Bambalina’s Epilogue
Her limbs are floating, making effortless shapes that defy gravity. The light catches the lift of her arms and the turn of her wrist. Her eyes shine brightly, wistfully, capturing a story told not with words, but with her entire body.
“This one,” I decide, pushing the photograph toward Trilby.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighs. “Perfect.”
A warm hand taps my shoulder. “You have such a talent, Lina.”
I look up at Antonia and smile. “It’s all Tess. I just took the picture.”
“What is it they say? Don’t hide your light under a bushel. Take the credit where it’s due,” she replies, with a wink.
Sera adds the latest picture to the collection. “How many more do we need?”
“I think we have enough now,” Trilby says, straightening. “If you can help me get them blown up to those dimensions, Bamb, I’ll get them hung the night before.”
“It’s such a gorgeous idea,” Antonia says, flopping down on the sofa. “To hold a private showing of beautiful photographs of our Contessa doing what she loves. It’s the perfect celebration of her talent, and yours, Lina. Such a great idea for a bachelorette.”
I arch a brow. “Technically, it won’t be a bachelorette, since it won’t just be us girls.”
Trilby flicks her hand. “We can have some girly drinks at the before-party. I just didn’t want this lovely celebration of her to be missed by the men in her life too.”
“I think it’s going to be perfect,” Sera says with a tear in her eye.
While I collect up the remaining photographs, Antonia shifts her focus to Sera. “How are the plans for the cake coming along?”
Sera stands and makes her way to sit by Antonia on the sofa. “Well, I’ve found these really beautiful ones on Instagram. Can I show you?”
I slide the pictures into my folder and get to my feet.
Antonia looks up as I stand. “Are you heading to Nicolò’s, love?”
“Yeah, as soon as I’ve given Tril what she needs.”
“Great. Please can you remind him his mother still exists and would like to see both of you at dinner sometime?” She narrows her gaze, deviously. “I feel like ever since he got that place he’s been hiding you away and keeping you all to himself.”
I laugh to conceal a small blush. “I’ll tell him.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m opening Nicolò’s front door with the key he gave me. I can smell a delicious seafood risotto cooking from his painstakingly immaculate kitchen, which draws my feet in that direction.
When I reach the doorway, I stand and watch for a few long seconds and try not to drool. Nicolò is wearing the gray sweatpants I love and a loose white t-shirt that shows the ink beneath the cotton when he passes under the light.
His biceps flex as he stirs the pot, and his firm shoulders thicken when he reaches for more salt. His hair is damp from the shower and the smell of masculine shampoo fills the room. I could stand here and watch him and smell him all day.
But then he turns, sees me undressing him with my eyes, and stalks over to lay a hard kiss on my lips.
Pulling me close with one hand, he murmurs into my mouth. “It took you long enough.”
“I got caught up,” I reply, utterly breathless.
He pulls back and gives me a cool look. “Did you bring it?”
I run a tongue over my top teeth and cock a brow. “Yes. It’s right here.” I drop my journal onto the counter. Without glancing at it, his lips tease into a smile.
He holds my face in his hands and thumbs my lower lip. “Are you hungry?”
My lashes blink up at him. “Not yet.”
“Right answer,” he says, releasing me to turn back to the stove. Turning off the heat, he reaches beneath the counter to the rack below and pulls out a bottle of red wine. It’s the exact same one I picked out at the grocery store.
Wrapping one arm around my middle, he lifts me easily and I loop my legs around his waist. I grab my journal just in time as he walks out of the kitchen carrying me and the bottle of wine. When we reach his bed, he lowers me onto it and places the bottle on his bedside table.
“Read your latest entry while I undress you,” he orders.
Obliging willingly, I lay back and open my journal to the most recent page.
This has become something of a ritual. I write out my fantasies, exploring my sexual desires, and he makes them happen for me.
At first I was embarrassed to read him what I’d written, but as he rightly reminded me, he’d read a lot already and it hadn’t put him off. Far from it. It turned him on.
The first two times I read out loud, I couldn’t believe the impact my fantasies had on him.
He would sit on the edge of the bed, his knees spread, his back bowed forward in an attempt to control himself, his cock raised between his thighs like a weapon.
And he would listen closely, like his life depended on it.
No sooner had I spoken the last word than I would be on my back, being stripped naked, ready to have my fantasies brought to life.
This one today though, it’s different. I’ve never done to him what I’ve been fantasizing about. And I really want to.
Looking up into a dark, impatient gaze, I take a breath, lick my lips and begin.
He slowly unbuttons my jeans and tugs them over my hips while I lay back on the bed and set the scene.
In my fantasy we’re sitting in a secluded booth in the Bellucci’s Jersey City club.
I’ve no idea what it’s like inside, and I’ve no desire to actually go there, but Nicolò told me all about it, and it sounds sexy and dark and full of delicious secrets.
I hold the journal with one hand as he slips my arm through a sleeve, then switch hands so he can undress the other side of me.
By the time I reach the part where I get on my knees and pull the belt through the loop of his pants, I’m stripped to my underwear and his breath is pumping raggedly.
I pull the zipper down and his cock is so hard it leaps through the opening of his boxers.
He sits back on his ankles, still fully clothed. “Fuck, yes.” His voice is as smooth and thick as leather.
The curtains are pulled around but there’s still only a thin wall of fabric between us and the rest of the clientele, but the thought of someone seeing or hearing us just turns me on more.
“Quite the little exhibitionist, aren’t you, baby?” he murmurs with a dark smile.
I look down at his sweats and he’s hard already, listening to my story. So, holding my journal in one hand, I slide to the floor and motion for him to lower his legs over the edge. They drop to either side of my knees, bringing his cock directly in line with my face.
I rest the book face down and smooth both hands up over the round of his thighs. He sucks in a tense breath, and when I look up, his eyes are like sharp spears slicing through my armor.
Grinding his teeth, he watches my small fingers reach for his waistband and tug it down.
He presses his fists into the comforter, lifting himself off the bed, so I can pull his sweats to the floor.
Just like in my fantasy, his length is pushing against the opening of his boxers, making my mouth water.
I stroke my hand down the opening and he contains a low growl at the base of his throat. All it takes is a small push against the material and his cock springs free. His gaze heats the top of my head like a furnace. When I look up into his burning eyes, he grinds out one more word.
“Read.”
With trembling fingers, I lift my journal and keep reading.
I love looking at his cock. It’s beautiful, especially when it’s so hard and it’s all for me. I’ve wanted to touch it and taste it for so long. I wrap my hand around the base…
As I read the words, I carry out the actions, loving the sound of him losing all control above me.
It’s hard to believe something with this length and thickness has been inside my body, giving me so much pleasure. I slide my fingers up to the crown and stroke my thumb over the rim. It’s softer than I expected, and so smooth.
I can’t wait any longer. I have to taste him. I want to give him as much pleasure as he’s given me. I pull the head toward me and part my lips, then I swirl my tongue around the crown.
I lay the book on the floor because I just tasted Nicolò’s cock for the first time and I can’t read anymore. I need more of him, and now. I dip my tongue again and it comes away salty and wet. I flick a gaze up to him.
His pupils are so blown his eyes could be black. The muscles along his shoulders, across his chest and down his arms are taut and rippling with each exhalation.
“That’s pre-cum,” he rasps. “You got me wound up with one fucking lick.”
“Is—is that normal?” I ask.
“It’s perfectly normal for it to happen,” he says, tightly. “But not for it to happen so fucking fast. You turn me on so much I can barely breathe.”
Without another thought, I part my lips again, and holding his gaze, I slide the crown of his cock into my mouth.
His head falls back. “Christ almighty,” he breathes.
I take that as a good sign and draw more of him into my mouth. When he hits the back of my throat, I gag.
“Not too much,” he says, dragging his eyes back to me. “It’s your first time—this is deep enough for now.”
My eyes pop. Is it meant to go deeper? How is that even physically possible?
His fingers gently hold my face, helping me find a rhythm, and I suck on him as he moves my mouth up and down his length.
I’m so wet between my legs, I’m sure I’m going to drip onto the floor, but this is so freaking hot.
I love having him at my mercy like this.
It seems to be blowing his mind and I can’t believe I’m the one doing it.
His thighs either side of my shoulders are rigid and hot, the opening of his boxers stretching around his girth.
I want to do more. I want to reach for his balls and hold them in the palm of my hands, lick them, tease them, make him so hot he can’t speak. But a firm but gentle hand pushes me back onto my heels and draws my gaze back to his.
He shakes his head.
“Bed,” he commands. “On your back.”
I do as I’m told, feeling mildly disappointed. “Was that not good?”