Chapter 5 #2
As soon as she’s comfortably lying back on the bed, I push her thighs open wider and lower my mouth to her pussy again, using the fingers of both hands to hold her open and fully expose her clit, before restarting the sweeps of my tongue against it, beginning slowly and steadily getting faster.
After a few moments I feel her begin to move with me and I smile as I realise she’s finally allowing herself to relax into the sensations and enjoy what I’m doing to her.
Her hands grip the duvet on either side of her legs as I bring her closer and closer to the release she’s clearly desperate for now.
‘Oh my God… Oh my God…’ She pants as her back arches off the bed and she pushes herself against my mouth. I suck down, then sweep my tongue over and over her, feeling her shaking, twisting and throbbing beneath me as she comes hard, a low, guttural moan piercing the quiet of the bedroom.
And I’m in heaven. There’s nothing I love more than making a woman come, but for some reason it’s even more satisfying with Juno. Perhaps because I was worried it’d be hard to get her to trust me and relax. But that wasn’t the case here.
She certainly seems very fucking relaxed right now.
I look up to see her gazing back at me with a look of absolute wonder on her face.
‘Oh my goodness, what did you do to me? I thought I was going to implode with the intensity of it.’
I grin, delighted she’s so appreciative of my skills.
‘I dreamt about doing that to you all night.’
‘Really?’
‘Si. And it was even more enjoyable than I imagined.’ I get up and crawl over her, then flop down next to her on the bed, turning to look into her deep-blue eyes.
‘I love the way you respond to me when you let go. It’s so natural. So visceral. A real fucking turn-on.’
‘Do you… want me to… do something for you?’
With difficulty, I shake my head. ‘No. This is about you. What you want.’
‘What if I want to give you pleasure?’
I wave the suggestion away, my head telling me it’s the right thing to do but my body groaning in protest. ‘You already have.’
She starts to protest but I cut her off. If I don’t get out of here right now, I’m afraid I’ll give in and take her up on her offer. But I really can’t right now. We need to take this slowly, eke out the pleasure and anticipation of it.
Pleasure delayer, that’s me.
‘Get dressed. We’re going out for breakfast,’ I mutter roughly, turning away before she can see the war raging behind my eyes.
* * *
Juno
My body is still humming as we stroll slowly through the bright morning sunshine to a pavement café in the Piazza della Repubblica, where we can watch the bustle of the farmers’ market going on around us.
The place is alive with colours, smells and lively chatter and I sink gratefully into my chair and order a double espresso and a rich, buttery pastry for my breakfast, very much enjoying the feeling of being a part of this wonderful scene.
I’m absolutely famished and when the food arrives, I can’t get it into my mouth fast enough.
It’s strange, but after my experiences with Sandro last night and this morning I feel as though something’s changing inside me.
It’s as though I’ve woken up from a deep sleep to find everything feels about a hundred times more intense and, somehow, real.
Life’s brighter, sharper, louder and has more depth.
Perhaps it’s just the dopamine rushing through my veins, but something instinctively tells me that it’s not just that.
It’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Every time I glance over at him my whole body heats with the memory of what he did to it, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to try and dull the greedy ache for more.
I can’t stop thinking about the way his dark head looked, moving between my legs earlier.
My body gives another throb of longing and I shuffle impatiently in my chair.
What the hell is happening to me? I’ve never felt wired like this before – as if every nerve in my body is humming with electricity.
‘So, what do you do with your time when you’re not house-sitting for your father’s mistress or teaching na?ve young women how to have a good time in bed?
’ I ask in an attempt to put the thought of sex out of my mind for at least a few minutes.
I suspect it’s going to become increasingly difficult to do that when I’m around him. He’s sex personified.
‘At the moment I’m trying to set up an affordable artists’ co-operative in London with a friend of mine, but we’re constantly being outbid by the big property development companies for the sort of premises we need.
Ideally, we want to find a big, airy building with large windows to let in lots of light, but of course those types of properties are also ideal for loft-style apartments. ’
I frown in sympathy. ‘Sorry to hear that. It must be frustrating to keep being out-bid.’
‘Yeah.’ His expression darkens as he appears to reflect on exactly how frustrating he finds it.
‘I have the money – my favourite great-aunt left a decent chunk to me – but I don’t have much experience in buying property and there’s no way I’m asking my father or brothers for help.
They’d laugh me out of the room if I told them what I was doing.
None of them think I’ve got the skills to pull something like that off. ’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you absolutely do have the skills.
You’re obviously dedicated to the idea, and it sounds like you’re trying your hardest to make it work against fierce competition.
You probably just need a bit more time for the right place to come along, and a bit of luck so you can get in there first.’
He lets out a grunt that could either be a gruff acknowledgement or a dismissal of my optimism.
‘So why an artists’ co-operative?’ I ask, in an attempt to flip the mood back to a less stressful subject.
He pauses for a moment before answering, his gaze on the empty espresso cup he’s rolling between his hands. ‘Because artists get a raw deal and I wanted to help others get a foot in the door. It’ll provide a support network as well as a space to create.’
‘Do you make art yourself?’ I ask, still not able to make the connection with him and artists in my head.
‘Yeah. I sculpt.’ The expression in his eyes is wary, as if I might not find this a fitting activity for a man like him.
‘Really?’ I’m surprised by this admission.
It really wasn’t what I was expecting him to say.
Not that I know exactly what I was expecting.
I guess I thought he just drifted around, partying and giving women pleasure, and perhaps that he believed being philanthropic towards a bunch of cool artists would make him look good. How very shallow of me.
‘Yeah. It’s something I’ve loved to do since I was a kid, but my father discouraged it as a career.
He doesn’t think it’s a masculine enough pursuit for a Ricci.
’ He shakes his head as if this has been a bone of contention for years.
‘He wanted me to go into the family business like my older brothers, but I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t sit at a desk all day in a stuffy office.
It drove me crazy. I need to have space and be able to move about and breathe. ’
‘So you’re actually an artist?’
He lets out a disparaging snort. ‘Nah. I’ve never sold a piece and that’s what counts, right?
There’s a lot of competition out there and I’m not great at the whole marketing side of things.
It takes smarts I don’t have. That’s why I’m so keen to make this co-operative successful, so I can work with other people that can help me with that side of things, and I can concentrate on the stuff I’m actually good at. ’
I frown at that. ‘You know, you come across as a pretty smart guy to me.’
He gives another snort. ‘Well, I can read and write, but I struggle with staying focussed on stuff that doesn’t interest me.
I’d never be able to run my own business like my brothers are going to.
Not that I’d want that.’ I can tell how much this affects his pride by the way his hands grip the coffee cup.
As if sensing my thoughts, he puts the cup down and sits back, waving a hand to show me he doesn’t really care.
‘I wasn’t exactly a model student at school.
I hated sitting still at a desk there, so my grades were awful.
The only reason I passed the most basic of exams is because I was fucking my maths teacher at the time. ’
He flashes me a wry grin but all I can do is stare back at him, shocked by this piece of information.
‘How old were you?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘And how old was she?’
‘In her mid-twenties.’
‘And she asked you to have sex with her in exchange for giving you a good grade? That’s such an abuse of power!’
He shrugs, as if it’s of no consequence.
‘I was getting really close to being kicked out, which would not have pleased my father. It would have reflected badly on the whole family. Though it wasn’t exactly a chore – she was a beautiful woman…
I liked her a lot.’ He picks up the coffee cup again and examines it as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
‘At the time, anyway. Not so much after I found out I wasn’t the only one she was fucking. ’
More horror slides through me. ‘She was sleeping with other pupils too?’