Chapter 20 #3
“I know, amore mio, but let me enjoy the wonder of seeing you,” Giovanni pressed into her gently, feeling her gasp and arch as her flesh parted enticingly to make room for him.
Biting his lip to restrain himself, he lowered his hand back between her legs, finding the spot he knew would make her moan.
“See me what?” Beatrice gasped.
“See you reach your pinnacle.” Giovanni began to thrust into her gently, matching his pace with the movement of his fingers, hearing her breath get shorter and shorter with each movement. “La petite mort, as the French call it.”
“You can tell you came of age in Paris,” Beatrice muttered, turning her head and lifting her arm to pull his lips towards hers, kissing and biting furiously as Giovanni continued to move, both himself and his fingers, feeling Beatrice’s muscles tightening and flexing around his manhood.
He bit so hard on his lip that he tasted the coppery tang of blood, but he held himself back.
He wanted to feel Beatrice’s release before he succumbed to his own.
“Let go for me, Bea,” he whispered encouragingly. She moaned to hear his sweet praise. “I want to see you like this, I want to watch you and feel you receiving pleasure from me all over your body?—”
“Oh, God! Oh, Gio! Oh, God!” Beatrice’s grip on his hair was so tight it was pulling at the roots, but he didn’t care.
Giovanni felt her orgasm ripping through her, the trembling in her legs and the spasming of the warmth inside of her.
It tipped him over the edge and suddenly, he was falling into oblivion, tumbling down with only Beatrice to hold onto as he growled and groaned and released himself inside her.
She’s mine. She’s really mine. She loves me.
“That was…” Beatrice’s voice brought him back to himself.
The sweat between their bodies. The softening of his manhood inside her.
The dampness of his hand between her thighs.
The sense of rightness, of completeness that flowed invisibly between them.
She was going to marry him. She loved him.
He could scarcely believe it, yet he felt it deep in his bones, in the air between them. They were joined forever.
“Is it always like that?” Beatrice asked dreamily, her breathing slowing down.
“Not always.” Giovanni kissed her neck, feeling himself falling back to sleep. “But it will always be special when I am with you.”
The next time Giovanni woke, it was to the sound of birds chirping outside the windows.
He was warm and comforted, soft skin and tender arms wrapped around his back.
Gentle memories of the night before returned to him—Beatrice, naked and glorious, Beatrice, opening her legs, lifting her hips to pull him closer.
He smiled to himself and opened his eyes.
It was early dawn, the sky still pink and dark beyond the window, the birds chirruping their morning chorus.
He admired the way the first rays of dawn light slipped between the curtains and danced across the beautiful rug.
He had never been inside Beatrice’s room; every detail told him something about her.
The feminine touches of her toilette on her dressing table, her pearls and diamond earrings set on the nightstand.
He noticed her gown from the night before lying over the back of the chair and imagined the scent of it.
He imagined seeing and smelling these things for the rest of his life.
“It’s morning,” Beatrice whispered. “You should go before Georgia comes in to bring me my tea.”
“Are you sending me away?” He teased.
“Very reluctantly.”
He rolled over to face her. She was blinking sleepily, a little owlishly, her dark eyes brighter in the early morning.
The sunshine seemed to catch those flecks of blue in her irises, making them shine.
Her hair was spread out around her shoulders, the escapades of the night having made it almost frizzy, floundering about her like a dark, curly cloud.
“Your hair has taken on a life of its own,” he chuckled, reaching out to wrap a lock around his finger.
“Hmm?” Beatrice looked at it sleepily, trying to pull her fingers through the tangled mass and stopping when it was no good. “Oh, it’s often like this when I wake.”
“I imagine our activities last night didn’t help,” Giovanni joked.
“I do not think so.” Beatrice laughed, pushing him gently.
“I would apologize if I didn’t enjoy it so very much,” Giovanni smiled, kissing her cheek. “And if I didn’t intend to do it again and again?—”
“Good morning, miss! Your brother is keen to?—”
There was a sharp tap on the door and then it was being opened, Georgia the maid coming in with the tea.
“Shit!” Giovanni scrambled to try and roll away, unsure where he would go or what he would do, but at least trying to hide. He heard a scream, and the crash of a tea tray shattering on the floor.
“Georgia don’t panic—” Beatrice was saying behind him as Giovanni fumbled to pull on his breeches, at least hoping to cover part of his shame. Perhaps Georgia could be convinced to hold her silence; perhaps all of this could be kept under wraps.
“What was that scream? Beatrice—I’m coming!” Silas’s voice was loud, moving down the corridor towards them, and suddenly Giovanni knew it was all too late.