I felt the leaking tip of his cock drag down the crease of my ass, guided by his hand, and then he was sliding inside me, filling me, pushing deep. He was standing straight, his cock buried inside me, and then he pulled back and drove in, and I couldn't help moaning low in my throat.
"Shhh, the window is open. They will hear us," Luca whispered. "Not a sound, okay?"
I nodded and bit the blanket as he moved in a rhythm within me, thrusting harder with every passing second, on hand braced on my lower back, the other pulling my hips back into him. I felt his finger trace down my ass, slip between the cheeks and probe the knot of muscle there. Something wet and warm touched my second opening and then his finger was pushing in, slowly and carefully. Now I was ready for it, knew what it would feel like, welcomed it with an eagerness that worried me in the back of my head.
His finger slipped in, and I had to stifle another loud moan. I felt myself stretch again back there, and then the filled feeling increased and my rising orgasm neared peak. I craned my neck to look over my shoulder, but all I could see was Luca's body moving as he plunged into my pussy.
"I would like to put myself down there," he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. "Do you trust me to do so?"
"You mean, your...you want to put your cock...in there?" The idea filled me with panic all over again.
Luca nodded, and I hesitated.
I was just getting used to his fingers. I liked his fingers, liked the intensity of the orgasm it gave me, but I wasn't sure I was ready for any more, either physically or mentally.
"I don't know, Luca. I'm kind of nervous about that. Especially with the window open." I felt his fingers withdrawing. "You can keep doing what you're doing, but...can we wait for...the other part? I'm not saying no, just not yet. Not now."
"It is okay," he said. "I hope I did not upset you."
I shook my head and moved my hips back into him. "No, no. Just...don't stop. Keep going. I'm close."
He kissed my back, rolled his hips into my ass and filled me, deep and slow. I moaned into the mattress as the climax, which had started to recede with the distraction, began to build up again. Luca's body moved against mine in a slow and steady rhythm, his hips bumping against the flesh and muscle of my backside, his muscled thighs brushing against mine, his hand on my hip and two fingers slipping deeper into my ass with every thrust of his cock.
Sensation swept over me, inundated me. I was being stretched and filled, pushed to the brink of tolerance, so full of Luca, so burning with the raging fire of boiling climax that I nearly couldn't take it anymore, almost wanted to tell him to stop, to take his fingers out and let me come with him on my back, in a more familiar position. I wasn't uncomfortable, standing bent forward, but it was so new, so unfamiliar, so strange. The only contact between us was sexual, and I had gotten to like...to love...the feel of his body on mine, his broad, dark bulk pinning me and protecting me, sheltering me.
This...this was different. I was presented as a sexual object like this. Only his cock inside me, his fingers inside me, his hands encouraging me. Did I like this? I had to ask myself the question. It felt good--I couldn't and wouldn't deny that. But...did it feel good emotionally?
God, yes. It felt dirty. It felt wanton. It was sinful.
While I debated this internally, I had slowed the roll of my hips into him, let his body do the work. Now, as I came to the decision to stop questioning, I gathered the blanket into my fists and arched my back, lifted up on my toes, sent myself plunging back into his body, and now, with my help, his cock speared deep into me and the pressure of climax blew through me, sending shocks of fire and heat rifling through my body. I buried my face in the bed and let myself moan, let myself whimper and sigh as sweet, powerful, thoughtful Luca drove into me. I felt him cross the threshold, that moment when he could no longer hold back, could no longer keep his motions measured or his thrusts gentle.
His fingers moved inside me, pushed deeper, and then he was leaning forward and his knees were trembling against the back of my legs and he was coming and so was I, grinding my teeth together to keep from crying out loud. Luca's hand dug into my hip and jerked me backward as he powered into me, his balls slapping against me, his come shooting deep and his tip throbbing against my wall.
We came together, moving in sync, me thrust back as he pushed forward, slow, savage grinding of our bodies together, instinctively seeking to go deeper, more, harder. I heard his breath coming in ragged gasps behind me. The orgasm washing through me was like a tsunami of sensate delight, a true agony of ecstasy, too much thrilling raging rampant pleasure to contain, light bursting behind my eyes and in every synapse, every muscle clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing.
As Luca went limp on top of me, I wondered, if it felt that good to have his fingers down there, if I might like it even more with his manhood. I worried about it hurting, since his fingers, even two of them, were significantly smaller than his cock.
I knew then that I'd try it. I'd let him. I was glad I hadn't then and there, though, for I was learning I was vocal, and enjoyed letting myself shriek and moan out loud. Stifling my voice during sex seemed to dampen the pleasure I got from it, as silly as that may sound. The knowledge that we were within earshot of his entire family made the experience seem deliciously illicit and exhilaratingly naughty.
Luca slid out of me and helped me climb onto the bed, lay down next to me. "Mio dio, Delilah. The things you do to me."
I laughed. "I do to you? You're the one sticking your fingers in my asshole."
"True, but you liked it, I am fairly certain," Luca said, grinning.
"Oh, I liked it all right," I said.
He sobered. "I am sorry for pressuring you into something for which you were not ready."
I kissed him, just to reassure him. "You didn't pressure me, Luca. You asked, and I said not now, and you let it go." I traced circles with my fingertip in the light dusting of hair on his broad chest, not quite looking at him. "I'm willing to try, if you want. It's just...not here, not now. Not with everyone awake and listening, and whatever."
"No, you are right. This was perhaps not the best time for such things." He gave me a playful slap on the ass. "Especially since you make such loud, wonderful noises."
I blushed and buried my face against him again, my words muffled by his skin. "I am kind of noisy, huh?"
"Yes, and I love it."
There was an awkward tension suddenly, stemming from his use of the "L" word. Again, the panic hit me, and I tensed, my breath catching as if a weight had settled on my chest. Run. Run. Run. My heartbeat was a rapid-fire thumping, and I wanted, in that moment, to get up, throw some clothes on, and flee, find a cab to anywhere. Love? No. No no no. I tried to tell myself he hadn't meant it like that, but it didn't help. I couldn't deal with being in love, being loved. I was in Italy to find myself, to figure out who I was, to get some life experience, some sexual experience. I was getting sexual experience in spades, and I was loving it, but the rest? Not so sure.
Who was I? Who was Delilah Flores? I knew I liked writing, and dancing. I liked wine. I liked sex, it seemed. I never really had before, it had just been something that happened because I was married and Harry was so damned persistent about it. But I'd never liked it, wanted it, needed it. Now, since meeting Luca, I couldn't get enough. Even now, barely ten minutes after a mind-blowing orgasm, I wanted Luca again.
So I liked sex, a lot.
A thought blew through my head. What would sex with Brad from Chicago have felt like? Would it have been different? What about someone else? A random man, someone from a different country, a different city? The body parts all went in the same places in the same way, so in some sense I thought it might all be pretty much the same. Right? But what if a different man was less understanding of my hesitancies? Less accepting of the fact that I wasn't a diminutive little thing? A different man may not have taken no as an answer just a few minutes ago.
If I let things with Luca progress
and just stayed here in Italy with him, what possibilities would I be giving up? I had intended to see more of the world. Greece, England, Germany, Sweden, Ireland, there were so many places I wanted to see.
But Luca...god, he's amazing.
I'm sitting in the bed with him, with the window open and the sounds of laughter and conversation, all adult now as children begin to tire out. Luca is next to me, answering emails from his phone as I write. It's comfortable, intimate, and familiar. I can see myself doing this with him day in and day out, lying in bed together, writing, doing business, reading, talking, watching TV. The very fact that this seems so easy scares me. It's almost as if I'd always lain in bed with Luca, as if I always will.
The pressure of fear in my chest is back, leaning on me even as I type. I'm not sure what I want. I don't know what to do. So much of me is screaming at me to run, to flee, to catch a bus to the airport and fly away, go anywhere, don't get trapped by love before I've even begun my journey.
A niggling voice, small but insistent, says if I run, I could be giving up the best thing that ever happened to me.
Elisabetta is outside the door, telling us to come back out, we've had enough time alone.
This family seems like a family I could be very happy with. Which only serves to further confuse me.
June 16
I've spent the last two days in Firenze with Luca's family. I'm more at home with them than I've ever felt with my own family. Scary thought, huh?
Lucia in particular has become a close friend. Which leads into another scary thought: I didn't have any friends back home--back in the States. I mean, none. Leah was the closest thing, but she was my sister, and that doesn't really count, does it? I had work acquaintances, Harry, a few ladies from church that I'd do lunch with occasionally, but no one I could just sit around and drink grappa with, listen to music with, stroll the streets and chat with.
I do all these things with Lucia. She understands me in the same way as Luca. She doesn't judge me, she understands where I'm coming from emotionally, especially after I related my adventures of the past few days.
My god. It's only been a few days. Barely a week since I walked in on Harry with Helen. It's felt like a lifetime. I'm a different person already. I curse, I drink alcohol, and I have sex with Luca. A week ago, all these things would have been mortal sins, life-altering lapses in judgment. Here, it's just life.
My confusion isn't gone. I still don't know what to do. In the meantime, I stay here. It's easiest. Luca says he'll be here for at least two weeks, if not more, so there's no rush. I can take my time to decide. I'm not spending money on a hotel, or food, or cabs. I help Domenica cook, I help everyone clean up after meals, I play with the children. I'm learning Italian faster every day.
I want to see Venice. I want to see Athens, the Acropolis, millennia-old theaters where the first great plays were performed. I want to see London with the red double-decker buses and Big Ben and the London Bridge.
But, Luca. Lucia. Little Benito with his fast, loud mouth and adorable curls. Quiet little Rosa with her naked dolls and crayon drawings of ponies. Domenica, with her knowing eyes and effortless dignity and grace.
And Luca. Luca. His smooth power, quick, attentive hands, his skillful mouth. And god, his cock. I've never wanted anything so much, so frequently. I love being in bed with him. Or on the bed, or bent over the bed, or standing up against the wall (like this morning, as I was getting into the shower). Anywhere, anytime. I'm a monster for sex now. Poor Luca. I'm afraid I'm exhausting the poor man with my insatiable appetite.
But no, that's nonsense. He's as voracious as I am.
Here he comes now, back from the gym, sweaty, shirtless, hair splayed across his brow and sticking to his skin, muscles ripped and glistening, his cut-off sweat shorts hanging low across his hips, revealing that glorious V-cut of muscle. I think every woman likes that. Whether you like your men muscle-bound or wiry, hairy or smooth, that little indentation of muscles leading to his manhood is sexy and erotic in some kind of indefinable way. It just turns you on, gets you going and makes you salivate.
He's about to take my netbook from me. I'm sitting in bed in my panties and nothing else; I was about to take a shower and decided to journal instead, so now we're both raring to go.
I'll have to finish this later.
*
It's the middle of the night now, several hours after the preceding entry.
I've gotten addicted to writing these sex scenes, I think. I've read erotica books since I was in high school, my one lifelong dirty little secret. I could never quite make myself give them up, even though I always had a little twinge of guilt about them. But for some reason, whenever I tried to read a "normal" book, I found myself waiting and waiting for the sex, and it never came, and I was just frustrated and bored. So I'd go back to the erotica books.
This journal is a private thing. I'll never publish it, never let anyone read it. This is just for me. I look back at what I've written and I realize...some of it is actually pretty good. I get turned on reading the sexy bits. And...the more I continue this journal, the more I get into reliving the steamy scenes between Luca and me. It's like getting to do it all over again, and it makes the next time Luca and I have sex, make love--whatever you want to call it--that much sweeter and more potent.
So there I was, lying in the wide, springy bed, wearing nothing but a purple thong, my netbook on my lap, and Luca came in, fresh from the gym. I tried to pretend like I didn't notice him, like the only thing I saw was my screen, but the man knew better. He saw through my silly subterfuge and crawled across the bed like a predator through the grass. He took my laptop from me, set it on the floor, and then started kissing me, toes first, then my shins, then my thighs. When he came to my silk-covered mound, he put his mouth to the fabric and blew hot air against my opening. The heat and moisture of his breath did something strange, sent thrills of pleasure through me, made me instantly wet. I'm sure there's some cute and dirty name for that, but I don't know what it is.
Then he slid my thong by its string down around my hips and past my feet, threw it across the room. He paused, looking up at me with a sensual curve to his lips, a knowing smile that told me he knew exactly how much I enjoyed what he was about to do with his mouth.
He parted my thighs, bent down and kissed up my legs until his lips were touching my thighs and his cheek was brushing my labia with his stubble. Then he turned his lips to my sex, his tongue to my crevice, lapping at the folds, just the tip at first. He wrapped his arms around my hips and tugged me lower on the bed. I stuffed a pillow under my hips and tangled my fingers in his hair as he delved into my pussy with his tongue.
Oh, sweet mercy, anticipation makes it so much better. We'd gone this morning, a quick and dirty thing against the bathroom wall, satisfying its own way, hot and hard and lustful. This was so much different.
Slow and sweet and...I'm just not sure I have words for it all, but I'll try.
He didn't hurry. He lapped slowly at me, working me into a frenzy without ever moving his tongue any faster. Just slow circles at my clit, up and down, fingers curling in to stroke my G-spot in the same slow rhythm, another finger pressing the rosebud muscle of my anus, not entering but just slowly massaging, sending me into ecstasy-land.
I wondered briefly if he'd push the issue from earlier, regarding anal sex, but then forgot as he gradually increased his pace until I was thrashing beneath him, coming, coming, coming so hard. I dragged him up my body, pushed away his shorts and rolled him to his back.
I straddled him, still shuddering, lifted my quivering hips and drove him in, no hesitation, no slow entrance. I was wet, hot, trembling, ready. He slid in and we were off, moving together, me leaning back as far as I dared, until he was wincing. I wanted this to last, and I'd learned by now that if I leaned back it would keep him from coming until I relaxed the tension.
I didn't intend to let him come until he begged me. It wasn't about power, or wanting to control him.
I just wanted to drag out the pure pleasure of having him inside me for as long as I could.
I moved as slowly as he had, rolling on him as if rocking on ocean waves, gentle swells. Luca put his hands on my thighs, thumbs near the crease where leg meets hip, fingers around the curve of my ass, not pushing or pulling, just resting, caressing. His head tipped back, his spine arched, his body lifted mine up, my shins taking my weight as I lifted and plunged, faster now, faster, deeper in and farther out.
"Luca, god, Luca." The words were pulled from me as if by a string connected to his soul.
"You are so beautiful, Delilah."
I melted. I wanted to collapse forward, but his breathing was harsh and panting, his body bucking, straining for release, and I was caught up in the drawing out of the pleasure, each thrash of his body driving him deeper inside me, my muscles trembling and tense and ready for the explosion, the implosion...
My hands braced on his stomach, propping me up, I rolled my hips onto his, ignoring his ever more vocal groans of need. Lean back, move faster, chemicals rushing, desire pounding, flesh burning and tangling with his, eyes closed now and all I knew was sensation.
"Delilah...dio, I am going to die if you do not let me come. I am going to burst, please..." Luca's voice was rough and raw and desperate.
I slid my hands up to his chest, keeping my hips tilted backward, my spine arched inward. Our eyes met, his burning and blazing with need, his fingers fiercely gripping my hips, pulling me forward. His cock thrust hard, his body bucking, each breath in and out a ragged groan.
I couldn't draw it out any longer. I'd already come, a gradual rising flood of climax. Now, with Luca so close, beyond the edge but held back from true release, I knew instinctively I'd come again, harder than ever, the moment I relaxed the tilt of my hips.
La Vita Sexy Page 5
