She said something in Italian. Mark was stunned. His legs felt like lead, unable to move as she unexpectedly squeezed her body next to his. He could feel her full breasts pressing his willpower to the breaking point. His arm suddenly became the second most sensitive of his body parts.
She was holding him close, but leading him, as if he was reluctant. “Si, si, si…” and then something he couldn’t understand. Well, hell, he was kinda reluctant, because he really didn’t know where she was taking him, but for some reason he followed along anyway.
She looked over her shoulder, checking out the deserted piazza, maybe looking to see if her mother noticed her leaving with him. Why would that be a problem? On second thought, if he were her father, he’d definitely not want his daughter going off with some stranger.
But, shit, he didn’t care. Whatever she had in mind, unless it involved something dangerous—well, hell even dangerous would be fine, since he did dangerous all the time. If it involved some dark, underground cellar and beefy guys with lots of dark chest hair, okay, then he’d get out. But he kind of liked how her tits bounced as she walked in those amazing boots with the highest heels he’d ever seen. She had a fresh lime-spice scent and something else wafting up from her hair, too.
She kept babbling on as they rounded the corner. She gestured towards the apartments above shops lining the cobblestoned street he’d just walked down to the cafe.
“Honey, this is all real fun, but I’m don’t understand a word you’re saying,” he blurted.
“Ah, Americano! English? No, Americano?” Then she added some other comments he didn’t follow.
You promised you’d learn Italian before the cruise, and hibernated instead. Now look at where it’s gotten you.
“You speak English?” he stopped and asked.
Her laughter fell like warm water all over him, bathing him in a golden glow. He wanted more. In between her gestures and her giggles, her brown eyes danced. She’d checked out his chest, the size of his shoes and the tent in his pants. Those were things professionals did all the time, or so he’d been told.
He began to worry he’d made a mistake in being too compliant. It suddenly hit him that he was not behaving with his usual conscious self-control. He dropped his arm and hers slipped out of his grip. He pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugged.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps you got the impression I wanted—”
She cut him off before he could finish. His English was obviously not going to be an impediment to her communication, but it sure was to him.
“Scusi, scusi, signore,” she said, laughing. Then she said something that sounded like tey ammo, and there was all that fluttering around of her hands. Her breasts were bouncing and the little bracelet was damned distracting as it jangled on that wrist of hers. Her brown curls flew in all directions. She could have been Brazilian, Italian, Spanish, or anything, but whoever she was, she was alive and full of fun and, hell, he decided he didn’t care if she robbed him. It might even be worth it.
He pulled his pockets inside out, as if to say he didn’t have any money. Her reaction was immediate. She slapped him. Hard. She slammed her hands on her hips and scolded him. God, how he loved seeing her angry. She must have called him every name for a dog and no-good boyfriend and dirty American male, because he heard “Americano” several times. He hung his head, nodded as if he agreed, yes, he was a dog. He just shoved his hands back in his front pockets and shrugged a lot.
He started to walk away, worried about attracting even more attention than they already had. A shopkeeper leaned on a broom nearby, watching them. A wizened older woman with no teeth leaned out of a lace-curtained window overhead and shouted something in agreement.
“Scuuuusiiii,” the beautiful lady called out, stopping him. She crooked her forefinger and gave him the signal to come back. Well, it was more than a signal, it was delivered with all the punch of a full-throated command.
She continued with the finger action, unwilling to be deterred. He brought his palms out to the sides of his pants and didn’t shrug, but knew it was useless to speak. He shuffled back in her direction. She pointed to the ground at her feet emphatically. That brought him almost close enough to touch. She made little growling noises with her throat he took to mean approval. The voice got soft, more melodic. He’d have to say chestier.
She’d dropped her hands but then she raised one again and begged his face to come down to her level. He obeyed. His lips ached to kiss her, did she see it? He saw the soft hairs on her upper lip and the way her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath, assessing him. He’d stay there as long as she wanted. He never did this, but it became more important than breathing to stay right in the vicinity of her aura.
Mark was rewarded when she pulled his face to hers, locking her lips on him and sucking his tongue deep. He had never been so scared and excited at the same time. He hesitated with his hands.
Oh, fuck it.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her tight against him, holding her butt cheeks, pressing her into his groin and daring to rub against her, squeezing her fine ass. She made little cooing sounds that drove him mad, giving his little head the come-on of a lifetime.
She arched back and stared into his eyes, whispering something he desperately wanted to understand, hoping it was very naughty. Whatever it was she said, he understood clearly that she wanted him, and it wasn’t about money. It was about pure lust.
She ran ahead and then returned to his arms, leading him down and around the nearly deserted alleyway. He was going to say something about the safety of the area, until she stopped at a door and took out a plastic door key.
“Come, come, come,” she said in clipped English.
He had no choice but to follow.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Two
She slipped into the dark foyer, closing the door behind them, then scampered up a narrow stairway to the apartment over the shop. The first thing he smelled was fresh lemon. She had a big bowl of them on the kitchen table of her tiny apartment. Posters from the United States adorned the walls, which were plaster and easily nine feet high. She had one sunny window that overlooked the tiled roofs, with a view that stretched to the blue Mediterranean in the distance.
He felt a little shy at having been invited to her one-room studio, her inner sanctum. He never brought women to his, but that was for different reasons. There was nothing adorning the walls that said anything about him or what he did for a living. Up until recently he’d roomed with Nick. But Nick was not cycling with the Team this time, even though he had traveled with them to Italy. After their cruise, Nick would stay in the states on limited duty, till he fully recovered from death of his sister, Sophie.
My Sophie.
He had his back to the pretty Italian lady who smelled so nice and seemed so willing, because he was embarrassed to be thinking about Sophie when he was about to have sex with another woman. Mark feared if she looked hard enough, she might see Sophie’s face in his eyes. Nick’s sister had been a chance encounter as well.
His courage restored, he turned and—whoa!—there she was, in black panties and bra, and nothing else. The universal language of sex and lust hit him right in the groin. He took it as a sign from God that, if he were willing, somehow Sophie would be okay with this dalliance, since they both knew nothing would replace her.
The lady slipped off one strap but stopped there. Just as he’d thought, those breasts of hers plumped out over the top of her bra, and were duly restrained. They looked even bigger than she’d allowed to show.
Her full lips beckoned him as she threw back her head and studied him with half-lidded eyes. She regarded him cautiously, perhaps realizing something about him wasn’t right. Maybe trying to figure out if he was safe enough?
He made a point to soften his stare at her chest. She probably saw the need there, so he smiled just a bit, roamed his eyes over her luscious body, and let her know he loved the view. Apparently that worked.
> She slid her palms up under his shirt, and then pulled it off over his head. His body was a canvas of Celtic crosses, death skulls, and Latin sayings. He held up his forearm so she could see the frog footprints tattooed from inside his elbow to his wrist, like he was saying, see my tattoos, and see my soul.
It didn’t get any more basic or simpler than that. He turned so she could see the ancient Roman helmet tattoo that took up almost half of his back.
That was where she started. No one had ever kissed that helmet on the lips, so to speak, or on the gap where the lips would have been, if the warrior were inside it. He could feel her little pointed, pink tongue looking for penetration and stopping at his flesh. She rubbed her mound up and down the back of his thigh, then pressed and doing figure eights into his butt cheek through his jeans.
She reached around and undid his button fly, finding him inside and kissing up his spine as her fingers fondled him, squeezing, pulling on his hardness. He reached around to find that fine little ass and shuddered when he felt her velvety cheeks. Digging his fingers and squeezing her, he felt her moan, her whole chest vibrating against his insides until his ears buzzed.
She was the softest, sweetest little thing he’d ever touched. Delicate, but perfect as a naughty wet dream. He was used to stumbling a bit with women, because most the time he wanted them more than the other way around, but she was just….
Perfect.
He could feel her nipple drag over his back and upper arm as she slipped around to stand in front of him. He stepped out of his pants after they dropped to the floor and remembered he’d gone commando today, wondering what she’d think about it. Then he remembered the foil packet he carried so bent down and retrieved it and sheathed himself, which made her smile as she watched him stroke himself in front of her.
He kind of liked the way she looked, one strap down, her amazing breasts spilling over the lacy, flowered pattern of the bra. When she inhaled, the cleavage got breathlessly deep. Licking his lips in anticipation, he bent down and tasted that cavern between her tits, inhaling a mixture of perfume and the musky scent of her arousal. One-fingered, he snagged her panties, and they slid down her thighs effortlessly.
He preferred his women’s sex nude, so it was a total turn-on to see her naked, pink folds. His fingers massaged her soft, hairless lips, dipping into the cream of her sex and spreading it up over her nub. She was sensitive there, jolting with each little touch, so he continued pressing it until he heard that satisfying moan he’d known was just there under the surface of her good judgment.
He wanted to take his time with her, so he moved slow against her, pushing his index finger into her opening a tiny bit at a time, snaking his way up and inside her and feeling the shudder of her thighs. He changed the angle and plunged in again. But she was impatient and jumped up, encircling his waist with her legs, smashing his palm between her belly and his. With her strong thighs she held him tight around the hips, arching back slightly, giving him just enough room to get himself properly positioned for entry.
She sighed as she slid down on his rigid member and then gently rode him up and down with slow finesse, seeming to savor every inch, each time forcing him deeper into her core. Her perfumed hair fell all about him. She began whispering things to the side of his face, her tongue tracing the arch of his ear. The Italian was mind-blowing. Part of him wanted to know what she was saying, part of him didn’t care, as long as she didn’t stop.
He stepped back toward the bed littered in colorful pillows, and sat on the edge. She continued to ride him, using her knees against the mattress, lifting herself up enough so he could taste her nipples. He buried himself between her breasts, tasting her sweat.
Her fingers were sifting through his hair, massaging his scalp, and she urgently brought his lips to hers and spoke to him again in long luxurious words he licked and sucked and inhaled between kisses.
She pushed him back on the bed. His hands smoothed over her creamy thighs, reaching around to her butt cheeks, then onto her hips as he pumped her hard on his shaft. She held her hair on top of her head, letting ringlets drop over her shoulders and onto her chest as she undulated on top of him like a dancer, moving her hips from side to side, grinding down and turning to angle his penetration, coaxing him deep. He was mesmerized by the way her tanned stomach muscles contracted, the creases at her sides above her hips where his fingers dug in as he held her. Everything about her was tiny and ample at the same time, and he lost himself in her body that seemed to be made for the sole purpose of pleasuring him.
He could feel her nipples gently touching his chest as she bent over and covered his mouth, again speaking to him, holding his face in her palms, speaking things he was grateful to hear, even if he wasn’t sure what they meant.
She pressed her fingers over his mouth and said something like asking his name. He heard “no-may” or something like that. She kept asking it over and over again as her agile body rode his shaft.
“M…Mark,” he gasped as she wrapped her feet under his knees, her hips hugging his thighs tight and sending him deep.
“Marko, Marko, Marko,” she whispered between kisses. She sucked his lips, “Marko…”
He was lost. He rammed his hips up with his cock fully embedded until it swelled against her insides and he began to explode. He couldn’t stop the satisfying, deep, guttural groan that overtook him as he spilled. She continued the whispering of his name in his ear, speaking something of love, surely, as it prolonged his release.
He’d crossed a threshold, shattering the hesitation and regret, the memories of a love not fully satisfied. He felt the tears he’d been shedding melt off him like ice crystals. Color and life flew back inside him, heating him, filling him with expectation, and, more importantly…
Hope.
As he felt the muscles of her insides milk him, his last satisfying thrusts came as sweet dessert when he heard her squeal, and then felt her pulse around him.
“Come for me, baby. I need to feel it, baby.”
As if she understood him, she placed her lips to his ears and whispered, “Marko,” again in a long, deep, aching plea.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed this kind of an encounter. This beautiful muse, this stranger on his journey back to wholeness, had given him his life back. Whatever else happened, it would be an afternoon he would remember for the rest of his life.
And he didn’t even know her name.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Three
Mark woke in the late afternoon to the distinct high-pitched siren of an Italian police or ambulance, the seesaw of two notes back and forth reminding him he wasn’t in the States. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in Afghanistan.
She was draped warmly across his chest. He opened his eyes to see if she still was as beautiful as he’d thought, and found she was watching him already.
“Wish we could talk, honey. I’d tell you how beautiful you are.”
She smiled as if she understood him. He fingered a curl, placing it behind her velvety soft ears. “I’d tell you that you make me hot all over again just looking at you, and because you don’t understand, I’d tell you that the way you make me feel…well,” he watched his thumb caress her lower lip, “I’d be embarrassed to tell you this, but I—I haven’t felt this good in months.”
She smiled and covered his lips with her palm, softly silencing him. He ached to be able to talk to her, and knew, from the position of her eyes that demurely looked down to his chest, that she did too. He saw more than a little sadness there when she focused on him again and he saw her eyes watered. It was reflex, he decided, but his did, too.
He glanced away quickly and covered his eyes with his forearm. She began to trace the frog prints, then the scar on his left side where he’d taken a glancing round. Her delicate fingers found the line under his left chin where the Afghani rebel had tried to garrote him and ended up paying for it with his life.
She kissed all those places, lifting his forearm to
kiss every frog print one by one. When she was finished, he knew he’d never forget her strong face illuminated by afternoon sunlight. The stucco walls of her little place almost seemed to glow. She was his mystery woman, the one who’d turned his life around, and who didn’t even know what an important gift she’d bestowed.
He watched her well-toned and tanned body cross the room to open the refrigerator. She pulled out a large bottle of water, put it to her lips and threw her head back, taking a long gulp. Her profile, with her pert nipples on ample breasts rising above a flat tummy, her powerful thighs that had hugged him just as surely as her arms had when he’d made love to her…she was such a stunning picture he nearly gasped.
She held the bottle up. Yes, he nodded, he did want some. He didn’t care if she poured the ice water all over his body, he’d stay the course if it meant she’d love him again. She motioned to his mouth and tilted her head back to tell him she wanted to pour the water there. God, yes, he would. He opened his lips and she straddled him, pouring the liquid carefully on his tongue, diverting some of it to her mouth as well. Tiny trickles of water fell down his neck and cheek onto her pillow. The dampness accentuated the perfume that rose from her bedding.
Her mouth was chilled but still sent a hot shudder through him as she tongued her way inside him. Sharing a water bottle had never been sexier. She drank some and then poured it inside from her mouth to his.
He sat up and forced the water bottle from her hand, setting it firmly on the floor. He threw her against the mattress on her back and pinned her beneath him.
“No-may?” he asked.
She giggled and shook her head.
“No-may,” he insisted.
She pointed to her temple and rolled her eyes, as if she’d forgotten.
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