Roman Crazy
Page 66
I lifted one foot and pushed against his chest. “No.”
With his hands up in surrender, he leaned back again onto his elbows. I kneeled on either side of his hips and ruffled his hair away from his face. His eyes closed, lips parting and his tongue dipping out wetting them. “Avery,” he said, kissing my cheek and the tip of my nose before capturing my lips hotly.
Reaching down, I unbuttoned his shirt first, then his jeans, undressing him slowly. His hands caressed my skin, slowly and sweetly. His lips sought me out, kissing whatever came close to his mouth as I moved over him—a shoulder, an elbow, a breast.
Frustrated, he circled my back with his arms, pulling me closer to his waiting mouth. “You taste so sweet. I can’t get enough of you.”
My mind was scrambled. My hips slid back over, over until I was right there. So close. He moved, searching for the best way to slip inside.
“Fuck,” he swore, thrusting deep when he found it. We were sweaty, sticky from the heat, but it didn’t matter.
I slid down, over and up, slowly rolling my hips. “Give me your mouth,” I demanded, arching up so that my breasts were just out of reach of his lips. His tongue darted out, slipping over the taut nipple.
He pushed himself up as I rode him. Hard and fast, then slow and wicked. I held his head against my breasts, the scruff a delicious tickle against the sensitive skin.
“Faster. Please.”
My hands moved across his back, fingernails scratching against the muscles as I moved faster, everything building up inside of me. I nearly spilled my thoughts, the words I was dying to say to him, finally and for the first time, I love you.
It was right there barreling forward along with my orgasm. Tears spilled over, splashing against our chests as I held in the confession. Soon.
I WANT TO ASK YOU something.”
“After what you just did? You can ask me anything.” I smiled into his chest, breathing in the scent of satisfied Marcello. We were cuddled in one of the chaise lounges, a pillow behind him, and him behind me. I nuzzled into his skin, the little bit of hair on his chest tickling my nose.
“How about what you just did, tesoro.” He groaned. “Your mouth . . .”
I kissed his mouth, which was just as wicked, then snuggled back into his side. “What did you want to ask me?”
He played with the ends of my hair, dragging it up and around and making little patterns on my bare back. “Do you have plans next weekend?”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“Sure,” I said primly. “Whatever you’ve got planned for me, I’m doing.”
“Avery,” he whispered into my hair, making each syllable count, just the way I loved. “I want you to come home with me.”
“I’m here right now.” I sighed, feeling dreamy and smiley and boneless.
“I mean my home. To Pienza.”
Not so boneless. “Where you grew up?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Where your family lives?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He kissed my shoulder. “There is a festival next weekend, the Gioco del Cacio al Fuso. Everyone comes into town for it every summer. It’s the one time other than Christmas that we all get together. I never miss it.”
“Sounds major,” I murmured, nibbling absently on my fingernail.
“Major? I do not take your meaning?”
I sat up, turning to face him. His eyes went immediately to my breasts, of course, but then tried to stay on my face.
“Come home with you, meet the family? Like, all the family?”
“Yes,” he said simply. Did he know that in the States, the meeting of the parents was a very big deal?
His face was glowing, and not just from the thing I did with my mouth. He looked . . . peaceful. Hopeful. Very content. And a little bit . . . excited.
He did know what a big deal this was, and he wanted to bring me home to Mamma. Was I ready for that?
“Yes.”
* * *
“IT’S HUGE.”
“Right? I mean, how do I? What do I?”
“Huge.”
“Stop saying that! It’s making me more nervous,” I said, pacing around the bedroom, rejecting outfit after outfit. “I should just go shopping.”
Daisy reclined on the bed. “Tell me exactly how he asked. The when, the where, the how.”
“I’m not sure if you want all of those details.”
“Yes. I do. I’m living vicariously through you and your magnificent life here in Rome.” Daisy tossed a lacy white sundress into the fray. “That is a must-have, by the way.”
I nodded, hanging it on the closet door with the others I was definitely packing. “This is a seriously amazing summer!” I gushed, spinning around like a teenager who’d just been asked to the prom.
“You kill it in foreign countries, girl!” She high-fived me, then sat near the window. “Okay, I’m ready. I want the details.”
I prepared to dish. “We were in bed. You know, afterward.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward. “And?”
“And he asked what I was doing next weekend, and laid it out there. There’s a festival going on that all the family comes in town for every year. All of the family.” I raised my eyebrow. “I know how these Italians are. It’s not just 2.5 kids. It’s kids, extra plural. Then those kids’ kids, and grandkids and great grandkids and nieces and nephews and neighbors that are ‘family,’ and what am I going to do? I don’t know what to expect. He keeps telling me not to worry, that they’ll love me, but really?” I pointed a finger at myself. “Divorced, American, non-Catholic. Fornicator!” I threw myself onto the cardigans that were strewn across my bed.
With his hands up in surrender, he leaned back again onto his elbows. I kneeled on either side of his hips and ruffled his hair away from his face. His eyes closed, lips parting and his tongue dipping out wetting them. “Avery,” he said, kissing my cheek and the tip of my nose before capturing my lips hotly.
Reaching down, I unbuttoned his shirt first, then his jeans, undressing him slowly. His hands caressed my skin, slowly and sweetly. His lips sought me out, kissing whatever came close to his mouth as I moved over him—a shoulder, an elbow, a breast.
Frustrated, he circled my back with his arms, pulling me closer to his waiting mouth. “You taste so sweet. I can’t get enough of you.”
My mind was scrambled. My hips slid back over, over until I was right there. So close. He moved, searching for the best way to slip inside.
“Fuck,” he swore, thrusting deep when he found it. We were sweaty, sticky from the heat, but it didn’t matter.
I slid down, over and up, slowly rolling my hips. “Give me your mouth,” I demanded, arching up so that my breasts were just out of reach of his lips. His tongue darted out, slipping over the taut nipple.
He pushed himself up as I rode him. Hard and fast, then slow and wicked. I held his head against my breasts, the scruff a delicious tickle against the sensitive skin.
“Faster. Please.”
My hands moved across his back, fingernails scratching against the muscles as I moved faster, everything building up inside of me. I nearly spilled my thoughts, the words I was dying to say to him, finally and for the first time, I love you.
It was right there barreling forward along with my orgasm. Tears spilled over, splashing against our chests as I held in the confession. Soon.
I WANT TO ASK YOU something.”
“After what you just did? You can ask me anything.” I smiled into his chest, breathing in the scent of satisfied Marcello. We were cuddled in one of the chaise lounges, a pillow behind him, and him behind me. I nuzzled into his skin, the little bit of hair on his chest tickling my nose.
“How about what you just did, tesoro.” He groaned. “Your mouth . . .”
I kissed his mouth, which was just as wicked, then snuggled back into his side. “What did you want to ask me?”
He played with the ends of my hair, dragging it up and around and making little patterns on my bare back. “Do you have plans next weekend?”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“Sure,” I said primly. “Whatever you’ve got planned for me, I’m doing.”
“Avery,” he whispered into my hair, making each syllable count, just the way I loved. “I want you to come home with me.”
“I’m here right now.” I sighed, feeling dreamy and smiley and boneless.
“I mean my home. To Pienza.”
Not so boneless. “Where you grew up?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Where your family lives?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He kissed my shoulder. “There is a festival next weekend, the Gioco del Cacio al Fuso. Everyone comes into town for it every summer. It’s the one time other than Christmas that we all get together. I never miss it.”
“Sounds major,” I murmured, nibbling absently on my fingernail.
“Major? I do not take your meaning?”
I sat up, turning to face him. His eyes went immediately to my breasts, of course, but then tried to stay on my face.
“Come home with you, meet the family? Like, all the family?”
“Yes,” he said simply. Did he know that in the States, the meeting of the parents was a very big deal?
His face was glowing, and not just from the thing I did with my mouth. He looked . . . peaceful. Hopeful. Very content. And a little bit . . . excited.
He did know what a big deal this was, and he wanted to bring me home to Mamma. Was I ready for that?
“Yes.”
* * *
“IT’S HUGE.”
“Right? I mean, how do I? What do I?”
“Huge.”
“Stop saying that! It’s making me more nervous,” I said, pacing around the bedroom, rejecting outfit after outfit. “I should just go shopping.”
Daisy reclined on the bed. “Tell me exactly how he asked. The when, the where, the how.”
“I’m not sure if you want all of those details.”
“Yes. I do. I’m living vicariously through you and your magnificent life here in Rome.” Daisy tossed a lacy white sundress into the fray. “That is a must-have, by the way.”
I nodded, hanging it on the closet door with the others I was definitely packing. “This is a seriously amazing summer!” I gushed, spinning around like a teenager who’d just been asked to the prom.
“You kill it in foreign countries, girl!” She high-fived me, then sat near the window. “Okay, I’m ready. I want the details.”
I prepared to dish. “We were in bed. You know, afterward.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward. “And?”
“And he asked what I was doing next weekend, and laid it out there. There’s a festival going on that all the family comes in town for every year. All of the family.” I raised my eyebrow. “I know how these Italians are. It’s not just 2.5 kids. It’s kids, extra plural. Then those kids’ kids, and grandkids and great grandkids and nieces and nephews and neighbors that are ‘family,’ and what am I going to do? I don’t know what to expect. He keeps telling me not to worry, that they’ll love me, but really?” I pointed a finger at myself. “Divorced, American, non-Catholic. Fornicator!” I threw myself onto the cardigans that were strewn across my bed.
