“There is no need.” He tipped his chin toward the gazebo beyond the dance floor in the gardens. “We can go there to talk.”
She sputtered with outrage and gleeful expectation. “You have no intention of talking.”
“To tell you that I want my hands on your cat again?” He twirled her around as her faced flushed with delight. “To tell you that I will make your nipples plead for my mouth?”
“Sergio—” she warned, losing this battle and loving the warmth of the blush on her face and the gush of cream to her cunt.
“To have you as these people dance and drink? Oh yes. I want you now.” He pulled her behind him as he left the floor.
She followed him laughing.
He reached the gazebo far from the wedding crowd but in plain sight of them all. “Here,” he said, and turned her away from him, facing the guests. “They will suspect. A few will know. Watch them, bella, while I bring you in my hand.” And so he reached inside the slit of her dress, pressed himself and his hard cock against her ass and inserted his warm fingers up into her cunt.
She arched. “Oh Sergio.”
“You are dripping, my pretty cat.” He dropped a kiss to her nape, his lips a hot brand on her body. “Have you been hungry for me, eh?”
“You know I have,” she purred as he stroked her and she opened her legs wider. “How can I do this?” she asked out loud, but ground her teeth in delight.
“Because you love what we are together, si?”
“I do.” She moved with his rhythm, in and out, in and out of her. “My clit,” she urged him. “Do me there.”
She glanced down and shivered at the sight of his tanned hand nearly covered by her gown. The green against his olive skin was a rich contrast that had her trembling. “I can’t come here.”
“Yes, you can.” He rolled her clit between thumb and forefinger.
She bucked. Her head fell back against his shoulder. “They’ll see,” she murmured but didn’t give a damn. “They’ll know,” she said, but couldn’t move away.
“They do, my love,” he murmured, and caressed her labia to a quick and pounding orgasm. “They see you coming on my hand.”
And she could not care about anyone else but Sergio and herself as she came and came and came into his palm.
Later, god knew how long, when she opened her eyes, her head still against Sergio’s shoulder, she could see how three men turned away with an envious smile on their faces—and how one woman, whom Reggie thankfully didn’t know—stared at them in awe.
Reggie spun away from them into his arms. “I can’t believe I had the courage to do that. But I loved it.”
He put his fingers to her lips and she licked her own musk off each one. “Do you like how you taste?”
“Oh yes.” She felt impish. “It is a new dessert. Regina Dolce.”
He grinned. “I know how to make that.”
She stretched up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips. “You are the only man who can.”
His expression became severe. His fingers gripped her arms. “I want to make the dish again.”
“Tonight. I promise.” Her fingers skimmed the ridge in his trousers. “I want to drink this dessert again before the dawn.”
He captured her wrist. “I must fuck you now, Regina. The hotel was to deliver more condoms to my suite. Come. Come now. We will return here.”
Weak with fulfillment, she scraped her nipples against his tuxedo. “Anything you want, Sergio.”
“Anything?”
“After this?” She rolled her eyes around the gazebo. “I owe you a huge orgasm, my darling.”
He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her to the elevator.
This time during the elevator ride he merely held her tight to his side. It seemed he could not even look at her. “I cannot touch you more or I will rip the dress from your body, cara.”
Pulling her into his suite, he closed the door then told her to remove her gown and hang it up. As she obeyed, she watched as his eyes searched the room, alighting on a box of condoms. He held them up in triumph.
Smiling at him, she strolled naked through the living room into the bedroom. He followed as she lay down, spreading herself out for him upon the mattress like a prize.
He discarded his trousers and his thong in a half second. Rolling on a condom with a snap, he climbed on the bed and gripped her thighs. And in one swift stroke, he took her to the hilt. “Oh mia regina,” he ground out, unmoving, eyes clamped shut. “I have needed you for hours.”
Then he fucked her as if he had wanted her for centuries. And she knew as she panted in her own release that she had wanted him in all her dreams.
At the end, as she stretched in sensuous exhaustion, she rose up to curl long fingers around his nape. “Darling, come here and kiss me.” And when he had, she savored the taste of him, and whispered, “You astonish me with your vigor. We have drained you of so much cum in the past twelve hours.”
“Witch, you are the cause!” He chuckled and hauled her up from the bed. “Wash!” Dress!” He swatted her ass. “Your sister will disown you for fucking me too much!”
“As long as you don’t,” she murmured, shocked at her bluntness and her implication that she wished for more of him.
“I won’t. Ever.”
Loving his sentiment, ignoring what it meant for them beyond tonight, she began to walk away.
But he caught her hand. “Come here.” He drew her close. “I want to love you more.”
“Tonight,” she assured him.
“There is so much more we can do together.”
“Sergio, I—”
One finger to her lips, he silenced her. “Do not talk. Listen. Come home with me to Florence and Toscano.”
She vibrated at the sweet temptation of his invitation. She loved Italy. Especially Tuscany. The yellow sun, the silvery olive groves, the green vineyards, the aromas of basil and tomatoes wafting on the air. But she was beginning to care for him too much. To go to his home would be too intimate, too satisfying and too heartbreaking when time came for her to leave. “I can’t.”
He lifted her chin. His sculpted mouth was severe, his gaze demanding. “I must show you other joys of a man and woman.”
She swallowed, so tempted. So needy. So much more bold than yesterday. “Like what?”
His black eyes narrowed in want. “Tell me your fantasies.”
She’d come this far, she could confess more, couldn’t she? “Toys.”
He crossed his arms. “I have them.”
Her cunt quivered in anticipation. “Chains?”
His brows danced high. “I have a special one.”
She squeezed her pussy lips together in delight. “You do? What else?”
“For you, my darling,” he put his hot lips to her ear, “bold delights handed down in my family for centuries.”
“Centuries, eh?” She nestled closer to him and spoke on his mouth. “Like what?”
“Ah, if I tell you, bella, where is the surprise?”
She examined his charming face and pondered if she was strong enough to take his invitation, enjoy his rare delights and at the end leave him with her heart intact.
He plunged his hands into the wealth of her hair, tugging her head back with urgency. “What business do you have this week?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow morning with my agent about the TV show and then,” she sighed as she foresaw a solitary week, “I am writing.”
“I too have an appointment tomorrow morning in the city. After that I plan to fly home. Come with me, my darling. One week. Seven days, seven nights. I have my jet at JFK airport. The pilot is my man. He will bring you home next Monday. Come.”
How could she refuse?
Sensing her agreement, he caught her up and twirled her around. “We will leave here tomorrow early and go to your home. Where is it?”
“Manhattan.”
“There we will get your passport. You have no need for clothes.
”
She chuckled. “You are rushing me.”
“I am. It is my way to get what I want. But you delay.” He stepped back, angry, adamant, arms akimbo on his hips. “What else stops you?”
She opened her mouth to speak but dared not reveal her biggest fear that she could crave him at the end of the week and not survive the parting. Instead, she could only wave a hand, searching for words she feared he might intuit anyway.
“There, you see. No reason is left.”
“True,” she acknowledged, grateful he had insisted without demanding she explain. Excitement shimmied up her spine as she said, “I have not been to Italy in two years. And never with such good company. Or someone who lives there.”
“Bravo. And so this means we are able to keep one promise to your sister.”
Confused, she shook her head. “Which is?”
“We told her last night we were coming up here to cook.” He indicated his kitchen.
“Ah,” Reggie laughed. “But we did!”
“Now we will do it as no one has ever done it before.”
“Naked?”
He winked at her. “What other ways are there?”
Chapter Four
Twenty hours later Reggie sat in Sergio’s sleek Lamborghini Gallardo as the little red sports car climbed the hills and valleys from Roma north into the Chianti region. Sergio had put the top down in the bright morning sunshine as he drove them from the Fiumencino Airport where his pilot had landed his Learjet. They had escaped the throng of paparazzi at the airport by sending a car hop for Sergio’s car.
“Nothing is worse,” Sergio told her, “than that pack of hounds tracking you. No privacy.”
She laughed at the memory now as she came awake from a brief nap and glanced over at Sergio’s profile. In his sunglasses, his sharp Roman profile sent throbs of need to her cunt and filled her heart with pride. He was so damnably handsome, so sophisticated and so enthralled with her.
How long can that last?
She shivered at the fear of losing him but straightened in her plush seat and pushed strands of hair from her cheek. It had been at least two hours since she’d pumped his cock inside her on the conference table in his main cabin. She slid her labia against the fabric of her skirt and marveled that her pussy was not sore from her countless matings in the past forty hours or more. Instead she was wet and ready for Sergio again. She grinned to herself that the woman who had used a cold dildo for three years was now fucking a living, breathing, beautiful man often with such ease and joy. No doubt about it, she was becoming addicted to his expert loving. And she needed to be fucked again, hard and soon.
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Cold?”
“No, just excited.” She lifted his fingertips and kissed them. “And needy.”
He glanced at her nipples as they peaked in the silk blouse. “I am eager to see just how much.”
She grinned at him. The thin blouse and skirt she had on were the only clothes he had permitted her to bring—or wear. She wore no bra, no thong. She shifted, loving the gush of her pussy creaming and crying for his touch beneath the thin skirt that he had chosen from her closet. All of which was just fine because she had the two garments off more than on. “How much farther?” she asked him.
“Over this hill, you will see my home,” he told her with a grin.
As they took the top of the hill, she saw that atop the next one was a fortress city. Surrounded by old beige and white stone walls, a city of alabaster spires and red-tiled rooftops pierced the blue skyline.
She sat forward. “Oh Sergio. This is your home city?”
“Monte Bianca. Filled with people since four hundred years before the Romans came to rule us. Filled with olive growers and winemakers since long before that.”
“And your family has always been among them?”
“Always.” He directed his little car up the hill, entered the city gates but swung away at a fork in the road to circle the base of the town.
“But where are you going?” she asked, turning to see Monte Bianca disappearing behind her as they climbed even higher to the mountaintop.
“Up to the house,” he told her, and pointed to the highest point on the hill.
“The house” was not quite what he should have said, and so she crossed her arms, and mused, “Does your excellent English suddenly fail you, darling?”
“What could you mean?” he teased her with flashing black eyes.
“That, my dear man, is no house.”
“You are correct.”
“It is a castello.”
“Si.”
A huge castle. She sat open-mouthed as he sped along the two-lane road up to the red stone castle with a wall of the same huge rocks circling round it. Falling away from the turreted roof were wide green vineyards, and in the narrow valleys, olive trees by the hundreds. Workers in the fields waved to Sergio as they passed and came to the iron gates of another stone wall. On the iron rails hung an emblem of a black panther, claws bared, teeth sharp, clasping a pike and arrows.
“The family seal?” she asked, amused by his mute laughter.
“Si. Ten centuries old.”
“One thousand years. And the age of the vineyards and the olive groves?”
“As old. Some of course are newer. From thirteen hundred, more or less.”
“More or less,” she muttered. “And the workers?”
“Loyal to us. Ever since we protected them from the invasion of the de’ Medici.”
“The de’ Medici. In the fifteenth century. I see.” She watched him punch in a code to the electrical box so that the gates swung wide to let them pass. “Are there other historical aspects I should know?”
“A few. My grandfather hated Mussolini and hid resistance fighters in the wine cellars. Oh and when the Americans came through here in 1944, we helped them by surrendering and offering up the castle for the American general’s headquarters.”
She understood Sergio better now. His confidence. His energy. She could inhale the giddy perfume of centuries of Avanti power and dominance. “You are very proud.”
“But of course.” He stopped the car in front of a circular drive to the front moat, got out and came around to open her door. “Come, bella. Meet the staff.”
Perhaps twenty men and women trooped out of the huge wooden double doors and came to stand in one long line. Sergio advanced to greet them and introduced Reggie to them, one by one.
“Il Duce.” They nodded or curtsied in deference as Sergio passed by them to say hello and comment on this or that with them.
The duke. Reggie walked beside Sergio, bidding them buon giorno and pondered what a unique man he was—and how gratified she was to enjoy his mind and his body for even a little time. This time with him gave her more than sexual pleasure. It gave her confidence and perspective on her own power, sexual and emotional. That he was a duke with an ancient pedigree was only a frosting to the substance of his charm and intellect.
But then she entered the front door and saw spread before her a checkered black-and-white marble foyer, braced by black marble columns—and she knew his family history contained more than the few short stories he had shared. She paused to absorb the sparkling beauty of the foyer. A butler conversed with Sergio in Italian and Reggie knew enough of the language to hear that the servant asked for her luggage and was told there was none. Then there was another instruction she could not understand.
“What did you tell your butler?” she asked when the man excused himself. She could not help but wonder if the servant had often been told by Sergio that the lady accompanying him had no clothes. It was none of her business what Sergio had done in his past. But she was becoming so fascinated with him that her natural inclination to claim him as hers exclusively asserted itself with a shock that made her frown.
Sergio took her arm and led her toward the circular foyer. “I told him that I would take you on a brief tour of the castello while they set out for us now a cold lunc
heon.” Sergio turned her to him and she felt the wonderful warmth of his arousal against her stomach. “As soon as that is done, he is to take all the servants down to the gatehouse for the next six days.” His two hot hands pressed her against him from groin to chest. “I want you too often to worry that they will see us as we enjoy each other.”
She wiggled even closer to his tempting body, discarding her darker insecurities for the moment. “They enter your private bedroom at will?”
He rubbed his nose against hers, smiling. “Oh no, bella. Never.”
“But then how could they see us?” She was baffled.
He lowered his face to her throat and nuzzled her there. “I want you naked. Out of these.” He caught a bit of her skirt fabric in his hands and tugged. “All the time.”
She shivered at the thought of walking this ancient castle in nothing. Nothing at all. “And you?” She pulled back to view him, her fingers going to the buttons of his crisp white shirt and flicking one open. “I think you must be naked as well.”
“Whatever you wish, I am yours,” he promised against her mouth, his tongue claiming her, his hands molding her to him. “Come for the tour before I ravish you and we miss our lunch.” He broke away and, grasping her hand, he strode before her as he became her guide through the centuries-old castle that was his home.
He took her through the circular foyer, in the center of which stood two giant wooden chairs from the year the castle was built. “The first signore of the house was a man who, legend says, came from a family of Vikings who had invaded the shores of Toscano in the fifth century. That was his chair—and his wife’s.”
“She was as large as he?” Reggie ventured on a laugh.
“No, but she merited an equal seat of power. She was a beauty say the records in our library and the daughter of a rich local landowner. Family history says my irreverent ancestor first made love to his wife in that chair.”
“Hmm, there’s an appealing concept.” She ran one hand over the deep carvings of olive trees in the wood.
“And a successful one,” Sergio added, “because the first Avanti and his wife had twelve children.” He winked. “Come, we will return here later to see if we can find a position that might amuse us.”
Mia Dolce Page 4
