Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I slip back into the bath, the water has cooled off. The pain of missing Carlo, and Bruno and Alessio is sharper. Deeper. Worse, in almost very way. But something about it is different. Having Carlo’s voice and his words in my ear makes the pang delicious. Having a fresh sight of him, even a momentary flash on the phone screen but live, I’m energized.
I run scalding hot water into the bath and I relish the burn as it flows in and mixes.
Lying back and soaking gives me a few moments to just let go and relax my weary body. Drowsy, pleasant thoughts of Carlo’s body drift into my mind and parts of my body remember him. Maybe I should call him back now anyway.
Absently, my fingers have started to roll and tug on my nipple. My hips roll and my back stretches.
Before can reach out for the phone, an image of Alessio rises to distract me and I’m unsettled, under a shadow, worrying about how I’m ever going to pull our group back together.
The last time we were all in the same place seems so long ago, it makes a lump in my throat. My eyes sting.
That fucking asshole Jerry.
After I finish my bath and towel off. I feel deflated. Slipping on my Japanese embroidered peach silk pajamas, I call faceTime for Carlo.
He picks up and says, “Hey. I have to go out and…” I look down at the screen. He is staring wide and hard eyed at me.
“You’ve seen these, haven’t you?”
“I’m not looking at them. And, no, by the way. I haven’t. But I’m looking at you.”
“Seeing you like that…” his eyes smolder. “Seeing you in those silk pajamas,” his voice deepens, “You’re making me think.”
“Apropos of…”
“Nothing in particular. I’m only mentioning it.”
I study his image. “You’re filling those shorts pretty well. Since you mention it.”
“The way the soft silk falls and drapes over your hips and it shows the curves of your ass. It’s kind of almost see-through. Make me remember how your pussy smells. And how you taste.”
“Oh, now I see you’re filling your shorts even better. Something in there is waking up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Something’s looking pretty hot and tasty.” I’m feeling it. My spare hand roams. “Are those shorts stretchy? Because otherwise, it looks like they might tear.” I pull on my nipple till it hurts.
“Why don’t you see what it is that’s moving about down there?”
I lift the phone and watch his face as I walk to the bedroom. When he looks at me like that, it makes my chest and my neck flush. I get chills and tremors all over. My breath catches and jams in my throat. I’m hot for him.
I flop onto the covers and pillows.
Even from the phone screen his eyes are drilling into me.
His voice is low and hard. “Lock the door.”
I murmur, “There’s no-one…”
“Lock. The. Door.”
I do as he tells me. Then I climb back up onto the bed.
I tell him, “I wish we could be together.”
He orders me, “Put in earbuds.“I pop in my AirPods and his voice is inside my head.
“Prop the phone up on the nightstand.” I lean the phone against a lamp.
“Set it straighter.”
I adjust it as he tells me, “I want to see you.”
I’m shocked to hear Carlo being so demanding. “Are you wet?”
“Let me see.” I slip my hand down, inside the front of the loose silk. Slide my fingers down, over my mound. Cupping, shaping in to trace the folds of my hood, around the buzz of my swelling clit.
My nipples sting and they harden. I grab one breast and squeeze. It feels like I’m going to burst in at least three places.
Carlo says, “Are you wet?”
I nod. “Yes, Carlo. I’m wet.”
“Rub around, above your clit.”
I do it.
“Keep doing that.”
His tongue slips out over his lips. I feel his eyes burn all over me. His nostrils flare wide. “Push your fingers down. Slowly. Over your wings.
“They’re wet, Carlo.”
“Press into your lips.”
I shudder. “Carlo.” and I tell him, “I’m slippery.”
“Spread them. Push around the outsides of your folds. Scrape the crevices.”
I start to shake.
“Slide your hand around down there. Are you wet?
“Yes Carlo.”
“How wet?”
“I’m dripping, Carlo.”
He shifts, settling onto a couch. “Run your fingers over your pussy. Get your juice all over your fingers.”
My stomach clenches as I do.
“Pull out a good dripping handful.”
My thighs tighten and my knees lift.
“Then put them on your tongue. Suck it all off. Lick your fingers and taste your juices.”
I put my slippery wet fingers into my mouth.
“Taste that honey for me.”
“It’s tangy and dark, Carlo.”
“Suck on your fingers. One at a time.”
I gasp. “It’s all for you, Carlo.” The sharp, bittersweet taste makes me lightheaded.
“Stand up.” His demand is a hard lash. I’m collapsing inside.
“Lean against the wall, and lift your foot onto a chair.”
I turn the phone so he can see me and tilt it until I’m filling the image.
He tells me, “It’s your face I want to watch.”
I’m watching the small image of myself in corner of the screen. The lovely silk top is loose. My breasts are hardly covered and the sheen of the soft fabric shows the curve and the points of my hard buds.
Crackles and sparks of sensation fly around my body, under the surface of my skin. A current of anticipation flaps in waves, up the front of my stomach, lighting up through my nipples.
“Put one finger above your clit.”
“Carlo.”
“Press down. That finger can play. Around in circles… try that.”
The tingle in my thighs flashes up to my breasts.
“You can play over your mound.”
My breath heaves.
“Press down at the base of your stalk.” His voice is thickens. “Only one finger.”
“Oh, god, Carlo,” my stomach clenches and trembles.
“Up and around the inside of your hood.”
My voice is thin. Hoarse and shaky. “I don’t know if I can keep my balance.”
“Stay strong, soldier. We’ve hardly even started yet.”
Hearing the pleading in my voice makes me even weaker. “Carlo.”
“Keep that finger for around your clit.” He says, “You can play all you like with it. But don’t touch the bean.”
“Damn, Carlo.”
“Now. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do with the other hand.”
“Okay.”
“Take another lick first.”
I reach my hand down into my drenched, weeping folds. The wet, pulsing heat, the buzzes and trembles are even more intense than usual.
The taste sets me off higher. I feel dirty, decadent doing that. Not that I haven’t done it before — not much, but it’s not my first time — but Carlo telling me. And the way he’s telling me. Ordering me.
Even with the wall for support, I’m unsteady on one leg. Squirming again. Juices run down my leg.
“Slip your finger inside now.”
When he tells me, I want it. I want to do it so much it makes me afraid.
“Hold it straight and press it in.”
“Oh, Carlo.” My knees shake.
“Work your finger in and out, slowly. Pulling toward the front.” I’m shaking. I never had anyone tell me how to do anything like this.
“Slowly. But keep your finger straight. Pulling to the front. Against the walls.” A cluster of sensations starts up inside me, like tiny waterfalls. Flashing. Dropping. Splashing.
“Keep going while you get wetter. Hotter.”
Flashes in my stomach make me want to double over.
“When you feel ready, you can put in a second finger. But keep them straight, and pull to the front.”
Tingles run up and down my thighs and my nipples are sore. I want to tweak and pull them.
“That’s it. Good girl. Now you can start to curl your fingers.”
“Oh! God!” I just scraped one of my trigger spots.
His grin and his dirty laugh set off a splash like a bucket of ice dropping and falling through me. Tumbling and rolling up as well as down.
“Pull forward.”
“I can’t keep straight.”
“Keep your back against the wall for balance. Stay straight.”
It’s building like a snowball. Like a dribble of bouncing snowballs. Then a race. Then a torrent.
“Keep pulling.” He leers. “More to the front. Hook your fingers.” An avalanche. A sea of bigger and bigger icy snowballs, bouncing off cliffs. Down chasms. Arcing up.
My stomach rolls and convulses. I’m crying out.
“Harder. Faster. Hook forward. Keep going.”
I’m breaking in two, cracking in half and exploding in slow motion, all at the same time.
“Faster and harder. Steady, but the spot that makes it all go wild? Ease back on that. Just a little lighter, gentler. But faster.”
Oh, I can’t concentrate. My eyes roll and I’m clenching. In spasms.
“Forward. Keep on. Keep going.”
I’m moaning and letting out a cry, “Oh-h-h-h-h,” and I can hear my voice judder. “Let it happen.”
Then I feel like something rose up, lifted me. From below.
The avalanche just multiplied. It’s blinding. In every direction. And it’s all liquid. Liquid fire. And liquid ice. Exploding. It all turned to liquid and I’?m losing it in every way.
The whole inside of me doubled, exploded, turned liquid, cold and hot, fire and ice, and it’s bursting out of me.
My legs tremble hopelessly. I’m shaking like there’s a velvet and ice liquid road drill inside me.
Carlo laughs. I’m going over again.
I’m going to fall. I can’t stay up. I have to jump for the bed. I’m squirting like a hose. Like a shower. Everywhere. the smell is shocking and wonderful. Everything is amazing. And I feel like I’m going to die. And I just made it to the bed. And it’s soaked.
Already.
And I’m convulsing like I’m having a fit. My stomach rolls like ocean waves. My back bends, arcs and stretches. I’m shaking all the way through my arms and legs. My thighs clench and buzz.
“Yes, Lucia. Come. Come for me!”
I feel like all the tension I’ve been carrying and holding forever flushes all the way through me and out of me and I’m filled with a blast of light.
Shaking like a baby tree in a storm, fluttering wildly, uncontrollably.
I need to feel him so much. And he’s so far away.
My body needs his, needs him close to me. I need his arms and his legs and his chest. And his mouth. Damn. How have I got through all of this without a taste of his lips?
Through a desperate storm of agony and emptiness and ecstasy I shudder and quake, again, and again. Subsiding but still sobbing and moaning, Helpless.
The endless blasts of sensation were so powerful and intense, if feels terrible to have it alone. To be here without Carlo.
I feel like I’m suffering and being punished for having too much good fortune and taking three unbelievable men for myself.
And I’m still shuddering and quivering so much I can’t even speak.