She panted through his kisses, ‘I need . . . to feel you . . . inside . . .’
And after a moment of fussing with his clothes, she felt him there – hot, hard – as Alessio held himself against her tender aching core. She threw her head back and curled her spine to welcome him, beckoning him to fill the space she made for him. But all he did was tease, dragging just his tip up and over her, toying with her resolve with each delicious stroke.
‘Ale . . . Ti prego!’
Then with one long push he released her from the torment and sent her tumbling back to the bale of hay.
She reached both hands for him, begging for him to come closer. He did, filling her so completely, drawing the blood from her head, her heart, and forcing it to the intimate place where they were unified. His right hand reached for her breast and caressed it over her dress, while his left caught her hip.
As Alessio found a deep electrifying rhythm, Francesca lost herself to the beating thrum of his thrusts. Shooting ripples of ecstasy manifested where her fingers suddenly sought release. She reached a hand between her legs and closed her eyes – a move that didn’t go unnoticed.
‘You’re . . . You’re touching yours—’
But just as she was about to reply, they heard a not-so-distant voice call, ‘Eh? C’è qualcuno?’
‘Shit!’ Alessio mumbled into her forehead.
‘Someone’s coming!’ she hissed, and they pulled apart.
Pants up. Underwear down her bra. They bolted for the rear door, slipped outside and darted through the nearby bushes to safety.
They waited there a few minutes until they saw the farmer walk the perimeter of the grain store, shrug his shoulders, then return to his larger shed closer by the road.
‘Oddio . . .’ Francesca puffed, her heart still performing somersaults in her chest. But Alessio was frozen in a daze. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked, pulling at his collar.
‘You were touching yourself.’ His hands came to rest on her cheeks.
‘E, allora? That’s nothing.’
‘Nothing? That was the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and he ruined it!’
Francesca burst out laughing and lost her balance, rolling backwards into a bush. ‘Aiuto!’ she cooed, reaching upwards, and he hoisted her to standing. They brushed down their clothes and Francesca ran her fingers through her curls. ‘I’m sorry he crashed the party for you. How about you look after these in the meantime? Eh?’ Her fingers dipped inside her bra and withdrew her underwear. She waggled the pair through the air then tucked them in his shorts pocket, being sure to do it torturously slowly.
‘You’re going to kill me today. You know that?’
‘Not until after the final round of the competition. Ti giuro,’ she promised, making the sign of the cross.
* * *
Re-entering the town they walked past the comune offices and crossed paths with a smartly uniformed carabiniere, clipboard in hand. He and Felice were assessing the front door’s smashed glass pane, with Giovanni a few paces behind. True to form, Giovanni had his own clipboard at the ready.
‘What do you suspect is going on there?’ Alessio whispered as they approached.
‘Shh,’ Francesca breathed, slowing down. ‘Buongiorno!’ she trilled nonchalantly as they passed.
Felice acknowledged them with a friendly, professional wave, then returned his attention to the door. Alessio noticed his concerned brow and pursed lips.
‘Hang on,’ Alessio said, and dropped to the pavers to retie his shoelace, buying Francesca a moment to listen in. Twenty seconds later he righted himself and they continued. ‘What were they saying?’
‘Hm-mmm.’ They rounded the bend and entered Impastino’s piazza, where they could talk more freely. ‘Someone broke into the comune last night.’
trentasei
The bells of the campanile had long finished their thirty-four-toll summons to the town, and the people of Impastino had gathered in the greatest numbers Alessio had yet seen.
Something felt different today, as Alessio stood there on the stage beside Felice. To Alessio’s left was his translating councillor, and to Felice’s right was Elio. Giovanni pottered about behind them.
Each overhanging balcony and terrace was full of curious faces looking down on the piazza. Banners and ribbons waved and danced in the wind, giving the usually sandstone and white square a festive air.
