16. Portia
16
PORTIA
One kiss is all it takes to erase my resolve.
Rafael crushes his lips to mine and any fight I have grinds into dust. His hand on my throat. His heavy body pushing me back against the limousine’s cushions. The way he prods my thighs apart and wedges his knee in between, taking me over.
Taking charge and laying claim.
All of it undoes me. I’m unraveling on the spot.
Excitement sparks through me while lust heats a direct path to my pussy. A year and a half worth of neediness reaches a sudden and unpredictable fever pitch.
Every day I’ve gone without Rafael Calderone’s touch adds up. Every second suddenly feels too long.
I’ve lasted as long as I could. I’ve fought as hard and valiantly as possible and yet here I am, surrendering to him.
He kisses me hard, his grip giving a light squeeze at the sides of my throat. A whimper leaves me, my fingers clutching at his chest, my once classy dress riding up my thighs. He reacts to even my subtlest move. At the slight part of my lips, he’s switching our angle. He’s kissing me deeper, tasting my bottom lip.
Tart wine and sugary dessert and the taste of desire.
It spurs him on with a rough groan.
When I wrap a leg around his back, he pins me against the leather and grinds his hips into me. His body, so warm and rigid to the touch, is like an instrument of pleasure. His erection, so thick and swollen from inside his suit pants, feels even bigger than I remember.
I moan into his mouth as he strokes a hand up my bare thigh and we kiss like time’s about to run out. The clock will drop to zero and we’ll never get this chance again.
This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity must be savored.
It must be stretched as far as it possibly can go; we can’t stop now.
I’m on edge, my pussy throbbing with an emptiness only he can fill. No one else but Rafael Calderone will do.
His skilled tongue traces the inside of my mouth. Mine meets his, thrashing together in a dance of passion and lust that leaves us heaving for air.
I tear away at his suit jacket ’til it’s pushed down his shoulders and I’m fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt instead. Rafael’s hands glide up the underside of my thighs and then fill with my ass cheeks. He gives them a rough squeeze as he sits up and literally lifts me by the ass and thighs. I’m plopped into his lap, now astride him.
I realize why a split second later when he shoves down the straps of my dress and cups of my bra and greedily takes a breast into his mouth.
I arch against him and cry out, forgetting all about the buttons on his shirt.
Instant pleasure shoots through me. His warm, wet mouth sucks away at the supple flesh and then teases the hard bead that’s my nipple.
His name falls from my lips as he moves onto the second breast and inflicts the same torturous pleasure.
It’s how we undress—in between crushing kisses and rough fondling, he sucks on my breasts and shreds my dress. I strip off his belt and drag down his pants zipper so I can wrap my fingers around his erection.
The limousine rocks along with us, swaying from our aggressive, entangled movements.
We don’t stay in one place.
The entire backseat becomes our playground as I gyrate my hips against Rafael and kiss his jawline. He releases an impatient growl and then pins me back down on the seat. My thighs part instinctually, making room for him to fit himself in between as he holds my wrists and recaptures my lips.
How we even ended up in the back of this limo is long forgotten.
I’m not even sure if I could say how I’ve wound up with Rafael tonight if asked.
The only thing I know in the moment is Rafael’s kiss. His lips sealed over mine. His tongue filling my mouth ’til pleasure pulses through me like an electrical current.
But we’re only getting started. He makes that clear as he shoves aside my panties. His fingers glide over my pussy lips, the touch featherlight and teasing. I’m so needy, so turned on, that even the pads of his fingers make me moan. The sound becomes whiny and petulant as he silences me with more deep kisses.
Rafael circles my clit. He teases the little throbbing bead, fully aware what he’s doing to me. Intentional in how he works me up ’til I’m writhing and panting beneath him.
“Let’s get one thing straight, dolcezza ,” he growls, kissing his way up to my ear. The gritty sound of his makes me vibrate in place. He nips at my ear and then strokes two fingers into me. “No other man gets to have you. No other man even gets to think about you.”
My spine bows off the leather seat as his fingers sink deep, curling inside me at just the right spot.
He knows this.
He knows exactly how to work his fingers, adding more pressure, stimulating the little ridge he’s found deep inside.
“No other man gets you because you’re fucking mine,” he rumbles into my ear as my mouth drops open in a silent cry of pleasure. “I’m the only man who makes you come just like this.”
My orgasm wipes me out like a tidal wave. My pussy’s clenching around his fingers, a flurry of tingles spreading far and fast through my body.
He keeps me pinned where I am and watches as I fall apart. His dark eyes gleam, drinking in the sight.
And yet still his fingers have not let up. They’re buried inside me, pressing down on my sweet spot. Wave after wave of pleasure follows ’til my body’s going numb and my nails leave scratch marks on his chest.
When he’s good and satisfied, he withdraws fingers slicked with my arousal and then licks them up.
“ Sempre così dannatamente delizioso ,” he says.
I’m so delirious, I barely consider what he could be saying. I’m more concerned about the swollen piece of flesh jutting out between his thighs. His erection drips with precum, the pearly essence making me wet my lips.
He strokes himself, breathing raggedly. Gaze still set unblinkingly on me, his expression’s more than hunger. It’s ravenous starvation, like it’s painful for him to hold back any longer.
“ Dolcezza , I don’t have a condom,” he husks out.
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone since…”
You.
He understands.
A hint of a grin starts at the corner of his mouth. He covers my body with his, kissing my lips as if to communicate the same.
Letting me know there’s no other woman in the picture.
“I’m a busy man,” he says, spreading his kisses to my jaw, then throat. “And when I decide who I want, no one else will do.”
His words, spoken in a huskier, lower register than usual, make me shudder.
Our gazes locked, he rubs his thick girth along my pussy lips and then guides himself inside. I grab at his muscled back, my nails sinking into his hot flesh.
The pain is immediate despite how turned on and aroused I am.
I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the sound I’m making, trying to mask it by adding a hum from my throat.
But Rafael picks up on it. He pauses, cupping my cheek to turn my face back up toward his.
“ Dolcezza , tell me what you need,” he says. “Am I too much?”
“Sometimes…” I swallow, still flushed. “Sometimes my condition makes this a little painful. But keep going. I can get through it.”
“This isn’t something to get through. It’s something that should make you feel fucking good.”
“We can try… sometimes if I’m on top.”
Rafael needs no further convincing.
In no less than a second, he’s maneuvering us. I’m in his lap with his thick dick tall and erect. He brushes hair behind my ears and tells me to use him.
“Whatever makes you feel good, dolcezza ,” he says. “I’ll get off regardless.”
It takes me another moment to go for it. Another moment where I’m pushing away any bad memories with Lincoln where nothing seemed to work and focusing on this moment with Rafael.
This is different.
I grip him by the shoulder and curl my other hand around his dick. Lining us up at a better angle, I slowly sink down on him. A small cry bubbles out of me… but not necessarily from pain. It’s from how thick and full I feel even before he’s all the way inside me.
He kisses me on the mouth. “Better?”
I rest my forehead against his and process the thickness filling me up. I nod and kiss him back. “Your dick is so big,” I moan. “But it feels so good.”
“Then fuck yourself, dolcezza . Fuck this tight little pussy on my big dick.”
He settles against the leather cushions of the limousine, folding his arms behind his head, and winks at me.
I smirk and decide to take him up on his challenge.
If the limo was rocking before, it’s shaking as if an earthquake has come through now.
I start off slow, gyrating my hips to find the movement that feels best. The depth of penetration that lets me take more of him without any pain. Soon I find a rhythm, meeting Rafael’s gaze as I do what he’s asked.
I fuck myself on his big cock. I use him to get myself off.
He enjoys every second of it. My bouncing breasts hypnotize him. His dick throbs inside me as I ride him. He reaches around and fills his palms up with my ass.
Any concept of discomfort no longer exists.
Pleasure rises up inside me and heats my skin on the outside.
I’m panting and bobbing up and down, clawing at his broad shoulders and chest. I’ve never been so carefree, so desperate for release that I’m in the backseat of a limousine fucking myself on the biggest cock I’ve ever taken.
The passion between us leaves no room for rational thought. For me to consider how tonight has wound up like this.
How my dress has ended up on the floor of a limo while Rafael Calderone’s dick is buried inside my pussy.
We’ve surrendered to the moment as I bounce on him and he gropes my ass and guides me along. We collide midway for more kisses that take our breath away. Our bodies slap together and the entirety of planet earth feels like it’s moving with us as we crash into each other again and again.
Cries of pleasure echo in the tight space. Rafael’s throaty grunts juxtapose the sharper sobs that tumble past my lips.
We work our bodies ’til we’re on the cusp of coming.
My hips gather speed, gyrating harder against him, driving us to the brink.
I tip my head back as my orgasm strikes and I seize up, no longer able to function. The intensity is too great, tingling sparks blasting off from within.
Rafael gropes my ass cheeks and then picks up where I’ve left off. I’m lifted as he thrusts up into me and feels every contraction my pussy gives. He groans at how good it feels and crushes his lips to mine in a final passionate, full-mouthed kiss.
It’s sloppy and wet and leaves us panting for air when we finally separate. But as Rafael spills his warm release inside me, it feels like a fitting ending.
We lost complete control and gave in in every way imaginable.
I giggle and bury my face into his neck. “What just happened?”
Rafael’s still palming my ass. His other hand sweeps up my bare spine as he grabs the back of my neck and brings my face toward his. “You stopped fighting what’s between us, dolcezza .”
* * *
I hardly sleep at all that night. Rafael suggests I spend the night at his penthouse apartment, but I turn him down, citing work the next day.
“I own the station,” he points out. “It doesn’t matter when you show up.”
“It does to me. Some other time.”
But I’m not so sure I’m being honest once he drops me off at my place and I twist the lock in the door. Jayla’s fallen asleep on the couch to a D-List movie she’s streamed on Tubi, the remote limp in her hand and soft snores gusting out of her.
I pad over and sneak the remote out of her grasp so I can turn off the TV.
She jolts awake, arms and legs flopping about on the couch. “Hmm? I was watching that!”
“More like you were knocked out, down for the count.”
“What time is it?” She sits up, rubbing at her eyes.
I glance at my phone screen. “Just after midnight.”
Three words that seem to put the battery in Jayla’s back. She leaps off the couch to follow me down the hall. An impish grin spreads onto her face. “Midnight and you’re just now getting back from the Iverson and Gatz match? Wasn’t that over hours ago?”
“None of your business.”
She runs ahead, cutting me off halfway down the hall. Her hooded eyes rove over me in careful appraisal, noting telltale details about my night. Everything from the wrinkles in my dress, the mussed tendrils framing my face, and the lipstick that’s long since faded. Even the vague bruises on my knees from where Rafael and I got a little carried away rolling around the backseat of the limousine.
A shrill squeal leaves her that makes me flinch. “OH SHIT!” she cries out, clapping her hands and jumping. “You fucked him, sissy! You definitely fucked him!”
“SHHHHHH!” I silence, pressing a finger to my lips. “I think the neighbors on the top floor didn’t hear you.”
The giggle she releases almost makes me giggle. It’s so girlish, so immature in a way, but at the same time so Jayla.
It reminds me of the times we were young girls and we’d giggle over a cute boy or trade stories about our first kisses.
As composed and apathetic as I want to be, I can’t help giving in. A smile cracks through, softening my expression.
“How was it?” she asks. “As good as the time in Sicily? Tell me you didn’t fuck in the public restroom at the stadium!”
“No,” I say quickly. “Give me some credit. It was… um, in the back of his limo.”
The squeals Jayla lets out give the previous ones a run for their money. I clap hands over my ears as she erupts in a mix of laughs and cheers.
“Yessss!” she yells, whooping the air. “That’s my sissy! Getting it in in a whole-ass limousine like the queen she is! Love that for you!”
“You are the worst. Wait ’til next time you smash some guy. I promise I’ll have a megaphone ready. And Mom and Dad on Facetime.”
“Now you know you’re wrong for that, sissy.”
She shadows me as I move from the hall into my bedroom. As I unpin my earrings and kick off my heels, she’s bursting with question after question.
“Why didn’t you spend the night at his place?”
“He asked me to. I chose not to.”
“Was he mad about Iverson flirting with you on camera?”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“Was Adagio with him?”
I cast her a raised eyebrow look. “I thought it was just a one-time thing?”
She smirks, giving a shrug and plopping down on the edge of my bed. “Hey, when in Rome…”
“Except we’re not in Rome. We’re not even in Sicily. This was… this was just a fluke. I wasn’t thinking straight. Don’t count on anything else coming from it.”
“Sure, girl. That’s what you’ve been saying. Rafael Calderone has made it clear he ain’t the type to give up easily. Keep things casual, but no use cutting him off yet. The man is wining, dining, and fucking you just right. What’s there to complain about?”
I can’t bring myself to answer Jayla.
Mostly because… she’s right. What is there to complain about if Rafael is treating me so well and I’m equally as attracted and drawn to him?
Yet as I pull open a dresser drawer and dig out a pair of PJs, I’m reminded just why I’m so resistant.
Almost two years later, the disappointment still echoes inside me. The suddenness with which he changed his mind terrifies me. What if it happens again? What if this time it’s worse?
* * *
I’m out in the field the next day, intentionally avoiding the office. I tell Baron I’m researching the latest story we’ve been reporting on—a local controversy about a brawl that broke out at a bakery—and I use the time to clear my head.
While it’s true I do turn up at the bakery to interview the owner, I’m also still processing last night. Clips of the fight have gone viral on social media, including the segment where I interviewed Quinard Iverson and he flirted with me.
His kissy face once he won the match has garnered fifteen million TikTok views. So has Rafael’s reaction, sparking a viral debate about messing with a billionaire businessman.
There’s even TikToks joking about Rafael hiring the mafia to “handle” Iverson that are trending.
“I’d be careful if I were Quinard!” laughs one Tiktoker. “Rafael Calderone might call in the reinforcements! Il Diavolo just might end up at his door!”
“Listen, I wouldn’t want to mess with Quinard Iverson and that two piece he serves,” says another Tiktoker, shaking his head. “But I also wouldn’t want to mess with an Italian businessman who probably has the mob on speed dial. We don’t want no Diavolo shenanigans popping off!”
I’d laugh if I weren’t already so shaken by Rafael.
He had stood up to Iverson so effortlessly, so boldly. Most men, even extremely wealthy men, would be afraid of a man whose fists were literally registered as lethal weapons. Yet Rafael hadn’t flinched, staring at Iverson almost murderously, like he was on his hit list.
My mind is full of these thoughts as I go on a side quest from my research on the bakery brawl story. I turn up outside Benjamin Sigler’s apartment building for the third time in a week. I’m approaching the door that’s supposed to be his apartment only to find a stout man stepping out and fishing for his ring of keys.
“Excuse me,” I say, flashing my press badge. “Is this Benjamin Sigler’s apartment? Portia James with Newport Metro News. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for a story.”
“You’re wasting your time,” he grunts. “Benjamin Sigler’s dead.”
I’m shocked enough that I stammer. “Oh… I wasn’t aware… I saw him last week.”
“Recent development. Putting his place up for rent. That’s all I can tell ya, so unless you’re here to fill out an application, scram!”
No wonder Sigler hasn’t been answering my texts. He didn’t ghost me after his info was wrong about the shipment; he passed away.
“But how?” I mutter to myself, hopping on the subway.
An eerie sensation creeps over me. It could be a coincidence that Benjamin Sigler provided me insider info about the Bellucci’s next drug shipment and then wound up dead.
…or it could be something much more sinister.
“There you are!” exclaims Baron the second I walk through the door at the news station. “Tell me you got to interview the bakery owner?”
“Done. I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” I ask before stopping in my tracks.
There’re two dozen red roses on my desk. The vibrant flowers are freshly cut and gorgeous, dressed up in a glass vase and satin ribbon.
I’m speechless reaching for the delicate notecard attached.
Belle rose per una bella donna
-R
I look up at the glass wall that cordons off our department from the rest of the floor. Rafael happens to be standing in the hall talking with Finkle and another assistant director. As if waiting for the moment I’d glance over, his gaze meets mine. He winks at me, then returns to his conversation as though he hasn’t made yet another obvious gesture.
“Yeah, about that,” Baron says, folding his arms. “Who are these from? You know how unprofessional it is to get roses delivered to your desk? And where did you disappear off to last night? You left at the same time as Mr. Calderone. Did you know you two have gone viral on TikTok for that tiff with Iverson, Portia? Portia!”
Mind made up, I’ve shot toward the door. Striding into the hall, I crush the notecard into a crumpled ball passing by Rafael and the others. It gets tossed into the first trashcan I come across.
My silent-but-not-so-subtle response to what he’s done.
It’s a message that’s loud and clear in its own way.
I’m not interested.