Chapter 6 #2
And wetter than the sea, I think. Luckily, my mouth and brain are working together for once and I manage to keep that to myself this time.
“You don’t have to do that, you know? Say all that romantic stuff,” I tell him, ducking my chin down. “I get it. It’s fake. Been there, done that with my family, except I’m smart enough to not get caught in the ‘feels’ trap.”
He lifts my chin with his other hand. “I’m Italian. We are romantic. I simply say what I think.”
He makes it sound like he really does think those lovely things about me, but how can he when I’ve gotten him into this mess?
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, offering him one more chance to back out.
Before he can answer, there’s a loud knock on the door. Emily and Doug are right on time.
Lorenzo steps closer, his body a breath away from mine as he whispers, “Trust me?”
I have no idea what he’s asking, but I nod because what else am I gonna do? We’re about to go to dinner and pretend like we’re happy newlyweds with someone who could blow up my entire social circle, and likely my professional life, with a single well-placed word.
Lorenzo walks me backward until my back hits the wall. I gasp, surprised. But he’s not done.
“Trust me,” he orders softly.
And with that, he picks me to straddle him and slams my back against the door with a thump. It rattles loudly behind me.
“Fuck, Abigail. Quick, mia rosa. Come on my cock before your friends get here or they’re going to hear me fucking you deep and hard. I want your cum on me and my cum in you while we sit at this prim and proper dinner, wife.”
I gasp, both at his filthy talk and the ridge of his cock pressing against my core.
“Ungh.” I can’t make words, am barely making incoherent sounds, and Lorenzo lifts one hand from my thigh to hold my head still. He meets my eyes, one of his brows lifted pointedly.
If I couldn’t feel his cock, I wouldn’t even know what this is doing to him. For all the fire rushing through my body and turning my brain to melted goo, he’s clear-eyed and has a plan.
I blink and realize what he’s doing.
Emily needs to think we’re newlyweds, and what do newlyweds do non-stop? Fuck.
Now that I’ve caught on, he winks at me and I smile back.
He thrusts against me and I bounce on the door. “Yes, hard . . . just like that,” I moan.
He grunts, finding a pace that is actually doing a lot for me even though I just came in the shower a bit ago. I’d be embarrassed at the wet heat of my core, but his cock jumps against me. I like that he’s carried away too as he dry humps me, only hinting at what we’re playacting.
“Take it. Take me, Abigail,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Is that for effect or is he holding the reins that tightly?
“Yes, my Italian Stallion!” I cry out, clawing at his shoulders for purchase.
Confusion mars his face as he mouths, “Italian Stallion?”
I shake my head and whisper back, “I don’t know, it just came out.”
He grins like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and goes back to thrusting against me with renewed furor. “That’s it, mia rosa. Are you going to come for me?”
Oh, shit. I am.
Like I am . . . for real.
Any sane, rational, reasonable person would tilt their hips and move away from the power of his thrusts to save a little face.
Do I? Absolutely not. If anything, I’m humping him back, riding him like the pony at my sixteenth birthday party.
Don’t laugh . . . it was an amazing blowout. Like I’m about to have . . .
“Yes, yes. Right there, Lorenz-ohh!” He pulls me tight against him, his cock grinding against my clit as he grunts through several short strokes and says something I don’t understand in Italian.
Is he? Did he?
As I float back to Earth and realize what just happened, there’s another knock on the door. This one is harder and louder. “Hey, Abi! We have reservations, you know?” Emily yells through the wood, literally inches away from where I just loudly came on Lorenzo’s cock for real.
But while she’ll think it's part of the newlywed thing, he doesn’t need to know that my knees are knocking and my legs are Jell-O as he lowers me back to the floor.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. One second.” My voice is too high, and as I look at Lorenzo in disbelief, I can’t help but giggle. He looks so . . . tense.
My giggles turn into laughs. “Oh, my God,” I mutter. “I can’t believe—”
I shut up at the dark look in Lorenzo’s eyes. “Ready for dinner, Abigail?”
With that, he opens the door, leading me from a dream to a nightmare.
Heat is the fancy dinner lounge that Emily and Doug lead us to. I have to say, they’re not lying about the name. Unless they just flat-out called it Sex with a Side of Dinner.
It’s like every romantic movie got distilled, remixed, and given a sex club twist. Along one wall is a beautiful mirrored bar complete with a shiny bar top and black leather stools that scream late-night sexual hookups, while the center of the room has been left open as a dance floor that’s certain to lead to other types of seduction.
Even the table booths are private and intimate. A couple could easily go quite a long way toward full-on sex without anyone noticing, and a more adventurous couple could probably get the whole damn thing done.
Surrounding it all is a view of the beach and sea through the wall of open doors that let the sea breeze dance through the space.
Right now, we can’t see the moon, but the light’s still glimmering off the water, taking my breath away as our waitress leads the four of us over to one of the larger booths.
“This is . . . nice,” Doug says lamely, trying to find words and pretty much revealing that he’s never going to be a contestant on Jeopardy!
He’s trying, though he’s the consummate American on a tropical vacation. He’s wearing a tropical shirt, his hair spiked up, and khakis that walk the line of ‘yacht club’ and ‘business attire’.
Honestly, I do have to give him credit for the shirt. It’s a no-bullshit tropical shirt, right down to the orchids and toucans. And the orchids are a beautiful print. I wish I could pluck them right off his shirt and create something with them.
Hmm, I wonder if he got that here? With a little creative stitching, it might be possible to turn the fabric into ribbon strips for some of the more casual affairs I’ll be doing flowers for, I think.
“I like your shirt, Doug,” I tell him. “Where’d you get it?”
He looks down as though he has no idea what he’s wearing. “Oh, this? I think my mom got it for me. A honeymoon gift for the tropics.”
“Oh.” His mom bought his clothes. Seriously? I mean, I go shopping with my mother too, and she’s even bought me gifts for special occasions, but something about the way he said it makes it seem juvenile.
Emily clears her throat, shooting daggers at me.
“Lovely dress,” I tell her as she expects.
But I can’t make the smile reach my eyes because I don’t mean it in the slightest. Emily’s dress is poured on, so tight I’m questioning how the Lycra even stretched that much without ripping.
I’m honestly concerned for her because if it gives way when she sits or eats or moves, we’re going to get a full Monty because it’s readily apparent that Emily is wearing the dress and nothing else, the outline of her nips clear and the shadow of the crease between her legs visible.
Maybe Honeymoon Emily is a little freakier than High School Emily?
Whatever. After what just happened in my suite, maybe I’m a little freakier too because I’m still walking on shaky legs like a newborn baby giraffe.
The way Lorenzo pulled me to him, not quite slamming me against the door but definitely holding me there as he took control .
. . and the way he felt, his hard body pressed against me, his muscles taut and rock hard .
. . the thick, pulsing ridge of his cock through his pants rubbing against my pussy and clit.
And the whole time? I wanted it. Wanted it to be real.
And some of it was . . . like my orgasm.
“Mia rosa?” Lorenzo asks, and I blink, giving him a little smile as I snuggle in tighter next to him in the booth.
The table’s big enough for us to spread out, but the fact is I’m on an actual date, with Lorenzo, who’s pretty much the sexiest man I’ve ever met, in one of the most romantic, seductive settings I could think of.
He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear with a smirk, and I can tell he’s thinking that he’s the one who messed up my hair.
Sexy. So sexy.
About the only negative about this is that it’s fake.
“You know, Abi, I was surprised when I came by your room,” Emily says quietly, as though we’re girlfriends whispering silly secrets. “I didn’t think you were so . . . loud. I always thought you were the Goody Two-Shoes sort. Like a good little schoolgirl?”
The insult is supposed to be sharp, but the truth is, I wasn’t all that good in school. Oh, my grades were excellent, but Vi and I got up to some shit. We were just quiet about it. No need for people who shouldn’t know what we were doing to know, you know?
“Ooh, now there’s a fun idea,” Lorenzo says, taking charge and looking me over. “You know, mia rosa, I went to Catholic school. A girl’s uniform with knee socks and ponytails . . . sounds fun.”
The way he describes the fantasy role-playing sends a little thrill down my spine, and I can’t help but blush a little when he pulls a handful of my hair into a makeshift pigtail on one side. “Honey, you and those powerful appetites of yours. You’re insatiable.”
Lorenzo gives me a smoldering look, again blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, it seems. “When it comes to you, mia rosa, too much is never enough.”
The air burns between us, and my throat goes dry as Lorenzo puts a hand on my knee. Electricity runs up my thigh from where he touches, and my core starts purring again.