Francesca lay back on the lounger, her dress splayed out flat underneath her. That deep glow of her Mediterranean skin contrasted against the white of the dress. Appreciating her feminine curves, Alessio longed to pry the intricately laced white bra and matching bottoms from her.
He wanted all of her, and it had to be now.
Undoing the last of his shirt buttons, Alessio tossed the garment to the floor and leaned his way over to Francesca, resting on his propped elbows. As their skin made first contact and their legs entwined, middles pressed together, he could no longer restrain the pulse which beat her name. He knew she could feel it press against her, because as he shifted angle she dropped her head back in response and practically purred, ‘Sì . . .’
Leaning to one side, Alessio freed one hand to explore the length of her. It started in her hair, and he cupped her cheek tenderly once more, lowering his lips to gift her a sweet kiss. He could feel her breath hitch as his hand moved down over her collarbones, and using a solitary finger, teased the ridge of her left breast.
‘Ale . . .’ She breathed. ‘Ti prego . . .’ And she lifted herself up just enough so that together they could remove her bra. Alessio tossed it aside and welcomed her warm delicate breast to his mouth. The scent of her perfume imbued her skin, and it was as if, as his tongue drew her nipple into his mouth, he could taste it.
This was Francesca.
She writhed underneath him, and Alessio savoured the feeling of each reaction she gave to his touch. He was the reason for her moans, the shy little whimpers, the way she held her breath as he moved to her other breast. And the sensation of her fingers clawing across his back, attempting to pull him closer, to control or tame him, albeit in vain, sent his want for her into overdrive.
‘You are so fucking beautiful. All of you.’ He lapped at her fusillo tattoo with the tip of his tongue.
‘Ale . . .’ she attempted again, but all she managed was to pull her fingers up along his neck and into his hair. She gripped him, possessed.
Alessio’s tongue made its way down her belly to her pelvis. He shifted his position on the lounger so that he could hold her bottom and thighs steady. Alessio revelled at the sight. She was all woman – shapely curves, soft to the touch – and after a moment he hooked the fingers of both hands under the lacy trim of her underwear and pulled it from her. Then he reached back up and caught both buttocks in his hands.
Francesca’s body trembled in his grasp, and as his lips made contact with the sensitive line of her inner thigh, she parted her legs.
His heart filled with adrenaline as he made his way to the groomed patch of hair at her centre. He nuzzled it gently before dropping the final inch.
And there she is.
Over the crest of her pelvis all he could see was Francesca throwing her head back and clawing at the lounger’s cushion. She bucked and wriggled, and Alessio felt a great sense of humility; right now, in this moment, she had allowed him into her most private and vulnerable world. She had trusted him to share this moment with her, and he felt incredibly honoured to be the one bringing her this pleasure. Seeing her so free and unguarded was the greatest turn-on.
‘Ale . . .’ she exhaled.
He paused for a moment, pressing his words into her warmth. ‘Want me to stop?’
She was trying to reach for him, but her hands couldn’t quite grasp his shoulders. ‘Let me . . . I want to give you . . .’ She grunted her frustration.
‘We have all night. Let me just savour you.’
‘But . . .’
He silenced her with the return of his tongue, signalling the obliteration of the last of her self-control. Alessio could feel that he had brought her to the brink, but before letting her fall into complete ecstasy he pulled away for a moment to sheath himself. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, breathy and moist-lipped against her inner thigh.
‘Just . . . please . . .’ she panted, pulling him towards her.
Alessio joined her, gently nudging her thighs further apart. Leaning over her writhing body, he pressed himself against her pulsating core, drunk on the way she bucked and begged for his entry. But it was the whimper that seeped from her lips as he pushed inside that tore apart his resolve.
Now, there was no going back.
* * *
Staring at the moka the following morning, waiting impatiently for it to prepare his first coffee of the day, Alessio’s mind kept returning to the previous night on the terrazzo. He could still feel every sensation, each intimate gesture, dance across his skin.
The way the line of Francesca’s naked spine glistened under the kiss of the moonlight. The way she had felt so secure, wrapped so tightly around him once they had reached that special moment of unity. The way her hips shuddered through her climax, followed by her sigh of release. The feminine curve of her silhouette against the backdrop of the fairy lights, as she moved on top of him, riding in tandem with his rhythm.
He was only broken from his erotic reverie by the hissing of his coffee as it spilled from the top chamber of the moka, hitting the electric hot plates and evaporating in a bubbling flurry upon impact.
‘Shit,’ he moaned, quicky shifting the moka to a cold plate and reaching for a roll of paper towel.
Then there was a gentle tap on his door.
‘Psst! Alessio . . . it’s just me.’
