My back was turned to Brando, and I made a surprised sound and then a contented one when his hands came around my waist, pulling me to his front, my naked back against his bare chest. His skin felt hot, hotter than the room. He had removed his shirt.
“Good?” I said, smiling.
“Mediocre,” he said, inhaling. “Never underestimate the Italian papà when his daughter’s virtue is in danger. He agreed to dinner, but nothing else. They will be here in an hour. Maybe you can charm him. Livio went on and on about how you married me, and Signora Fausti is themost virtuouswoman of all! I had to give him the hard eye to shut him up. Signor Grassi didn’t appreciate all of the marriage talk.”
I snorted as he stuck his nose in my neck. He recoiled as quickly as if a snake had struck at him.
“What’s that smell?” He pushed back the small tendrils of my hair, sniffing again. He lifted my arm, running his sharp noise against my hand, tickling me. “Garlic, rosemary, lemon—” he came up even further, to the crease of my elbow. “Rose perfume.” Even further. “And—that’s bad, baby. Something went wrong.”
I laughed, pushing him away. “Charles threw up on me.”
“Like mother, like son.”
“Except Charlotte verbally vomits.” I laughed even harder, slapping at him. “Stop, Brando!” He bit at my neck, at the same time moving my underwear out of his way so he could pinch my behind.
My laughter tapered as his finger traced the line of my underwear, moving slowly to the front. “What happened to your apron?” He whispered.
“Down.” Deep breath. “Stairs.”
He moved us toward the oval shaped mirror on my vanity, his eyes as hot as the pizza oven outside. I felt like a piece of pliable mozzarella, becoming languorous at his touch, settling into the fierce heat, working my way toward that euphoric bubbling state.
I moved into him, bringing one arm above my head to rest my hand on his neck, the other on the front of his thigh. I could feel his desire for me through the fabric of his jeans, but when I went to touch him, he shook his head, his free hand coming to my breast.
“Open your eyes, Ballerina Girl,” he said, voice low and rough, but still commanding. “Look at me.”
I tried to open my eyes, but his movements were making the world heavy and soft.
“Sei così bella, mia moglie,”he said.You are so beautiful, my wife.
“Even if I smell like vomit?” I hoped it would come out as humorous, but it only came out small and pleading.
He nodded his head, muttering“as sweet as honey” as he glanced down at my exposed front, before moving back to my face. His pace increased, eliciting noises from me that made him pull me even closer, the hardness of him tight against my back, face set in fierce determination, eyes hungry and growing steadily hotter.
I was bubbling.
He used the hand that caressed my nipple to remove my hand on his jeans, bringing the hand up to my mouth. He whispered in my ear what he wanted me to do before he began to stroke my breast again.
Putting my fingers in my mouth, I sucked, and it quieted the noises I made.
Was the crowd growing quieter outside? Or was it that my pulse hammered so loudly, the humming buzzing so fiercely, that I couldn’t hear over the drowning of it?
“Open your eyes,” he said, more power to his voice. “Now.”
He pinched me hard enough to make me want to scream, but it came out as a loud moan. I pulled the fingers free of my mouth and put them to his. His tongue swirled, causing my knees to almost buckle.
I opened my eyes fully. Carnal desire stared back at me, unbridled and almost frightening in intensity. Still, I held his gaze. The second we connected, I came to him with an intensity so powerful that it burned to let go.
His hold on me kept me upright. The trembling was so bad that my knees knocked. I gathered my wits about me just to ask, “What about you?”
He eyed me through the mirror, nothing cool about the stare, journeying up and down my body, coming to a stop on my behind. He squeezed. Hard. I let out a quiet moan. After the assault on sensitive flesh, there would be nothing better than him being inside of me.
“Later.Voglio assaporarti.”I want to savor you.“Let’s take a quick shower and get downstairs. I don’t want Rocco using my grill.”
I laughed so hard that I knew our guests had to hear.
* * *
Brando had hung thousands of fairy lights above the pergola, intertwining them with crawling Zephirine Drouhin roses that were vibrant with bloom. They were so fragrant in the midsummer night’s air that they almost made me feel drunk.
