Chapter Eight
Starling
This is going down as the most unusual dinner of my life. Also, the hottest.
“Oh, one more thing,” Enzo says just as they’re about to lead me out of the bedroom. I say "lead" loosely because I’m walking as if I have a toy stuck between my legs in my vagina.
“When this happens…” He switches on the toy, and I jump as if electrocuted. Holy mother of all that is Christmas, my poor virgin body does not know how to handle this ridiculous bolt of sensation.
I wobble, worried I’m going to fall off my heels and land on my face while my body still vibrates. I hold onto a chair with a death grip, my knuckles turning white.
Bigger problems.
I’m going to come before I fall. But just as I’m about to explode, Enzo switches the toy off. I’m still rattled and can barely stand up straight. Also, how cruel.
“If you want us to turn it off during dinner, you will have to kiss whichever one of us is holding the remote. Capisci, principessa?”
I nod, despite not fully understanding what is going on. Who would if they had their body go up in flames just seconds ago? But why can’t I have both—a fierce orgasm while kissing them? I’ve experienced it before, and I really like it.
With this unexpected turn in my lady garden, we’re off to dinner.
Except it’s not just them I’m having dinner with. When they lead me into their very plush dining room, decorated with a white Christmas theme, it’s already filled with people I don’t know at all. I’m looking at a room full of strangers.
My mind swims with names and faces as I’m introduced to them all, but the most memorable are the man they introduce as their mentor, Don, and their grandmother, a formidable woman in her eighties who insists I call her Rosa—her given name—just as everyone else does.
The conversations I try to have are extremely awkward, of course. I talk as if I have something up my vajaja. Oh wait, I do have something up my vajaja.
Their grandmother is very interested in everything I do: my ancestors, my family, my educational background, and my take on whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
I must have answered correctly because she clapped her hands and smiled broadly at me.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was an interrogation.
It happens without any warning. One minute I’m talking to Rosa about my work as a microbiologist; the next, there’s a party in my pants. Okay, I’m not wearing any pants, but if I were…
No. No. No. Not now. What will their grandmother think of me if I start howling out an orgasm right here in front of everyone?
Frantic, my gaze scans the occupants for the culprit. It’s not Enzo. He offers me a devastating smile while in a debate about politics with his uncles, and with a drink in one hand and his other at his side, it’s not him.
I don’t know whether to sit still or start jumping up and down, panicking that I’m seconds away from coming.
“La mia dolce ragazza,” Rosa says, concern in her eyes at my agitated state. “What is the matter?”
Oh, it’s bad, so bad. All I can afford is a huge, strained smile and a shake of my head. Pressing my thighs together makes it worse, but I can hardly sit with my legs parted.
I seek out Marco next. He licks his lip, and his gaze travels down my body, but it’s not him. His hands are free.
Dario. In a right frenzy now, I find Dario. The devil is grinning at me with great amusement. Also, he’s right on the other side of the room.
I make my excuses and practically run to him, although I’m not actually running; I’m doing this odd speed-walk thing that looks as comical as it feels, I’m sure.
I push my way through to him, grab him by the lapels, and attack his mouth. I don’t care who is looking, what they’re saying, or what they’re thinking. I want him to stop this thing before my climax becomes everyone’s problem.
“La mia principessa, did you miss me?” Dario says with a devilish smile curving his lips. He still hasn’t turned the toy off, so I nod enthusiastically that yes, I did miss him, then I kiss him again, harder, because the deal is he would turn it off.
Relief floods through me as Dario turns off the toy. Now all I’m left with is the residue of spasms in my pussy and a blood-red face from embarrassment.
And that’s how my whole night goes as they each take turns ruining me in the most tormenting, delectable way.
I can’t believe how I lose all inhibitions and throw my lips at them, but honestly, I would rather their guests see me kissing them than coming undone.
I don’t know what faces I make and what sound effects come with me, but yes, kissing them is the safer option.
But I’m going to expire right here and now in front of all these people, their family no less. If not that, then I desperately want to run away, strip my clothes, and have them touch me.
I can’t take it anymore. I’m so wet, I’m dripping down my thighs. My body has turned into a feral animal, and I need them to touch me right now.
Please. Please. Please.