Mia Dolce

by Cerise DeLand

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Mia Dolce

  ISBN 9781419921056

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Mia Dolce Copyright © 2009 Cerise DeLand

  Edited by Helen Woodall

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book Publication April 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Mia Dolce

  Cerise DeLand

  Dedication

  To my friend and mentor Desiree Holt, my great thanks for sound advice and lunches filled with laughter!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Lamborghini: Automobili Lamborghini Holding S.p.A. Corporation

  Learjet: Learjet, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Regina DeMaio didn’t do instant anything. Not instant coffee, instant pudding—and definitely not instant attraction.

  Yet her eyes strayed once more across the restaurant filled with guests at her niece’s wedding rehearsal dinner party. And there he sat, a huge hunk of male sugar, talking and laughing with four matrons at his table—and making Reggie’s mouth water and her cunt cream.

  She squeezed her thighs together in need and shifted back against the pillar. God, she hadn’t been so hot to taste a man in three long and lonely years. But she’d never seen such a delicious-looking creature. With midnight hair and eyes, he looked Italian but not familiar. Could he be part of the DeMaio family—and Reg had just never met him?

  No. I’d remember this man. His walk. Like a panther. His form. Like a marble god. His smile. Like my horniest wet dream.

  She groaned, reached for another glass of Prosecco from a passing waiter and took a hearty drink. Christ, her cunt hadn’t throbbed like this since she’d been a bride. And that had been eight years ago, one sweet husband ago and now, here she was, a dried-up widow of thirty, salivating over a man whose name she didn’t know. And given your pussy’s hot condition, Reggie girl, maybe you shouldn’t even ask!

  But oh, she could look, couldn’t she?

  Her mystery man rose from his chair now that dessert and coffee were served and the band took to the platform. He made his excuses to those at his table then unfolded his long frame from his chair, shot his cuffs beneath the sleek suit coat and made his way toward Reggie’s niece. He leaned over to kiss Sandy on her cheek and began a conversation that had the two of them huddling like conspirators.

  Sandy’s client! That’s who he is. Sandy had said he was coming to the wedding. Sergio…something or other. A Tuscan duke, a bachelor and workaholic. A vintner? An olive grower? If Reggie could only remember what the man did for a living.

  “Like it would matter,” she murmured. With his lord-of-the-night continental allure, Sergio Whatever could work with a gangster in the Mafia and women would still be clawing each other’s eyes out to sleep with him. “I don’t compete.” She turned her back on the lush temptation of him and headed toward her sister.

  “Reg, oh Reg,” her sister Donna fretted as she seized her hand, “what did you think of the tiramisu tonight?”

  “Donna, it was terrific. Just enough orange liquor,” Reggie assured her, feeling the warmth of others approaching behind them. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  “Oh but, Aunt Reggie,” her niece Sandy broke in and hugged her, “you could have!” Mr. Luscious stood by Sandy’s side—and Reggie looked up, up, up into his twinkling onyx eyes. “Let me introduce you to Sergio Avanti. He flew over from Florence for the wedding and we are just tickled to have him.”

  Up close, Mr. L was a feast for Reggie’s famished soul. At least a foot taller than she, he filled her world with shoulders that blocked out reason and a mouth that curved up with the suggestion of rumpled satin sheets. Was she dreaming that his black eyes stripped her bare as he reached out to take her hand?

  “It is my pleasure to meet you, Regina.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it with a darting lick of his tongue.

  The slick shock had her pussy pulsing at his homage. “Thank you, I am delighted too.” You cannot imagine how much.

  “Perhaps you will come talk with me a while?” he asked in deep mellow tones that had Reg wishing they could talk about what he liked to do best with his cock.

  Donna shuffled her feet.

  Sandy chuckled. “Sergio has read your cookbook, Aunt Reggie.”

  “Even better.” He moved closer, tucking her hand on his arm. “I have tried your recipes.”

  I’d like to try you. “You cook?”

  He tilted his head and his smoldering smile burned into her brain. “Every night.”

  “Aunt Reggie,” Sandy broke in, “I told you that Sergio owns a gourmet food company in Europe.”

  “Really? Sorry,” Reggie murmured, wondering how his lush, sculpted mouth would feel on hers. “I must’ve forgotten. And so what did you think?” she asked him.

  “Of your cuisine?” His gaze fell to her lips. “Rich. Irresistible. I would love to see your techniques.”

  I’d love to see yours. “I’d like to cook for you.” The words escaped her without thought. Fear he’d reject her ran close behind. But her body throbbed, demanding that she grab his interest. Now. Or lose her nerve and fail herself. “Shall I?”

  Then he grinned—and her pussy juiced up like a ripe peach. “Ahh, molto bene, mia regina. I have a kitchen in my suite upstairs. Would you like to come now?”

  Oh, would I. “But I think it might be hard—” Had she just said that?

  “I know it is,” he said, and moved closer.

  Donna squeaked.

  Sandy gulped.

  “Your family will permit you to leave now, yes?” Sergio raised dark brows in question at her sister and niece.

  Reggie waved a hand at the waitstaff removing dishes. “But we’ve just finished dinner and—”

  “No matter.” He pressed his hip to hers, crowding out the sight of Sandy, Donna—and reason. “We could have the concierge order whatever you wish. Don’t you agree there is a difference to be full—and to be satisfied?”

  “Oh I do, I do.” And I need to be filled and satisfied by you.

  “Besides, I am a big man.” He pressed her hand to his corded ribs. “And I love to eat.”

  “Anything?” Anyone? She needed to know how selective he was, didn’t she? After all, she hadn’t ever fucked anyone two minutes after meeting him before.

  “Only a few choice dishes,” he crooned, his gaze devouring her lips. “I work with one until I perfect it.”

&n
bsp; “Repetition.” Her breasts puckered against the silk of her dress. She shook her waist-length curls back over her shoulder and knew she was offering him the sight of her nipples yearning for him. Brash with lust, she knew she was losing her propriety—and probably her sanity too. Still, she said, “The best way to learn a dish.”

  “Ah yes, well…” Donna cleared her throat and tugged at her daughter’s elbow. “Sandy, come say hello to the Harrises. They came all the way from Tucson.”

  And the two of them disappeared, leaving Reggie facing the bald recognition that she was propositioning a man she barely knew—and he was accepting her invitation. A caution light blinked in her head as she turned toward the dance floor, her arm still in his and her mind mulling her choices. If I have sex with this man it will be the first time in my life I have done anything spontaneously. Instinctively.

  But she had to follow through on this now—or go back to her mundane widowhood. She wasn’t dead along with Tim. She was alive. And so very much in need of this man’s hands and tongue and shaft shoved way up inside her.

  “What are you thinking, mia regina?” Sergio wrapped an arm around her waist now, his fingers tracing feathery stokes on her side.

  She watched the wedding party jive to the band’s frantic beat. “I definitely have to drink whatever they’re drinking.”

  “For courage?” He tipped her face up.

  She nodded then raised her glass of wine toward him in a toast. “Salute to lovers everywhere. I want to be one of them.”

  “So do I, with you. Come now, bella, before I have made a spectacle of myself in wanting you.” He brushed against her—and she felt the hard, virile truth of his statement.

  She smiled up at this dark-haired god who hailed from the land where naughty girls go to dream of delicious men with fantastic sexual imaginations and giant cocks. “For a few hours.”

  “No, bella.” His mouth descended to an angel’s breath away. “With this river of hair and almond eyes and perfect large breasts, do you honestly think I would let you go before dawn?”

  Delight had her throwing back her head to laugh. “I’ll look like hell for the wedding.”

  “No, mia regina, I will take such care of you, you will look as you are always meant to be—sated and sweet. A woman well pleasured. Mia dolce.” His melodic Italian sluiced over her like warm caramel, lulling the last of her reservations. “Come,” he took her glass from her, set it on a table and pulled her fully against him. “We must waste not a minute more.”

  She chuckled, committed now to savor him—and to trust her instincts that he would be a rewarding lover. For one night, what could that hurt? “You are fast.”

  “In important matters I take as much time as necessary. And already I have hungered for you for two hours.” His gaze slid down her red silk sheath and he circled one arm around her waist. “And I am, as you can feel,” he bit her earlobe, “starved.”

  Taking her hand, he led her quickly from the restaurant out into the ocean-kissed air of the Hamptons. He glided along the stone path from the party to the resort hotel’s lobby and into the elevator that she noticed was blessedly empty. There, he glanced up, found the camera and shielded her from it as he whirled her against the wall, his gaze absorbing hers.

  “I need your lips quite badly,” he whispered. “Give them to me.”

  “Gladly.” She sank her fingers into his glistening raven hair.

  And he plundered her mouth. With tongue and teeth and groans of delight, he treasured every bit of her soft recesses. Captivated, she kissed him back with abandon.

  She was dazed when the elevator whooshed open and he broke away, leaving her gasping for more. But he crushed her to his side and led her to the hall and a large set of double doors. He searched his coat pocket for his key, slid it in then threw open the portal to an expansive suite she barely glimpsed. Once more he had her against a wall, now pulling at her lower lip with his teeth, his hands cupping her ass cheeks and raising her against his steely rod.

  “I must see what lies beneath this dress,” he groaned as one hand lifted her hem. “Your breasts peak without a bra, si?”

  “Oh si, I hate to wear them,” she crooned, lost with how his clever fingers drifted inside the elastic of her thong.

  “And your pussy that strains the silk.” His fingers dived inside the wealth of her cunt curls. “My god!” He reared back, his black brows slashed high in delight. “How many men have made love in this nest?”

  “Two,” she got out.

  He threaded his fingers inside her thatch. “Who?”

  His tender teasings had her tipping her hips up into his hand. She could barely think but she answered, “My husband—and a friend in high school.”

  “Ah,” Sergio sank his fingers deeper to cover her labia and then halted. “And did they love it?”

  She froze, staring at him at the intimacy of his question.

  “Did they, my queen?”

  “No,” she admitted on a whisper and turned her head away.

  “Fools.” He cursed in Italian, something about bastards. “Look at me. There, no fears of me. I love your thick hair, bella. I will comb it and claim it. I will make your little cat cry for me.”

  “She does now,” Reggie moaned, reveling in this strange woman who allowed a strange man to elicit her sexual secrets, defy the taboos and thrill her to the core.

  “Bene, bene.” He clamped her to him like a barbarian. “You are a wild creature. I knew it from across the room. I must see all of you as god made you.”

  Her nipples scraped against the silk, straining to be free and sucked. Her needy little kitty howled at her to strip. But she pushed at his chest, needing first to be safe. “You are healthy?”

  He nodded, his ebony gaze narrowing. “I am. Very. And you?”

  “Yes, but I do not take any birth control pills. And I don’t have any—”

  “This is good, your abstinence.” He smiled and her mind turned to mush. “I like it. But know I have a supply of condoms. Although with you, mia dolce,” he winked at her, “I will need more.”

  Grinning, she reached for the zipper at one side of her dress. She took one step backward and pulled the thing down tooth by agonizingly slow tooth. The dress gaped. She grinned at him, proud of her courage. And then, in one flick of a spaghetti strap, she had one side down—and in another, the silk slithered to her waist—and caught on her hipbones.

  “Bras,” she whispered, “are so awkward, so uncomfortable for me.” She ran a hand across her naked nipples, glanced down—and preened. Her breasts, D-cups with enormous rosy areolas, pebbled at her touch. They had always been huge male magnets.

  His glittering eyes told her they still were. “You shall never wear them again when we are alone, cara mia. I want to see them always reaching for me.”

  Excitement sluiced through her like a flood. With this man, for this night, she could be bold and free. So she pressed her breasts together, beckoning him in an audacious way that she had never dared to do with Tim. “I need your mouth on them.”

  “I will suck you all you wish.” He lifted his chin toward the dress. “First, my queen, I will see the rest.”

  She’d worn just the thong under the cocktail dress. It had been so sweltering this August at home in Manhattan and always she preferred no clothes to even a few. Even to cook in. Tonight, in the interest of some modesty, she’d worn the scrap of sheer cherry silk to contain her unruly curls. Now she shivered in anticipation of his reaction to the little red piece—and what lay behind. In one flick of her wrist, she pushed the dress over her hips, letting it glide down her thighs and sink to the floor.

  “The thong. Quickly.” He swallowed, once, twice.

  She grinned, sending her palms down her hips, undulating as she slid a finger in the tiny cherry band, pulled it out wide in a stripper’s tease and then bent to slide it down her bare legs.

  “Ah, my queen,” he whispered when she stood. “Wild black curls and heavy lips,” he
ground out. “I will honor them.”

  Flowing with juices, she chuckled and swirled around to show him her naked ass. She arched, lifting her heavy hair from her nape and beckoning him over her shoulder.

  He took a step toward her but halted. “You tease me well, bella, molta bene. Show me more.”

  Exulting in his approval, she spun around, wondering what more could satisfy him? But struck with an idea, she smiled at once, found a chair and strolled toward it, her breasts bouncing in step with the sway of her hips. She moved the chair to face him, sat on it and slid to the edge. Sinking both her hands down to her labia, she trailed her fingers languidly through her copious pussy curls and pulled her lips aside. She arched back, shivering in want of him. Moaning, she slid one finger in her slit. But this was not enough. Not him. She drew it out, placed it in her mouth and delicately licked off the essence of her musk. “Help me?” she asked him in a feigned innocence.

  “Not yet, bella,” he crooned, his nostrils flaring. “More.”

  She sent him a look of delight. More, she could give him. Did he have any idea what she would do? She faltered a second at the memory that she’d done this only once with Tim—and later, though he had performed well, he had scolded her for her impudence.

  “Of course,” she purred now to this man, and rose to her feet. In a dancer’s whorl, she ran her hands up through her damp pussy hair to her waist, to her breasts and lifted them. She bent and kissed herself on each point—then rejoiced as he groaned in need.

  Triumphant that she could so move him, she raised one leg on the chair and swung it open for him. “Let me show you what you are about to have,” and at that, she delved both hands into her wet curls and spread her hungry pussy lips wide. “How—” she trembled with her own need and the cool night air on her cunt, “how do I look?”

  “Very red, cara,” he whispered, stepped closer then dropped to his knees.