FINCH
Icouldn’t hear much from up in the tree, but the more relaxed atmosphere between Luca and Tara when I descend tells me that Tara’s said her piece. She seems to be able to deal with Luca in her own way, and what I said about her reminding me of Mom was very true.
Mom was a complicated person, I’m coming to realize. For a long time I couldn’t even think about her without seeing that last moment. She had some sixth sense about it, I think. Some parental instinct kicked in when she shoved me away from her across the limo’s back seat.
In the last few years I’ve been back to Boston more regularly than I ever did as a kid. I’ve gotten to know Tara all over again as an adult. I’ve started to make peace with the past.
Now if only Luca and I could find peace in the present.
He lets me take him up in the elevator—the new one, so it doesn’t just stop on the third floor, but goes all the way up. I study him as we ascend, wondering exactly how much pain he really is in. He’s not so pale today, at least. Maybe the wander around the yard did him some good.
He glances over at me. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” I tell him truthfully.
His smile is devilish. “Same,” he says huskily.
“Good.” The elevator comes to a halt, and Luca steps out gingerly. “Then let’s go and get your meds from Darla, and I’ll give you a nice, sexy sponge bath.”
Luca sighs, but doesn’t argue. He’s not yet allowed to get his dressings wet, and we have a hospital appointment later today to check them out. We stop by Darla’s room, where she gives him his medication and he takes it without complaint. That’s Luca being good. But I wish he’d stop trying to do everything like he used to do; he tries tostridedown the hallway to our room instead of taking his time. The wheelchair has been replaced in our room when we get there, and Luca sends it a dark look.
“I hate that thing,” he announces. “From now on, I’m not using it.”
“Okay, honey,” I say easily. It’s not the time to have that particular argument. “Let’s get you undressed.”
* * *
The shower spansthe whole of the wall, thankfully, because it means there’s space for Luca’s seat to be out of the spray—he’s under strict orders from Darla not to get those bandages wet—while I can stand under the water myself.
But once I’ve slicked myself down, I kneel before him on a towel, looking up into his beautiful, proud face. It never fails to amaze me when I think about how Luca dragged himself up through the ranks of his Family. I am happy to kneel before him because he’s worthy of it. He’s a god among men, worthy of my worship.
We have all the time in the world if we want it, and I think the combination of pleasure and his meds can only be a good thing for his pain, so I take it slowly. I tongue around the head of that beautiful cock of his, caressing under his ridge over and over again until I get a moan out of him.
“Suck it,” he says, looking down at me. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to.”
I wriggle my tongue into his slit while I keep hard eye contact, and the flavor of him spreads across my tongue, smooth and alkaline. “I want to take my time with you,” I say, between pressing soft kisses to the sides of his dick, up and down.
“You know how much I need this?” he growls. “I’ve been aching for you all morning.”
I smile against his hot flesh, humming happily at the idea. “That’s hot, baby. Doesn’t make me wanna rush any, though.”
He reaches down to grab a handful of my hair and tips my head back. “We do it my way. Open up.”
I let him jam his dick into my willing mouth, try to make my throat relax, swallowing him down until my nose is pressed hard into his damp curls. He keeps me there, and he’s breathing hard while I can’t at all, my nose squished up against him. The taste of him has filled up my senses and I’m drooling all over him, my throat working helplessly as I try not to choke. It’s only when I give a jerk, start to splutter, that he pulls me back off him. I cough and clear my throat, my eyes watering.
“You’re right,” he says softly, thoughtfully, as I catch my breath. “Why shouldn’t I take my time with that filthy mouth of yours?”
I open it to answer and find it crammed full of cock again, his hand hard at the back of my neck as he pushes me down inexorably to the base once more. This time I can breathe through my nose at least, can even bob my head a little when he allows it, and I moan when his foot feels between my thighs and finds my ballsack, nudging it with his toes.
This time when he pulls me off, his eyes are glazed. Either the sex or the meds are working their magic. It’s working for me, too, my dick wagging between my legs. It’s dripping onto Luca’s ankle, and between my spit and my spunk, we’re going to have to sponge him down again afterward.
But it’ll besoworth it.
He pushes my hands away and takes his dick up himself, gives a few cursory strokes. My husband’s cock is fucking majestic and he knows it, because I tell him often enough. Now, though, he wants my attention elsewhere. “Suck on my balls, angel,” he tells me. “No hands. Show me how talented that tongue of yours really is.”
I nuzzle between his spread thighs, nosing my way down to my goal, and breathe him in. Under the floral soap—the same soap I used in childhood all the way up until I was cast out from my family home—I can smell the more welcome, now more familiar scent of Luca D’Amato. It’s the same smell he left behind on my sheets that first night we met, and I buried my face into it to huff him up for night after night, the same way I’m doing now.
I refused to let the hotel change those sheets until weeks after, until his scent faded and they only stank of myself. It wasn’t long after that that I gave in, crawled back to my father, told him I’d go to Harvard if that was what he really fucking wanted.
