Her head shakes from side to side. She gulps, her shoulders curling inwards as if recoiling in embarrassment, but my chest fills with pride that I’ll be able to give her this and be the first person to make her feel good. Trouble is, I want to be her last too.
“Don’t worry, just let it come and wash over you. Don’t fight it.” I press my lips to hers in a reassuring kiss as I work a second finger into her. “Damn, I want to taste you so bad.”
She kisses me back. “You can taste me.”
“I don’t mean your mouth.” My lips curve against hers and I whisper in her ear. “I mean your figa.”
She inhales a sharp breath. Her pussy walls grip my fingers, and I love how her body responds to me. Her hand falls loosely around my shaft as if she’s overcome with her own pleasure.
Rubbing the spot inside her that drives most women wild, I circle her clit with my thumb, wanting to make her come. “Would you like that, fiore mio?”
“Yes,” she says on an exhale, her cheeks flushed red, hips grinding against my hand under the blanket.
I continue to talk dirty in her ear, “My tongue inside you, my lips wrapped around your sensitive bud, French kissing your delicious figa.”
“Oh, Dan. I can’t breathe.” Her body tenses, her mouth forms an O, her eyes lock on mine, wide and glittering as if her cells are bursting and shattering into a million pieces.
A gush of warmth coats my fingers, her walls squeezing around them. My dick throbs and I almost come, knowing when I get inside this woman she’s gonna feel like heaven around my cock, but right now this isn’t about me getting my kicks. It’s about her and making her first time memorable.
“There, there.” I stop my movements, but keep my fingers inside her, feeling the small pulses from her body. “How did that feel?”
She whimpers as she catches her breath. “What was that?”
A chuckle shakes my chest. “Baby, that was your first orgasm.”
“It felt incredible.” She bites her lip, and her hand strokes my dick. “Can we do it again?”
I grip her wrist, pulling her hand away from my erection with a groan. “I’m about five seconds away from ripping your clothes off, eating your pussy and claiming you right here in this boat, so the whole of Rome knows you’re mine.”When I lift my head, a few other boats are rowing towards us. I won’t ruin her reputation.
I tuck myself away and make sure her dress is covering her thighs before I throw the picnic blanket from her legs.
“Tonight?” Rose sits up in the boat and fixes her hair.
I nod, knowing there’s no way I can just leave now without having her. “Tonight.”
13
ROSE
Carrying my groceries through the hall, I follow the dirt on my polished wooden floor. My son’s picture is askew on the console table.
My heart thumps in my throat. An icy shiver runs the length of my spine, making hairs prickle on my skin.
I drop the shopping bags to the floor, lift the wine bottle poking out of the bag and grip it like a baseball bat. I’ll swing if I have to, even if it is an expensive bottle of red, the kind that’s a shame to smash against my ex’s skull. This wine is too good for him.
I step into the kitchen, pulse hammering. “If someone’s in here, you better hope I miss.”
A clatter on the table makes my toes lift off the floor, my heart jolting.
Sir-Pounce-A-Lot jumps into my arms with a meow and I lean back against the wall with a sigh of relief, juggling the cat and the bottle.
A laugh bursts from my lips. “You silly cat. You scared the life out of me.” I place the bottle on the worktop before I drop it, then rub his black fur and massage his pointy ears, the action calming my nerves.
“You’re going to be the death of me one day.” I giggle to myself, but as I glance over at the toppled vase on the dining table, my throat tightens. Water pools around pink roses on the glass, dripping onto my tiled floor.
I haven’t filled it with flowers in a long time. My stomach twists. I put Sir-Pounce-A-Lot down and grab the wine bottle again as I check the living room, then run to the back and then upstairs.
I catch my breath in the bedroom as I scan for any sign that someone’s been here. My money would be on Magnus, but only D’Angelo has ever bought me pink roses.
