Desired

by Bianca Giovanni

  Today, he’s undressing me slowly, his eyes moving over my skin with unhurried focus. The way that he scans me in such detail makes my heart flutter and my skin start to reflexively break out into goose bumps.

  When he’s removed my panties, he languidly dusts his fingers over me from my collarbone to my ankles, igniting sparks over my skin.

  He nudges my knees apart, and his eyes lock between my legs. He’s staring with such intensity that I start to feel shy, and I know I’m only seconds away from closing up again. I’ve never had someone gaze at me with such fixation and passion. James likes to look at me like this, he’s told me that himself, but he knows it makes me blush.

  He blinks and his eyes flick up to me. There’s a fire burning behind his pupils, and I get a surge of that anticipatory excitement that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Gripping my ankle, he rests my foot up on his shoulder and starts kissing the inside of my calf. His hands never stop moving, never stop caressing me as he trails kisses down my leg and behind my knee. He stops before he reaches the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh and repeats the process on my other leg.

  I’m literally shivering with anticipation.

  When his eyes meet mine again, I give him a smile, one that combines the ungodly desire I have for him with the overwhelming adoration I feel when I’m near him.

  He returns it with a grin that seems to cast a glow of love and warmth over the room.

  Slowly, he lowers himself onto me and kisses me. Everything he’s doing is gentle and soft—no aggressive making out like we usually do when we’re this on fire for each other.

  He rests on his forearms so his body is flush with mine, and then he shifts his hips slightly, breaching my entrance with a delicate, graceful thrust.

  Our eyes remain firmly focused on one another as if drawn by the powerful force of gravity when he begins rocking his pelvis.

  This is where his skill becomes blatantly obvious. With my hands on his back, I can feel the controlled wave that travels his spine, allowing him to make contact with that concentration of nerves inside me that make me whimper with pleasure.

  The tempo is slow, but his movements are determined and executed with artisan-level expertise. This is years of practice. This is sexual artistry. This is when I realize the man is a pro. Those awards were well-deserved, and even though it might bother me to think that all that experience was with other women, I get to be the beneficiary of it now…and forever.

  It’s not long before my nerves overload and I cling to him as I pant and mewl in his ear.

  I hear his breath speed up, and a few strained moans escape his lips.

  When I open my eyes, I see his brow furrowed with restraint, his expression almost pained as he bites his bottom lip and fights off his own climax.

  He slows down, and I can tell that he’s worried he won’t be able to control it. I don’t know why he feels the need to in the first place, but it seems like a goal for him right now.

  He inches back so he’s barely inside me and holds my hips as he kneels on the bed. This angle leaves nothing but my shoulders and the back of my head on the pillow with the rest of my body suspended in his grasp.

  From here, he lifts my hips, sliding me up and down over and over again. It feels so deep this way, and my body has no choice but to explode with pleasure as another orgasm takes me.

  Again, I hear his panting pseudo-grunts as he staves it off a second time.

  “Not yet,” he whispers, more to himself than to me. “Ah, not yet.”

  He moves forward onto me again, his lips against my neck and his breath hot on my skin. When he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes, the way he’s struggling to hold on to control. It’s touching how much he wants to give me pleasure, to draw this out as long as he can. It also happens to be outrageously hot!

  He’s playing me like a harp tonight, and soon he’s moved me onto my side with both my legs folded at the knee. He’s kneeling and swirling his hips to change up the angle. That does the trick for me again, and I’m gasping as I shiver.

  Next he gets behind me, spooning me with his body and slowly working me up again. When I come, his arm wraps around my stomach and he holds me so I’m pressed right against his chest, feeling it expand and contract with physical exertion.

  On my knees. On my stomach. To the other side. With my ankles on his shoulders. With my knees hooked against his biceps. One leg up and one leg down. I feel like we’re running through his entire sexual playbook right now, and I’m beginning to wonder how on earth he’s managed to go this long without coming. He’s showing self-control that would rival disciplined monks!

  I lose count of my orgasm tally somewhere after thirteen, and I feel like I’m floating on one continuous wave of pleasure.

  How long can he keep up this endurance contest? And, just as importantly, how long can I keep it up?

  When he presses his body against me again, I wrap my arms around him and nudge him, signaling that I want him to roll over. He obliges, taking my hips and swinging me in one motion so that I’m straddling him as he lies back on the pillows.

  Bracing myself on his stomach, I begin working my hips, starting slowly but building up to a rapid undulation that has him softly groaning.

  My breath is trembly as I take his hand from my hip and bring it up to my chest, putting his palm to my heart. Both of my hands soon join it, and I look into his eyes with a vulnerable whimper as I shatter into a million fragments of ecstasy.

  He’s moaning louder now. He won’t be able to hold back, not like this. He likes it best when I’m on top, and I know that it’s pushing him closer and closer to the edge at supersonic speeds.

  I ride him faster and fiercer than before, grinding against him until my muscles burn and my heart races.

  I’m gazing at him with intensity, my eyes practically pleading with him to let go and allow it to overtake him.

  The muscle in his jaw flexes as he grits his teeth for a split second, quickly realizing that he can’t try to keep this at bay any longer.

  “Ohhh!” he groans loudly. “Lola!”

  With a knitted brow, he takes my hips in his strong hands and locks me against him, rocking me a few times very fast and pumping up with his legs. His body tenses until every muscle is harder than granite.

  He exhales in a thunderous groan of pleasure, his head falling back on the pillow as he pants and subtly twitches.

  Finally! I was starting to feel a bit faint there for a minute.

  I lie on his chest and listen to his surging heartbeat as his arms wrap around me in a delightful, post-coital embrace. Every now and then, his muscles tense and spasm involuntarily.

  “Fuck!” he exclaims as he tries to catch his breath. “I’m so glad I married you!”

  I laugh loudly and push up on my hands so I can look at him.

  “Me too.” I lean down to kiss his lips. “Hey, what were you trying to pull just now, by the way? Were you going for some kind of world record or something?”

  He chuckles in this adorably goofy laugh as he nods.

  “Well, let’s get the people from Guinness in here because that should definitely go in the book. We’ve been going at it for…three and a half hours? That can’t be right!” I say, glancing at the clock.

  Another hilariously un-suave laugh and he flips me over so I’m on my back and he’s beside me with his arm draped over my stomach.

  “Is it bad if I really want to pass out right now? Like, if I don’t want to eat dinner or shower, I just want to go the fuck to sleep?” he asks with a satisfied, almost cocky smile on his face.

  “No, it’s not bad. In fact, it’s exactly what I’d expect after that, and I’m in the same boat as you.”

  “Good.” He tugs me against him until my back is to his chest.

  I feel him sigh deeply, and he kisses the back of my neck before he whispers into my ear.

  “Lo,” he says, “you’re the first girl I’ve ever done this with�
��cuddled like this, I mean. Even if I did sleep with somebody before, I didn’t have this. Sometimes holding you is the thing that shows me how much I really love you, because everything feels different when you’re in my arms.”

  I turn with his arm still wrapped around me and move to face him.

  “James,” I whisper, “I am so deeply in love with you and…when you say things like that…I don’t think anyone could be more perfect for me than you are. I love you madly.”

  He grins in his wonderful, mischievous way and gives me a little kiss.

  “Right back atcha, cupcake!” He winks.

  I giggle and snuggle into him as he strokes my back until I give in to the exhaustion and fall asleep.

  Chapter 17

  James

  I’M AWAKENED BY THE SOUND of an old school telephone. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Lola’s iPhone on the nightstand.

  “Motherfucker!” she grunts, sitting up in bed. I laugh hard at her outrage. She likes her sleep.

  After how tired we both were when we went to bed, I’m guessing she’s none too pleased with a seven a.m. wake-up call.

  “Who in the fuck would—oh shit!” she gasps when she picks up her phone.

  She answers it before I have time to ask her who it is, and I hear her gulp before she manages to speak.

  “Hey, Mom,” she says as cheerfully as she can.

  Fuck!

  “Yes…I know…I know I should have told you first…I’m sorry. We just got really swept up in it, and we were in Vegas, so it was convenient and everything…no, I’m sorry…no, you’re totally right.”

  Oh shit! Theresa’s pissed that we both totally spaced out calling her to tell her we got married. I’m going to be in deep shit for this because she’ll know it was my idea.

  I have kind of a history of getting Lola into trouble with my impulsive behavior. I used to convince her to stay out late with me or to sneak me into her house when she and her girlfriends were having slumber parties. When we were really little, I’d get her to see scary movies with me, and she’d get totally freaked out and have nightmares for weeks. Thinking back, it was kind of a dick move to talk her into watching The Shining when she was nine years old, but she used to act all tough like she could take it, and I kind of liked calling her bluff.

  “I know…Mom, I know. It wasn’t right for you to find out on Facebook. I agree with you. That was my bad and I apologize,” she says.

  On Facebook? How did this get on Facebook? I put the ring pic on my Instagram, but I didn’t post it to Twitter or Facebook.

  “It was a live stream?” Lola asks. “Okay, but how did you see the video?”

  Video? What video?

  “The chapel’s YouTube?” she says, shaking her head with annoyance. “I see. Well, we didn’t know they had a webcam of the weddings.”

  Shit! I should have looked into that. A lot of those Vegas chapels will stream your wedding so your family back home can watch, but I didn’t consider the fact that they might post the video of us getting married online.

  If Lola’s mom knows, that means my parents probably know, but I have no idea how they’ll react to it. I haven’t talked to them in half a decade, and I’m sure they’ll think I duped Lola into this, since they’ve always thought I was a bad influence on her.

  “All right, but you can’t yell at him,” Lola says after a pause. Fuck! Theresa wants to talk to me! “Seriously, Mom, you cannot freak out at him for this. It’s as much my fault as it is his, and I don’t want you to make him feel bad for it.”

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  “Okay…all right…here he is,” she says, handing me the phone.

  My eyes are the size of basketballs as I reluctantly take it from her like it’s made out of hot lava.

  “Hey, Theresa,” I say, preparing for the Wrath of Theresa Coletti.

  “What the hell were you kids thinking?”

  “We’re in love, and we were there. It was really easy, and we just—”

  “Do you understand that this is a commitment, a legal commitment?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we wanted to do it. We love each other, Theresa, and we wanted to lock that down for good, you know?”

  “I would have appreciated being informed that my only child was getting married! It would have been nice to at least get a phone call.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am,” I explain. “It was really a spur of the moment thing—it’s not like we planned it.”

  “Great! So this was a snap decision for you guys! That’s just lovely!”

  “No—look it wasn’t like that,” I say, standing up and going into the living room. I want to talk to her, and I don’t want Lola to listen in.

  “I wanted to watch her walk down the aisle, James,” Theresa says, the anger leaving her voice. “She’s my little girl, and I wanted to be there.”

  Of course that’s what she wanted! It was selfish of me to not think about that. I guess I just figured my parents wouldn’t be there, so there was no need for Lola’s mom to be there too. In hindsight, I probably should have called Theresa that morning, maybe even done the old school thing of asking for her permission. That’s probably what a classy gentleman would do.

  “I’m so sorry, Theresa. I really am,” I apologize again. “I should have thought about that. It’s not fair to you or to her. I should have done something that would make her feel like a princess. She deserved a big wedding, and I’m sorry that I took that away.”

  She sighs and calms down. “I understand, James. Given your situation with your mom and dad, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to do something big.”

  She gets it. That’s a relief.

  “I didn’t want her to have to go through all that drama, you know?” I explain. “We should have told you, though. It was wrong to not tell you, and I’m sorry you had to find out from Facebook. Hey, who put that up, by the way?”

  “I was checking my Facebook when I saw that one of my nephews put up a link to a video from one of those wedding chapels and said, ‘Congratulations to my cousin, Lola, on getting married!’ You can imagine my shock.”

  “Wow, news travels fast,” I reply, chuckling.

  “I know that you love her, James, and I know that you’re a good kid, but you two owe me a wedding,” she declares.

  “Huh?”

  “I want to see my daughter walk down the aisle in her wedding dress, goddamnit!” She tries to sound stern, but she almost laughs at the end. “You guys need to have a do-over. I want a real wedding, young man. Do you understand me?”

  I’m totally amused—and relieved—by the direction of this conversation. I was pretty sure she was going to tear me a new one, but now she’s all jovial. She knows I’m crazy in love with Lola, so I think she’s secretly kind of excited for us.

  “And don’t worry about your family. We’ll work everything out,” she adds. “I want everyone to be there so we can watch our babies up there at the altar.”

  “I have no idea how that’s going to happen,” I admit. “My parents don’t want anything to do with me, so I seriously doubt they’ll want to be at our wedding.”

  “Let me work my magic, James. I’ll see if I can soften them up, since we’re all family now.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would!” she says cheerfully. “You’re my son-in-law, and I want my grandchildren to know both sets of grandparents.”

  I swallow hard. She’s already thinking grandchildren? Jeez!

  “So you’ll give my baby girl a big wedding?”

  “You got it!” I happily reply.

  “Good. Well, congratulations, sweetheart. You two kids have been dancing around the fact that you love each other for years, so I’m glad you’re both embracing it now. I think you’ll be very happy together.”

  “Really?” I grin widely, and she can probably hear it in my voice.

  “Yes, honey,” she says softer. “I love you both, and I wish you all the best. But just know
that if you fuck this up, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

  I crack up laughing, and she laughs along with me.

  “All right, go talk to your wife and tell her that she better get her narrow ass ready for a wedding, because she will be having one,” she warmly demands.

  “I’ll tell her exactly that,” I agree.

  “Okay, bye-bye, sweetheart. Love you both.”

  “Love you too,” I reply before hanging up.

  Lola’s nervously clutching the sheets when I step back into the bedroom.

  “How pissed off was she?” she asks timidly.

  “She was pissed, but she calmed down. I think she understands, you know?”

  “Did she yell at you?”

  “A little bit, but it was cool. Apparently we owe her a wedding, though.”

  “What?”

  “She said we have to have a real wedding, one with our families and stuff,” I explain.

  “Goddamnit! And you let her talk you into that?”

  “Lo, you’re her daughter. She just wants to see you being a princess for a day.”

  She groans and flops back down on the bed, pulling the sheets over her head.

  I’m snickering as I get under the covers with her. She continues to whine as I slide my arm around her waist, but this dramatic performance is really cute, so I pull her against me and start kissing all over her face.

  “Is this what you want?” she asks softly as she looks in my eyes.

  “Hmm?”

  “A wedding,” she clarifies. “Do you want a real wedding?”

  “I want whatever makes you happy, and I don’t want Theresa to think I’m an asshole who’s taken advantage of her gorgeous daughter.”

  She nuzzles under my chin and sighs like she’s frustrated.

  “Dude, you know you want this a little bit,” I say. “I know some part of you wants to be a bridezilla and start screaming about how ‘this is my day’ and shit.”

  She laughs and presses her forehead to my chest.

  “Come on, Lo.” I nudge her. “You want a real wedding, don’t you?”