Chapter Nineteen Guinevere #3
I moaned, lifting my hips to give him better access. He took control by cupping my ass and canting my pussy to his mouth as if he wanted to drink straight from the well.
He feasted just as he had promised he would if I won the race to the coast. Long, wet swipes of his tongue from the top of my clit to the furl of my ass, again and again, until I was thrashing against the rock, shamelessly begging for more.
He obliged, twisting a finger into my aching pussy while he sucked at my clit.
My orgasm crashed over me like an errant superwave, drenching Raffa’s tongue and hand, dragging me under so that I could not see or hear the scenery, only feel the sensation of him taking me apart at the seams.
The next time, he pinned my hips to the rock with one hand, cheek resting on my inner thigh, and used his other hand to expose my clit from its hood completely, his thumb strumming back and forth gently but insistently over the bundle of nerves.
My entire body jittered as if I was being slowly electrocuted by pleasure, the pressure growing into something so sharp and bright, I was almost scared of it.
“Please, Raffa,” I cried out, unsure if I wanted him to continue until the end of time or stop immediately before my heart gave out.
“Hush, piccola . You can come for me like this. Lasciati andare e inzuppa la mia mano in quella dolce crema. ”
Let go and drench my hand in that sweet cream.
The sound of his filthy words in the round vowels of his accented English and purring Italian cranked the dial so high, I screamed as bolts of pleasure shot through my pussy, curling my fingers and toes until they cramped.
I was as limp and pliant as kneaded dough for the next orgasm, the one I wasn’t sure I could take but Raffa insisted I needed.
“I want you to feel every inch of me as I push into your cunt for the first time,” he told me, ruthlessly pressing two fingers into the front of my pussy and rubbing at a spot that made me see stars across the pretwilight sky.
“I want you to shiver and shudder with every press. I want you shaking and ready to come the moment I am seated to the root inside you.”
“God, Raffa, yes,” I moaned, my mind lost to the currents of lust, embarrassment left behind on the banks somewhere like my discarded clothes. “I need to feel you stretch me open. I’ve been dreaming of it for days. Please, please, please.”
“ La mia dolce cerbiatta ,” he murmured before he lightly flicked his tongue over my highly sensitized clit with just enough pleasure to take me gently over the edge, pulling this orgasm out of me in sweet, pulsing strokes.
He bit and sucked a mark into each inner thigh to count off each orgasm.
I was still gasping from the aftershocks when he covered me with his sun-hot body, his cock a searing brand as it smeared through the wetness between my thighs.
“So swollen and wet,” he murmured, peering between us as he fisted his cock and stroked it through my folds. “It will be hard to take me, but I want you to have every inch.”
“Yes,” I agreed, clutching at him, then raking my nails down his back in an effort to bring him even closer, though his lightly furred chest was already tight to my breasts. “I want to be impaled on you.”
He groaned, dropped his head, and said through gritted teeth, “I want to be rough with you.”
“Yes,” I hissed.
“I want to fuck you so hard and so often you will feel me every day for the rest of the time we have together. The echo of me inside you when we are apart, aching to be filled up again.”
“Fuck, yes ,” I cried as he slotted the head of his wide cock at my entrance and thrust, one smooth, hard glide.
I was too swollen, still too untried, to take all of him in one, but I loved the sensation of him working me open, pulling back and then pulsing forward inch by inch until I could feel his balls pressed to my wet pussy.
“There,” he said, triumph rich in his voice, arms wrapped around my torso so I felt utterly consumed by him. “ Il mio posto felice. ”
My happy place.
His words tied all the pleasure oversaturating my body into bows around my heart, the one I wanted so desperately to carve out of my chest and hand to him.
Before I could say anything, though, he was lifting me, sitting back on his heels so that I was balanced entirely in his lap, one of his hands braced at the curve of my spine to keep me upright and the other twisting my wet hair into a rope to use as reins.
“Hold on,” he warned me before he started thrusting up into me as he simultaneously brought me down using his hold on my back and hair.
Stars exploded behind my eyes, the edge of painful newness eclipsed by the white-bright orgasm already sparking low in my gut.
He fucked me on his cock like I was a doll, and I could not believe I had ever objected to the idea because it was the hottest moment of my life.
His olive-tanned skin was sheened with sweat and corded with muscle like that of an old warrior from ancient Rome, his legs and arms flexing with tension as he brought me up and down over his dick.
The riot of his drying waves had flopped over his forehead into his pale-brown eyes, which were locked on mine without wavering.
“ Cerbiatta mia ,” he grunted as I ground down on his upstroke, using the roughness of his pubic hair to rub against my clit. “ La mia donna. La mia stella cadente. ”
My little fawn. My woman. My shooting star.
I cried out his name over and over, lost to the vast ocean of his sensation, anchored only by his thick cock inside me and his name carved like an ancient secret into the roof of my mouth.
“Raffa,” I sang as I came again, arching in his hold so he had to fight to keep me pinned, grunting as he chased his own orgasm inside me and then cursing in Italian as he came seconds later.
I could feel the heat of him and the kick of his cock as it wrung every last ounce of feeling from my body until I lay limp and utterly used in his arms, head to his shoulder, regaining my breath my only focus.
“ Meus Rex Infernus ,” I murmured against his salty shoulder as he stroked my hair and settled back on his ass to stretch out his legs and hold me close.
It felt right to call him that.
My king below.
Below my skin and muscle and bones through to whatever made up the human soul.
“Thank you,” he said in a raw voice after a long moment. “For the best gift I have ever had.”
My laugh was breathless. “I think it’s me who should be thanking you. I gave you one, you gave me five.”
“You gave me you ,” he corrected, pulling my face from his shoulder so he could kiss my sunburned nose. “When you have not given yourself to anyone else. Not just in this way but ...” He shrugged eloquently. “I may not deserve the light you bring, but I will enjoy the hell out of it while I can.”
“Well, the pleasure is still mine,” I joked, hoping he didn’t hear the break in my voice.
He hummed a noncommittal reply and held me until the last of the jewel-toned hues faded from the sky and cool blues started to set in.
“We should go,” he said at last, lifting me in his arms with a little groan as his knees cracked. “I have something to show you.”
He touched me constantly as we righted our bathing suits and then matched me stroke for stroke as we swam back to the boat, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart.
Everyone was already ready to go when we climbed aboard, the anchor reeled in and the sails lifted. Raffa let Renzo take the helm so he could sit with me in silence on one of the benches across from Ludo, Carmine, and Martina.
I was surprised when they cut the engine as we stopped near an island close to the coastline, by a small collection of other luxury boats moored off the shore for the night, but I was silent as everyone got up as one and stood on the starboard side.
Martina handed out binoculars, and we each lifted them toward a jutting cliffside.
There was just enough light left to make out three speedboats as they slinked one by one from somewhere amid the rock.
“What—” I whispered.
“Hush,” Raffa returned.
I watched as the boats spread out in a V-shaped formation, heading toward Livorno on the other side of the strait, and wondered why this was tonight’s entertainment.
Until I heard the whomp whomp whomp of a helicopter.
Seconds later, a spotlight snapped on over the water, highlighting the speedboats for a moment before they splintered from each other, trying to flee.
A muffled Italian voice ordered something I couldn’t make out over the speakers, and then more lights filled the darkening ocean from the bows of four police speedboats coming from Livorno.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasped, pressing my eyes harder to the binoculars as if that would help me make out the details of the high-speed police chase I was watching.
The police split off to follow each of the three boats, and the helicopter followed the one traveling farther out to sea. The six of us watched until the lights were pinpricks on the inky horizon and we could no longer hear the sound of the helicopter.
I turned to Raffa, hardly able to make out his features in the dark.
“What the hell?”
He laughed, a long string of notes from the belly. Someone snapped on an overhead light and another at the bow of the boat and started the engines again, moving us out from the boats moored for the night and back toward Livorno.
Raffa’s face was creased with smug mischief like that of a teenage boy who had pulled off a wonderful prank.
“I thought you would want to see what your help meant to us.” He gestured to the place the boats had disappeared. “The company that screwed us over with dishonesty was smuggling into the port of Livorno through those shell companies you found. We turned them in to the authorities and ... presto.”
“Oh my gosh,” I laughed as Raffa picked me up and spun me in a tight circle. “That was insane . I felt like I was in a spy film. Feel my heart!” I pressed his hand to my chest when he put me down so he could feel it racing. “Wow. How exhilarating.”
Renzo clamped a heavy hand over my shoulder and gave me a little shake. “If you ever need a job, Vera ?”
Raffa shot him an unamused look, but I was too busy grinning at Renzo to note it. “Oh for sure, buddy. I mean, I knew you guys had to be more than just stuffy investment bankers. Look at you.”
“I think this calls for prosecco,” Martina announced, ducking into the galley to grab it.
“Servio packed sparkling cider for you,” Raffa told me, pulling me into his front and then kissing my temple.
Ludo reached over and offered me his fist to bump.
And not for the first time in Italy, but for the first time with Raffa’s chosen family, I felt at home.