Chapter 19 Ravenna, Italy
RAVENNA, ITALY
SAGE
I manage to make it through the drive back to the villa without pawing him too much, but only because the car is too small to comfortably fuck in.
But the second we walk through the door, my hands are on the buttons of the ridiculous vest and shirt, clawing them open as I push him against the wall of the foyer.
He’s watching my lips; I know he’s dying to kiss me, and the power trip of keeping that from him is delicious.
I whip his unknotted tie off and he flashes a knee-weakening smile and picks me up, walking into the living room.
He lays me down on a huge, buttery-soft leather sofa, balancing on one knee between my legs while he pulls off the jacket and vest, then sinks to lie half on me.
He slides a hand up my side, dragging my dress over my hip; then an almost pained expression overtakes him and he drops his head, stroking his cheek against one of my nipples.
“You’ll forgive me for begging…” he begins.
“Are you kidding? I love making men beg.”
His laugh is sultry. “Permission to kiss you everywhere from the neck down, if those tempting lips are firmly off-limits.”
My clit sends out a tremor at the thought of Alexander’s mouth there.
“Deal. And as long as we’re doing the sex boundaries talk, here are my basics: I don’t swallow, nothing goes in my ass, the term ‘Daddy’ skeeves me out, and I don’t use specific safe words because no means just that. Got it?”
“Clear as a bell.” He presses a kiss to my nipple through the fabric of my dress, then gives it a bite with those pretty teeth.
“And, uh… about condoms. Like, how slutty are you? I’m on Depo, and STI testing is part of my regular thing with my Emerald doc. It’s been ages since I was with a guy before you, for that matter. Almost a year.”
He looks up from my chest, and the way his auburn hair tumbles over his freckled forehead is beyond cute. “You’ve not? Why?”
Suddenly I feel a little bashful about it. I give a faint shrug. “Just didn’t run across any guys I was into enough to bother.”
His slow smile is strangely tender, like I’ve hit him in the feels. He traces a fingertip along one of the slashes in my dress fabric, then hooks it and draws it aside to expose my breast before encircling my areola with small, featherlight kisses. “I’m honored, Salvi.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say with amusement. “It’s not like you’ve been knighted or some shit.”
He hums a laugh against my skin, and heat surges down my legs.
Jesus Christ, what is it about him? I don’t think I’ve ever been this in-general turned on by someone, and…
for fuck’s sake, the guy is lying on top of me wearing clothes that make him look like a cross between a doughnut fairy and Woody from Toy Story.
“I’d take this over knighthood any day,” he says, skimming a hand along my hip.
“And as for my ‘sluttiness,’ the last woman in my bed was… well, the morning you and Phaedra Morgan called me to threaten a lawsuit. And Brigitte was firm on the requirement of clear test results before there was any, erm, frolicking.”
His curled palm fits so perfectly into the dip of my waist that it’s like he was engineered for me. Dammit, I need to hold myself together…
“That said,” he continues, “I’ve no problem with condoms. But…” He rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him, then slides my dress up to bare my ass, his big hands caressing. “The thought of having you with nothing between us makes me fuckin’ sweat.”
His dick is hard as a park bench under me, and when I adjust one leg to feel him better, he gives a sort of sighing groan. It’s a full-on auditory aphrodisiac—it sounds so much like what I heard the last time we fucked.
“That is pretty tempting,” I tell him, shifting my hips to grind against him. “Let’s play it by ear.” Saying it reminds me that I was going to have him play piano, and as hot as I am for him right now, it’s irresistible to make him wait a little longer and work for it.
I nod sideways toward where a beautiful piano stands near the windows. It’s a reddish-brown wood the same color as Alexander’s hair, with a velvet padded bench.
“Hey, you owe me a performance.”
He squeezes my ass in a nice bossy way that sends electricity through me. “Delighted.”
I laugh. “Not that. Okay, not just that. The piano. You said you’d play for me.”
“What might you like to hear?”
You. Just like this. But closer, even closer…
I love the vibration of his low, quiet voice where our chests are pressed together.
His roaming hands spread little shock waves of lust through me.
When I peek at his face, I’m just about done in by those gray eyes, all dilated-pupil-dark and full of erotic promise, framed by gorgeous rust-brown lashes.
His lips are magnetic—I could fall against them so fucking easily.
“Surprise me,” I tell him, resting my own too-hungry lips against his jawline.
He sits up, pivoting to put his feet on the floor with me on his lap. “Upon one condition, my little brat.” Combing a hand into the back of my hair, he pulls my head close and says into my ear, “I am not… wearing… this outfit.”
“Fine, you win.” I jump up and push his open shirt off his shoulders—holy fuck, this guy has a great chest—and coax him to his feet so I can undo the pink doughnut pants.
Underneath he’s wearing fancy boxer briefs that are cut great and say FLEUR DU MAL on the waistband.
Kicking aside the silly trousers, he takes my hand and walks to the piano, then lifts me by the waist and sets me on it.
“I feel like a torch singer.” I recline on my elbows and swing my hair melodramatically. “Come on and cryyyyyyyy me a river… ” I belt out.
Alexander drops his big, pretty hands to the piano and does one of those arpeggio things up and down the keyboard. His fingers glide, dancing over each other, smooth and effortless.
My eyebrows jump. “Damn, you actually know what you’re doing!”
“In this, at least. Hmm, what shall I play?” His lips scrunch to one side in thought. “Ah! That night in Bahrain you said… what was it? That jazz ‘sounds like Linus is explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown’?”
With that, he launches into—oh my God, are you kidding me?
—that Charlie Brown Christmas song, the thing they all dance to.
My mouth drops open and I lean with both hands gripping the edge of the piano, watching his fingers leap over the keys like it’s nothing.
He’s a combination of totally relaxed and alert.
His eyes are soft, almost reverent, but fully engaged, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend.
The lamplight glimmers on his freckled shoulders, and for possibly the first time in my life I have the feeling of seeing all of someone, in a way that sex and even racing has never done.
Maybe it’s because in this moment he seems more unguarded than he’s ever been around me, or maybe it’s just because watching a man do something well is hot as shit. But it’s wrecking me.
He’s let me in, and more than anything in the world I want to stay here.
This is the exact moment I fall for the guy.
For the next few minutes, I’m a thing I rarely am—speechless. Even though it’s a bouncy, happy tune, I feel misty, like the first time I heard Leonard Cohen’s “One of Us Cannot Be Wrong,” or Bruce Springsteen’s “The River.”
When Alexander comes to the end, he reaches up and taps the tip of my nose affectionately. I must look blown away, because his brows crumple in a self-conscious way, and he asks, “Is that adequate?”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “Just… thank you.”
He drops his head and his fingers trill out a scrap of melody. His hidden smile is boyish. “You’re quite welcome.”
“Play something sad.”
He looks up, surprised. “Has a song ever made you cry?”
“Psh! Of course not,” I lie. “I’m fuckin’ nails.”
“So you tell everyone.” He plinks out a grumpy-sounding collection of notes at the very bottom of the piano’s keyboard, lifting a skeptical eyebrow at me. “I, for one, don’t buy it.”
“Oh, aren’t you just the smartest boy in the room,” I deadpan.
“I’m the only boy in the room.”
“My point exactly.”
For long seconds, we watch each other. He breaks eye contact first, and there’s a struggle in me, because I’m glad I won the staredown, but… I kinda wish I hadn’t? Maybe if I’d looked away first, it would’ve given him a clue to what I’m feeling, without my having to say it.
In a race, it’s one thing to lose an advantage to an opponent, and another thing to surrender it voluntarily.
Without preface, he starts a slow song. It’s hesitant and melancholy, then picks up pace into a twinkle of notes that sound optimistic before they slow down again and get all angsty. I sit with the rise and fall of the melody—it seems to exist outside of time.
Too soon, it’s over. He peeks at me.
“That’s beautiful,” I almost whisper. “It is sad, but also kind of, uh, hopeful.”
A hint of pain flits across his expression, then he gives me an easy smile. “Well. We live in hope, don’t we?”
There are so many questions I want to ask, but I can’t let myself. I sit up, fiddling with a coil of my hair, flicking it with a fingertip.
“What song was that?” I ask, casual.
“It’s called ‘River Flows in You.’” He takes a slow breath, then clears his throat lightly. “I played it a lot after I left Sakhir. Because… it sounds like sorrow and hope.”
Oh God oh shit oh dear. I’m lost…
He stands abruptly, and the squonk of the bench sliding back startles me.
Our gazes fix on each other. I remember all the things we talked about over dinner, hundreds of details we shared, each like a pebble in that fable about the crow and the pitcher of water.
We dropped them into a place seemingly inaccessible, raising our level higher and higher until it became…
well, whatever this is. Something we can reach, something to quench a long thirst we’ve both had.
“Hey, Sandy,” I manage.