Chapter 2 #4
Bianca did not tell her mother of his words, or his actions as the next few months went by.
She dreaded his visits, for she never knew what he would do.
When the weather began to chill, they were given the privacy of a small salon, in which he slowly educated her to his taste.
She almost fainted the first time she was given a view of his manhood.
He made her kneel before him before he uncovered himself to her sight.
Then he taught her how to handle his cock, delighting in her gentle, delicate touch, in her gasp of shock as he thickened and lengthened before her sight.
When he was hard, Sebastiano instructed her to kiss the very tip. She did so, reluctantly.
Another time, when he was suitably firm, he explained to her how to lick him, starting with the satiny head of his cock, then slowly bathing the length with her tongue.
He might have waited until Nudara could teach her these things.
He had fully intended to do so, but he found he was gaining great pleasure in teaching her himself.
Once a tiny pearl of his juices bedewed the tip, and he forced her to lick it up.
“I sometimes enjoy being sucked dry, cara mia,” he told her.
“Best that you get used to the taste now.”
Bianca was horrified by such a suggestion, but there was worse to come for her, she found.
Her fifteenth birthday came in December, and after eight months of betrothal, her wedding date was set for the week after.
Learning of it, Sebastiano Rovere became bolder in his tutoring of his bride-to-be.
His hands began to roam beneath her skirts, stroking her silken thighs, rubbing her mons, and then one evening the curious finger of her fidanzato pushed between her nether lips.
His lips and tongue engaged with hers as he began rubbing a tiny nub of flesh with that finger.
Bianca moaned as it caused that secret flesh to tingle. Stronger and stronger the sensation grew, until she could bear it no more. She wiggled against the finger until a lovely burst overcame her, and she sighed with open pleasure.
He laughed softly, darkly. “I am glad to see you can respond so naturally to my lovemaking,” he said. Then his finger pushed into her up to the first joint.
“Ohhh.” Bianca gasped.
“I just want to see how tightly your virginity is lodged, cara mia,” he reassured her, and he moved his finger deeper into her sheath.
She was very tight, her sheath narrow. Breaching her would be divine.
She would feel pain, as the membrane blocking his finger’s passage was strongly fixed.
The very thought excited him. She whimpered, and he withdrew the finger. “There, there,” he soothed her.
Was there any escape, Bianca wondered in the days that followed?
No, there was none. She would belong to this man till she died, and she would have no children to comfort her, to distract her from him.
She had never seen the palazzo in which she would reside after the wedding ceremony.
She knew his younger son lived with him, but the boy had just been betrothed to Carolina di Medici, a distant relation of Cosimo.
Stefano, who had wed Violetta Orsini in October, had been given a charming little palazzo in which to live with his new wife by his in-laws.
Stefano’s father-in-law knew well the dark reputation of Sebastiano Rovere and did not want his daughter living in the man’s home.
A silk merchant himself, Signore Orsini wondered how Rovere had managed to gain the hand of the fair Bianca Pietro d’Angelo from her usually prudent father. He felt sorry for the poor girl.
Bianca knew she might ask to see her new home, but she did not.
Seeing it would have made the reality of her life fact.
But she did wonder if the gardens were as lovely as her father’s, for like most respectable married women, she would not leave her home except on rare occasions.
Her servants would do the marketing. Sebastiano Rovere was an extremely old-fashioned man and had told her quite frankly that a priest would come and say Mass when she wished it.
There was no church on his piazza. Unless it was a wedding or a funeral, it was unlikely she would even see her sisters again, although she knew that her father, being less traditional, would allow her mother to visit her.
“You will come tomorrow,” Bianca said to Orianna as she was being dressed for her wedding.
“Not tomorrow, but in a few days’ time,” Orianna promised her daughter, thinking as she did how beautiful Bianca looked in her wedding gown.
It was silk, of course. A very rare fabric, for it had not been imported from China, as all of the bolts in her husband’s warehouses were.
It had been spun from the thread of the silkworms Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo raised himself in a hidden garden of mulberry bushes outside of the city.
There was enough silk this year for one gown, and no more.
Pure white, the fitted bodice with its squared neckline was embroidered with pearls over lace.
The sleeves were lace-edged silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread and pearls.
The full skirt was lace trimmed at its hem. Bianca’s long dark hair was left loose, and she carried but a single white rose in her hand.
All of her siblings were to be allowed to attend the ceremony in Santa Anna Dolce, a rare privilege, but Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo was proud of his family.
An occasion such as this one gave other important men and their wives the opportunity to see the strong, healthy children he and Orianna had produced.
He would soon have to find a wife for Marco.
Georgio would go to the Church next year.
He was clever, and Giovanni had no doubt he would one day gain a cardinal’s red cap.
Having a cardinal in the family was a useful thing, as the Borgias in Rome were discovering.
But today was for Bianca and her marriage to Sebastiano Rovere. While his conscience still troubled him over the match, he had, as his daughter had, resigned himself to it. Nothing could be changed now.