“YES!” He roared.
He pushed himself into my mouth and his seed filled my mouth, mixing with the tasted of the fruity snack. I had never really enjoyed the taste of cum. I didn’t know many women who had but this time, it went down like sweet water.
Thierry shook and convulsed, his head thrown back. His hands were wound so tightly through my hair that I couldn’t have broken free. So I did the only thing I could do.
I kept on sucking.
He was just on his final shudder, when I flicked the tip and sucked again.
“Holy fucking shit!” The words left his mouth and that was the moment I knew I’d snatched his soul from his body. He collapsed back onto the bed, spent. Standing, I wiped at my mouth. He eased up and watched me, finally coming back to Earth.
“I don’t want to ask where you learned that shit from do I?”
Quietly I tiptoed into the bathroom to get a damp cloth for both of us. “I knew an old prostitute named Sandy…if you’re quiet enough you learn some shit.”
Thierry laughed softly. He watched through hooded eyes as I cleaned away the sticky mess we’d made.
“Did Sandy teach you anymore tricks?”
Peeling the clothes from my body, I made sure they joined Thierry’s in the corner. Climbing onto the bed that has the faint smell of mothballs etched into them, my eyes discovered that he was already getting hard for me again.
“Let’s find out…”
Our mouths met each other, and I straddled him. I was about to ride this man like a Harley. I chuckled at the thought of how he use to make me so damn sick; he still did but things had changed.
Love, the word hung in the air.
It was love and so much more. A sigh escaped my lips the minute Thierry buck up and inside of me in one swift motion.
Chapter 21
Thierry
The car had been fixed without too much fuss. The mechanic pulled the car out in front of the shop, and I paid for repairs. Diamond had strapped herself into her seat after asking me did I feel comfortable driving. I assured her that I was, and we were back onto the road living the sleepy hamlet in our rearview mirror.
We finally arrived in Rome within another two hours. The drive had come to an end without much incident. We parked in the parking deck of the Luciano Luxury Hotel that I had had Enzo’s assistant book from America a few days ago. I really should have had my own assistant but every time I used Erin, Enzo got pissy and that was enough for me to know I never wanted my own.
Reversing the Porsche into the spot, we exited and took the elevator up to the lobby. When we got to the front desk, a woman with fiery red hair checking us in looked between us.
“You’re late,” she said simply.
“We are,” I replied.
I was tired and we had left from the town just a little before noon. This woman was going to tick me the hell off. She had no idea that I just wanted to get out of Italy and home to my child, to my own bed.
“You would think with getting the King’s suite you would be on time. Silly, Americans,” she spoke.
Surely, she saw my last name.
Taking a deep breath, I once again began to speak in Italian. I questioned her about her hospitality. I threatened her with asking for a manager and having her fired for xenophobic comments about both my wife and I being American. By the time the interaction was over she was near tears and trembling.
“I would like my keys now,” I replied.
She nodded, her lip quivering. “I am so sorry.”
“My keys,” I repeated.
The only sound was the whir of the key card maker from behind the desk. She took the two plastic cards with the hotel’s name printed on them and slid them into two separate small white envelopes and laid them on the counter.
