4. Antonio #2
“He’d already passed away by then, but I think he would have been pleased.
I loved my life in the rural area, but I always dreamed of seeing what else was out there in the world.
” I reach for my glass and stare down into the pale liquid.
“It was so much more than I could have imagined. I’d never seen a proper city until I left home for training.
I remember being shocked by the size of the buildings and at how many vehicles were just driving around the streets.
My family never even owned a car, though I sometimes rode in the back of a neighbor’s truck when I worked on his farm during school breaks. ”
“Were you homesick when you left?”
I tilt my head and let my memories of that time flood back.
“I missed my family, but I was also fascinated by all the new things I was experiencing.” A grin crooks up at the corner of my mouth.
“I was especially excited about the food. Everyone in my village pretty much grew and raised their own food, so I loved getting to try cuisines from other cultures.”
“I can imagine.” Her smile is soft and genuine. “I bet the landscape was beautiful around your village.”
I get a mental picture of this stunning, refined woman out in the wilds of Ireland, and somehow the vision is not as far-fetched as I would have thought.
“It was. I think you’d like it there.”
Our eyes hold. “I think I would too.”
Something builds around us, like a heavy brick wall that seems to be closing in on us, drawing us closer.
Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip, and my eyes can’t help but stare at the rosiness left behind. And then a phone rings from the other room, startling us from our moment.
“Oh, that’s probably Phoenix. He usually calls me in the evenings.”
When she rises to get her phone, I begin clearing the dishes from the table. She joins me in the kitchen a few minutes later as I’m scrubbing the plates.
“You didn’t have to clean up, Antonio,” she scolds.
“I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do since you cooked such an amazing meal.”
Ophelia rolls up her sleeves and stands beside me, taking over the scrubbing duty while I put dishes in the dishwasher.
We talk as we clean and then migrate into the living room, sitting beside each other on the couch.
There’s an easy simplicity about being with Ophelia, despite the grandeur of her home, and hours pass as the conversation flows as smoothly as the small river that ran behind my family home in Ireland.
I’m still laughing at a story she just told me about her friend Claudia when she pats my arm. “I think we need cheesecake. How about you?”
“Absolutely. Did you make it?”
“Hell no. That’s one thing I’m horrible at making, so I buy mine from Whisk and Whimsy.”
“Ah, that little bakery down the street from the Hale office buildings?”
“That’s the one. The owner, Clarissa, is a friend of mine, and she put together a sampler for me,” Ophelia says as she pushes up from the couch. My eyes follow her graceful form as she saunters to the kitchen, and I bite back a groan at the sway of her hips in those fitted jeans.
She returns moments later with two generous slices. “Cherry or salted caramel?” she asks, wiggling each plate.
“Cherry,” I reply instantly, and she hands it over before sitting beside me once again, this time a tad closer than she was sitting before. With one leg curled beneath her arse, her knee rests against my thigh. It’s either deliberate or she’s growing comfortable with me. Maybe both.
“Damn, that’s good,” I say after the first bite. The cheesecake is creamy and the cherries have the perfect mixture of sweet and tangy on my tongue.
“Agreed,” she replies around a mouthful. “You want to try a bite of mine?” She obviously notices the wicked grin curving my lips because she rolls her eyes and specifies, “My cheesecake.”
“I’ll take a bite of anything you’re offering, darlin’.”
She doesn’t seem to mind my innuendo-filled statement. In fact, she smiles when she forks up a large bite with her fork and holds it to my lips. I take it, rolling it around in my mouth and appreciating the salty-sweet goodness.
In return, I cut off a bite of my cherry-topped dessert and swirl the fork in front of her pretty mouth.
“Oh, I get a bite of yours too?” she asks with a little smirk.
Cocking one eyebrow, I say, “I always reciprocate, Ophelia. A bite for a bite.”
The spark of desire in her soft brown eyes is unmistakable.
“Good to know,” she replies cheekily before closing her lips around the fork and pulling back slowly.
My goddamn gaze is fixed on her, wondering how much of my cock she could take before gagging.
The cock in question thickens behind the zipper of my jeans, and as we take turns feeding each other, my need for this stunning, vibrant woman only grows.
Once our plates are empty, I set them on the fancy wooden coffee table and return my attention to Ophelia. “What’s that smile for?” I ask.
She points a delicate finger at my face. “You have a little cheesecake on your lip.”
“Get it off for me, would ya?” When she lifts her hand, I gently stop her with my hand around her wrist and hold her gaze. “Not with your fingers, darlin’.”
Ophelia’s lips part, as if to ask a question, and I wonder if I went too far as the meaning of my demand hits her. When her eyes go from milk chocolate to dark chocolate in an instant, something inside me roars.
Placing her hands on either side of my face, Ophelia leans forward and licks my bottom lip. And sweet Jesus, she doesn’t stop there. She laps at me two more times, her tongue rough and wet, before taking my bottom lip between hers and sucking.
Whatever entity roared inside me earlier takes over, and I haul the petite woman onto my lap with one arm around her waist. “Come here, love.”
Holding the back of her head, I take over the kiss, my tongue insistent against the seam of her lips until she parts for me. The first brush of tongues has my cock jerking, and I pull Ophelia’s hips closer until the warmth between her legs meets the hard rod between mine.
Any reservations either of us had fly right out the window as we make out like a couple of horny teens.
Her hips rock, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence when she finds a rhythm that works for her.
I massage her scalp with one hand and knead the soft curve of her arse with the other, guiding her back and forth over my length.
We both moan at the gratifying friction, and I feel like I might melt directly into this couch.
She feels so fucking good… so fucking right in my lap.
Her taste is intoxicating, like wine and creamy sweetness.
I’d wager to guess what’s between her legs right now is just as delicious.
When Ophelia pulls back, her eyes are hazed with lust, though her voice is crystal clear.
“Antonio, I’m not a woman who beats around the bush, so I’m just going to be straightforward about what I want.”
“And what’s that, Ophelia?” I ask, dropping my hand to cup the back of her neck.
“I’d really like to have sex with you tonight,” she says.
Her words aren’t particularly dirty, but she delivers them with all the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants.
And that’s the sexiest thing in the world, especially when she punctuates it with a swirl of her pussy over my cock.
“It feels like you might want the same thing.”
“Oh, I do, sweetheart. I want to bury my cock inside your pussy and nail you to the mattress until my name is the only one you remember.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. “That’s quite a mouth you have on you,” she teases.
“Sorry if I was a bit crude. I talk as rough as I fuck.” I stroke a tendril of hair from her cheek, not wanting to screw this up before we even get started. “But I’ll do my best to be sweet with you, love.”
She begins boldly unbuttoning my polo shirt, her eyes trained on mine.
“Antonio, if I wanted sweet, I would’ve just had another slice of cheesecake.”
Motherfucker. I think I’m in love.