face to my ear, his breath coming hot and fast.

  “I want you,” he said in a dry, husky voice.

  Then, he thrust himself toward me, his meat pressing into my crotch. His hot hardness finding my molten moistness. The connection was electric. I felt my legs going weak and giving out. But I was still standing. And he was almost inside me. And I was so ready to give into him.

  Then panic set in.

  There was no condom, for starters. Our fully aroused privates were touching. Hell, he was already penetrating my outer area. But I was a freshman college student with her whole future ahead of her. And I saw all that being changed by a moment’s unbridled passion. This moment. This moment right here. And I just couldn’t allow that to happen.

  So I said, “No.”

  I was surprised at how firm my voice sounded.

  He stopped and pulled back.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, my eyes unable to hold his.

  “Not like this,” I whispered to the tile floor.

  “I give to you,” he said.

  I glanced up, unsure of what he meant.

  He nodded at me, then dropped to his knees.

  Before I could react, his face was pressed in between my legs. And his hungry mouth and his beautiful lips and his velvet tongue were tasting me down there. Tasting me and feasting upon me, sending shivers and whole ocean tides of pleasure rippling through my shaking body.

  He did this until my pleasure built and built and built. Until it was unbearable. Excruciating. Mind-numbing

  My hands tangled in his thick hair, wanting to tear him away but only pressing his face further into me. And as I reached a crescendo, my hand ripped at my own hair, then slid down my face, a finger finding my open, panting mouth.

  I shattered into a million pieces until I floated above my own body. The vacant vessel that was me spasmed with pleasure, then collapsed into his arms. He held me to his body until the waves of pleasure receded, a
nd I returned to myself.

  Time was meaningless then. I have no idea how long I nestled in his arms, me sitting on his knees, as he rocked me and kissed my hair.

  When I awakened, I felt wonderful and changed and, somehow, a little guilty.

  I stirred, raised my head and looked up to him shyly.

  “What about you?” I asked, then motioned to reach for him.

  “I can put you in my mouth?” I offered, but it was a question more than a proposition. And he could read my uncertainty.

  He shook his head.

  “Shhhh,” he exhaled. “Hush.”

  And he put a gentle hand on my cheek and tucked my head to his chest. And I could hear his strong, good heart beating inside him. All I could think was, this is passion. This was desire. And this was a man who could give a woman what she wanted, and nothing she didn’t.

  All of this was very rare in life, but most especially, at college.