The Terms of the Sicilian's Marriage

by Louise Fuller

  She laughed then, and for a moment he almost forgot why he was there. It was such a lovely sound. All he could think about was how to make her laugh again.

  But then he blanked his mind as she stood up, pulling him to his feet.

  * * *

  ‘I might just freshen up.’

  She seemed more nervous now they were in her bedroom, and he kissed her softly on the mouth.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll wait here. Take all the time you need.’

  Actually, he was the one fighting for time. He needed to put some distance between himself and Imma otherwise...

  As the door closed he began unbuttoning his shirt, and then, frowning, he pulled out his wallet. He was checking he had condoms when he noticed he had a notification on his phone. It was a voicemail from Ciro.

  ‘Vicenzu, it’s me... Look, I can’t do this for much longer. I’ve fulfilled my part. She’s going to sign the house over to me today. You need to get your side done, and quickly. Whatever it takes to get the business back, do it. Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep the pretence up.’

  He thought about the edge to Imma’s voice.

  Then he pictured his mother sitting alone at the wedding.

  Taking back his father’s business and their family home would go a long way towards making her smile again. And it would wipe the smile off Buscetta’s face at the same time.

  He knew what his mother would say. That two wrongs didn’t make a right.

  His jaw tightened. No, they didn’t. On this occasion two wrongs would make two rights.

  Hearing the door to the bathroom open, he texted Ciro quickly, then tossed his phone onto a chair. Composing his face, he looked up—and his breath stalled in his throat.

  Imma was standing in the doorway, her long dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders.

  Her naked shoulders.

  Actually, she was entirely naked except for a tiny pair of cream lace panties—a fact that his groin had apparently registered several moments before his eyes.

  His body hardening to stone, he stood hypnotised by her small rounded breasts and rose-coloured nipples. Her skin was the colour of the purest cold-pressed virgin olive oil, and just looking at it made his ribcage tighten around his chest.

  He was used to nudity, and blasé about beauty, but there was a vulnerability to her pose that had everything and nothing to do with sex.

  His pact with Ciro was forgotten. And his anger and grief and guilt—everything that had propelled him to this softly lit room—was swept away by a need he had never experienced before.

  He stared at her, dry-mouthed, feeling the blood throb through his body.

  She took a step forward, reaching out to touch him.

  ‘Wait,’ he said gently. ‘Let me look at you first.’

  She looked up at him, and he took his time absorbing her beauty.

  Expression shuttered, he stepped closer and stroked the curve of her cheek. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re beautiful.’

  ‘So are you.’

  Heat flared inside him as she touched his chest, her warm fingers sending shock waves over his skin. Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth lightly over hers, sliding his hand through her hair.

  It wasn’t a kiss—more a prelude to a kiss. She drew a quick breath and her eyes met his. Then, taking his hand, she led him to the bed.

  He stripped quickly and slid in beside her. As he ran his hand lightly down her arm, she shivered against him.

  * * *

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  Heart pounding, Imma stared up at his beautiful face. She had never been surer about anything. Her whole body felt as though it was clamouring for him.

  But as he shifted closer she felt a rush of panic. Up close and naked, there seemed to be even more of him than before. His limbs seemed more solid, and—she glanced down at his erection—he was very hard, and bigger than she’d imagined.

  Her pulse accelerated. This wasn’t going to work. Vicè had a wealth of sexual experience. No doubt he was expert at all kinds of lovemaking and used to sophisticated, skilful lovers. But beyond the mechanics of sex she knew absolutely nothing.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Are you?’

  ‘Am I sure?’ He seemed to consider her question, frowning. Then, ‘Yeah, of course.’

  His hand moved to cover her hip, his fingers gliding over the crest of bone in a way that made her skin tingle.

  ‘I mean, as long as you respect me in the morning...’ he added.

  His eyes gleamed and she started to laugh.

  Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth against her. ‘Tell me what you want.’ His voice was warm with desire. ‘What you like.’

  She didn’t know what she liked. She didn’t know where to start. Where it would end.

  ‘I like this...’ Her finger trembled against the curve of his jaw. ‘And this...’ She touched his chest, the smooth contours of his muscles. ‘And this.’ She flattened her hand against the trail of fine dark hair that ran down the centre of his stomach.

  He sucked in a breath, his pupils flaring.

  ‘I like that too,’ he said unsteadily and, lowering his mouth, he kissed her.

  He kissed her lightly, then more deeply, slowing the kiss down, slowing her pulse and her breath, kissing her so that she forgot her doubts, forgot his past—forgot everything except the touch of his mouth and the heat of his skin and the unchecked hunger in his dark eyes.

  He cupped her breasts, gently thumbing each nipple, and then, taking his weight on his knees and elbows, he grazed the hardened tips with his mouth, his warm breath sending shock waves of desire up and down her body so that her stomach clenched around the ball of heat pulsing inside her.

  She arched against him, pressing herself closer, wanting more of him. His fingers were sliding over her skin now, in slow, measured caresses that made a moan of pure need rise up in her throat.

  Would it be like this on her wedding night? Would her husband make her feel like this? That nameless man who was yet to be chosen for her. She took a breath, fighting panic, and instantly felt him still against her.

  ‘Cara...’ He shifted his weight. ‘Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No.’ She splayed her hands on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat through her fingertips. ‘I don’t want you to stop. Please, don’t stop.’

  She couldn’t admit the truth. It would be crazy to admit that she wanted this to last forever—for him to be that nameless man, to be her husband.

  Reaching up, she brought his face down to hers and kissed him slowly, deepening the kiss as he pushed against her.

  His hand moved across the outside of her leg, then between her thighs. Shivering, she shifted closer, lifting her hips, pressing against the hard contours of his knuckles, seeking him, wanting him to ease the ache inside her.

  * * *

  ‘Your skin is like silk,’ Vicè murmured.

  He pulled her closer, moulding her body against his, his mouth finding hers—and then he felt her hand enclose the heavy weight of his erection.

  He cut off a groan, catching her hand in his, blood thundering in his ears.

  ‘Not yet...not me.’ Pushing her gently back on the bed, he leaned over her, kissing her deeply. ‘This is all about you.’

  Hooking his thumbs into her panties, he slid them down her legs. Now she was completely naked.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said softly.

  Her eyes locked with his and he felt his heartbeat accelerate.

  His breathing staccato, he began again at her face, tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue, kissing the curving bones of her cheeks, and then he lowered his mouth to her throat, tracking the pulse beating frenetically beneath the smooth skin, moving with deliberate, sensuous slowness down to the swell of her breasts.

  Her
hands slid through his hair and she pushed his head against her nipple, moaning softly as she arched her body up to meet his lips.

  His heart missed a beat. He was desperately trying to centre himself. Trying to stay detached. But she was just so beautiful, so eager and responsive. He couldn’t stop himself from responding to her. His need for her was like a fever in his blood.

  Her nipples were taut and he sucked first one and then the other, nipping the swollen ruched tips, his erection so hard now it was almost horizontal.

  Ignoring the ache in his groin, he found her mouth again, kissing her slowly, sliding his hand down over her waist and through the triangle of curls, gently probing the slick heat between her thighs.

  * * *

  Imma felt her head start to spin. She had never felt anything like this before. His fingers were moving inside her, his thumb brushing the nub of her clitoris, sending oscillating tremors over her skin.

  Shivering, she moved against his caress, chasing the pulse beating in his hand, wanting, needing something more to fill the urgent hollowed-out ache inside her.

  ‘You’re killing me,’ he said hoarsely.

  She reached again for his groin. This time he didn’t stop her, and as her fingers wrapped around his hard, swollen length, he groaned against her mouth.

  ‘Ti voglio,’ she whispered. ‘I want to feel you inside me. Ti prego.’

  Gritting his teeth, he shifted his weight and reached over to the bedside table. She heard a tearing sound. Dazed, she watched him slide a condom on.

  He gazed down into her face and the dark passion in his eyes made hunger rear up inside her.

  Lowering his mouth, he kissed her breasts again, licking her nipples and drawing them into his mouth, and then she felt the blunt head of his erection pushing between her thighs.

  It was too big. She tensed. It would never fit inside her.

  Her hands pressed against his chest, and he stopped moving, shifting his weight minutely.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured. ‘Take your time. You just need to get used to me.’

  His voice calmed her, but it was the hunger etched on his face that made her start to move against him.

  Taking a breath, she parted her legs further. She arched upward, straining for something she didn’t understand, something just out of reach, something that would satisfy the insistent clamouring of her body.

  He moved above her and instinctively she opened her legs wider, her breath jerking in her throat as he rubbed the tip of his erection against the bud of her clitoris. Curling her arms around his shoulders, wanting to feel all of him inside her, she lifted her hips and he pushed into her.

  There was a moment of sharpness and she tensed—must have tensed, because he stilled above her. Not wanting him to suspect her virginity—or, worse, stop—she pulled him closer and began to move against him, trying to regulate her breathing as her body stretched to accommodate him.

  He was fully inside her now, and his mouth found hers as he matched himself to the rhythm of her breathing. As he started to increase his pace she felt the pulse inside her accelerate in time to his movements.

  She was panting now, lunging up towards him. Muscles she hadn’t known she had were straining, pulling apart, fraying, and she gripped his shoulders as her whole body suddenly splintered in a rush of pleasure so intense she could have wept.

  And then he was thrusting into her, clamping her body to his, his groans mingling with her ragged breathing as he tensed, shuddering helplessly against her.

  His hands tightened in her hair and he kissed her face, murmuring her name against the damp skin of her neck. ‘Sei bellissima,’ he said softly.

  She smiled, suddenly shy beneath his dark gaze. ‘Was it okay for you?’

  ‘Was it okay for me?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve never been asked that before. It was more than “okay,” cara. It was incredible.’

  ‘I didn’t know it could be like that,’ she said slowly.

  How could she have imagined such dizzying pleasure was right there, at her fingertips? Her cheeks felt warm. Or rather at his fingertips. She had wanted it to be amazing but she had completely underestimated how it would feel, the bliss of being touched, the heat of his mouth...

  His eyes roamed her face. ‘What’s it been like before?’

  Her heart gave a jump. She could lie, but it was done now. They had made love. There was no need for secrets between them.

  ‘It wasn’t like anything.’ She took a breath. ‘There was no “before.” You’re my first—my first lover.’

  * * *

  Her first lover.

  Vicè stared at her in silence, made mute by shock and disbelief.

  She’d been a virgin.

  He couldn’t have been any more stunned if she’d thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

  His head was spinning. With an effort, he replayed the time they had just spent in each other’s arms.

  When he’d entered her—he gritted his teeth, her actual first time—her body had been tight, and there had been moments when she’d tensed, moments when he had felt her hesitate.

  But he’d put it down to nerves over having sex with somebody new. He hadn’t thought she had no experience whatsoever.

  Suddenly his skin could barely contain the chaos inside his body.

  He was frustrated with himself for not realising, and he felt guilty for not taking it more slowly, more gently—he would have done if he’d known. He was angry too, incomprehensibly. Angry with Ciro, for putting him in this position, but mostly with Imma.

  He swallowed against the rush of questions rising in his throat.

  Why hadn’t she told him?

  Why hadn’t she said anything?

  It made no sense.

  But there was nothing he could do about it now. No magic spell to turn back time.

  ‘I am?’ He frowned. ‘Sorry, I thought... I mean, I know you went to university, so...’

  She shrugged casually, her hands trembling as she spoke. ‘I didn’t live in halls. My father bought me an apartment and insisted on my bodyguards going everywhere with me.’

  ‘So those “others” you mentioned...you didn’t...?’

  Imma shook her head. ‘I never wanted any of them in that way. Not like I wanted you.’ She hesitated. ‘Is it a problem?’

  She was staring up at him, and the expression on her face made him swear silently. He needed to make this all right, and fast, or risk blowing everything.

  Shaking his head, he touched her cheek. ‘Quite the contrary.’ His face twisted. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I like it that I’m your first.’

  Imma stared at him, her pulse beating out of time.

  ‘Actually, I’m a little embarrassed by how happy it makes me feel,’ he added.

  * * *

  Her stomach clenched and blood rushed into her pelvis. Her body was rippling back to life as he pulled her closer.

  Breathing out unsteadily, he buried his face in her neck. ‘Imma, do you think it’s possible for two people to fall in love in a single day?’

  Her heart lurched against her ribs. His dark eyes were soft and steady on her face, but she could hear the shake in his voice.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I do,’ she said softly.

  ‘And could you maybe see yourself saying I do?’ He stared down at her. ‘If I asked you to marry me.’

  ‘You don’t have to marry me,’ she said shakily. ‘It was my decision not to say anything. I should have told you I was a virgin—’

  ‘That’s not why I want to marry you.’

  His arms tightened around her, and she knew he was telling the truth.

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, but I have to marry you—there’s no other option for me.’

  The poetry of his words made her heart swell.

  She was
too choked to speak, but as he lowered his mouth to hers she leaned into him, her hands threading through his hair, and kissed him fiercely.

  They made love again, and afterwards she fell asleep in his arms.

  She was still wrapped in his arms sometime later, when she woke in the early hours, and for a moment she lay on her side, watching Vicè sleep.

  There were no words to describe how she was feeling. She was happy—had never been happier—but ‘happy’ felt too ordinary, too small a word to describe what had just happened.

  It was everything she’d wanted for her first time. He had wanted her for herself, just as she had wanted him, and his desire had made her feel sensual. Confident. Powerful. Even when her body had dissolved into hot, endless need.

  She still felt as if she was glowing inside.

  And it wasn’t just the sex.

  It was Vicè.

  She had fallen helplessly in love with him. And, incredibly, he felt the same way about her. He must do to have proposed.

  Her heart trembled.

  She might not have his experience, but she had learned enough about the world to know that a man like Vicè didn’t propose marriage after every sexual encounter.

  Given his track record with women, he must have been hoping simply to seduce her. It had probably never crossed his mind that he would fall in love any more than it had hers.

  Glancing over at him, she felt her throat tighten.

  He was so beautiful, so gorgeously masculine, all muscle and smooth golden skin, and he’d been so generous. Remembering how his body had felt, on hers and in hers, her muscles tensed.

  Suddenly she was hot and damp and aching.

  It had been so good.

  Felt so right.

  His weight and the press of his mouth...the rush of his heartbeat.

  Could she wake him?

  She bit her lip. Would that be greedy? Too forward?

  He shifted in his sleep, turning his face into the crook of his arm, and she breathed out unevenly.

  She was so, so happy. The only thing that would make it even more perfect was if she could share her happiness with Claudia. But it was too early—and anyway it was her sister’s wedding night.