Julia
Chapter Thirteen
If I am beautiful, then what are you, my treasure?
The Italian words are a warm and seductive caress over my skin. His hands are on my hips, the heat of them searing me through the lace of my panties.
I have no answer.
I have no words.
All I have is the sight of him, naked in the firelight. I have the memory of Harrison's body—always fit, always meticulously maintained, as if he were an expensive car he were polishing.
He'd stand before me, proud and preening, and I’d feel nothing. No. Worse than nothing. I’d feel a sense of dread, a quiet checklist in my head of all the ways I was supposed to respond.
But Ricardo...
The sight of him robs me of breath.
It's not just that he is handsome. It's not just that he is well-built, with broad shoulders and a chest that narrows to lean hips that lead down to... oh God.
It's the sheer, unapologetic masculinity of him. There is no preening here. No posturing. He is simply… a man. Comfortable in his skin. And he is looking at me as if I am a feast laid out before him.
And I am hungry. I am so, so hungry.
I have been starving.
"I want..." I start, but the words catch in my throat. Because I don't know where to start. I want to touch him. I want to taste him. I want him to touch me and taste me and fill me up until there is no room left for anything else.
I reach out, my hand trembling as I place it on his chest, over his heart. I can feel the steady, strong beat of it under my palm, a rhythm that feels more real, more honest, than anything I have felt in a long, long time.
My fingers drift lower, caressing the taut skin below his navel, a path I am suddenly desperate to follow.
Ricardo's breath hitches. "Julia..."
His hands tighten on my hips, and he pulls me flush against him.
And then I feel it.
Hard and hot and impossibly big, pressing against my stomach.
A wave of heat washes over me, so intense it makes me dizzy.
I have never wanted anything more in my entire life.
I look up at him, my eyes wide with a wonder I don't even try to hide. And he wants me back. It's as simple as that.
It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that.
The simplicity of that undoes me completely.
My last bit of reserve dissolves. I am not thinking. I am not second-guessing. I am not hearing another man's voice in my head.
I am only feeling.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his head down to mine, and I kiss him.
It's hot and hungry and desperate. I pour everything into it. All the lonely years, all the stifled desires, all the shame and the anger and the hurt.
He meets me, thrust for thrust, passion for passion, his hands moving from my hips to cup my bottom, pulling me even closer, grinding against me until a soft cry escapes my lips.
I can feel the damp lace of my panties rubbing against his bare skin, and the friction is delicious. The material is so wet, so slick, and each movement sends a fresh jolt of pleasure straight to my core.
I want more.
I need more.
I tear my mouth from his, gasping for breath.
"Ricardo," I pant, my head falling back. "Please..."
"Tell me," he growls, his lips now on my throat, his teeth nipping at my skin. "Tell me what you want."
"I want... I want you," I manage to say. "I want you inside me."
His grip on me tightens. "Are you sure?"
I nod, a quick, jerky motion. "Yes. God, yes. I'm sure."
He lifts his head, and his eyes are dark with a desire that is so fierce it takes my breath away.
"What else?" he asks. "Is that all?"
My breath catches. "What else is there?"
He gives me a slow, seductive smile. "“Ah, preziosa mia," he murmurs. "There is so much more."
And then he is guiding me, lowering me down onto the pile of blankets and pillows in front of the fire.
He kneels between my legs, and for a long moment, he just looks at me.
His gaze is so intense, so possessive, it feels like a physical touch. He looks at me as if I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and I feel a blush spread across my chest and cheeks.
But I don't look away.
I let him look.
Slowly, he leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to my stomach.
I shudder, my hands clutching the blanket beneath me.
He smiles against my skin, then begins to trace a path with his tongue, following the line of freckles down toward my navel. He is in no hurry. He is exploring me, learning me, and every touch, every kiss, is a revelation.
He is worshipping me.
And I have never felt so worshipped in my entire life.
My hips begin to move, a restless, seeking rhythm, and I can feel my arousal building, a slow, delicious fire that is spreading through my veins.
His hands slide up my thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin, and then higher, to the edge of my panties.
He hooks his fingers in the lace, and stops to give me a questioning look.
This is it. The last barrier.
I nod, a silent, breathless assent.
Slowly, torturously, he pulls the panties down my legs. I lift my hips to help him, and then the damp fabric is gone, and I am completely naked.
He tosses the panties aside, and then he is looking at all of me. I can feel the heat of his gaze like a brand on my skin.
I should feel vulnerable. I should feel shy.
But I don't.
I feel… free. I feel powerful. I feel desired.
I spread my legs wider, a silent invitation that I never thought I’d have the courage to make.
His breath hitches, and a low, guttural sound escapes his lips.
"Julia," he breathes. "You are going to be the death of me."
And then, before I can even process the words, he is moving.
He lowers himself over me, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of my head. His hard cock presses against my wet, aching center, and a soft cry escapes my lips.
For a second, I think he's going to press into me, and that'll be that. But that's not what he does.
He lowers his head and kisses me slowly. It's a deep, drugging kiss that leaves me lightheaded and breathless.
I kiss him back, my hands sliding up his back, my nails digging into his skin. I want to crawl inside him, to lose myself in him, to become a part of him.
But just as I'm settling into the kiss, his lips leave mine and move down to my neck, my collarbones, then my breasts.
He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and I cry out, my back arching off the blankets.
He gives the other one the same attention, until I am a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, my body begging for something more.
And then he starts to kiss his way down my stomach, then lower still, a path of fire that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
My breath catches.
I know where he's going.
I know what he's about to do.
The thing I never had the courage to ask Harrison for.
The thing I know would've made a look of disgust cross his face.
The thing I was always ashamed to want but did anyway.
Ricardo grabs one of the pillows and gently lifts my hips, sliding it underneath me. Then he settles between my legs and slides his hands up and down my thighs, murmuring something to me in Italian.
"What are you saying?" I pant.
"I am thanking God," he murmurs. "For this view."
My cheeks explode with heat, but I don't look away. I watch, mesmerized, as he just looks at the most intimate part of me, his gaze full of desire.
Then he parts my legs even wider, pressing my thighs open with the heel of his hands.
"Hold these open for me while I eat, won't you, cara?" he says casually.
I am so shocked by the words that I can't even form a response. Is this what people do? This is what people say? Is this how lovers speak to each other? I don't know. I've never heard anything like it.
Harrison would have been horrified.
But coming from Ricardo, it's the most erotic thing I have ever heard. The heat that floods my system is so intense it's almost painful.
Fresh wetness coats me, and I can actually feel it. I've never been this intensely turned on before. This can't be normal.
I close my eyes as a fresh wave of self-consciousness washes over me, a lifetime of conditioning that this part of me is something to be ashamed of. To be hidden away.
The fear that he’ll find something wrong with me.
I start to close my legs.
He stops me, his grip firm but gentle.
"Ah ah ah," he tuts softly.
My eyes fly open and I stare at him.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Don't you dare apologize," he says, his voice a low growl. "Don't you dare."
I blink at him, my heart pounding.
"This," he says, and I am not prepared for what he says next. "This beautiful pussy that is dripping before my eyes is nothing to be ashamed of."
My jaw drops open.
No one has ever spoken to me like this.
And he's not done.
"It's a gift, Julia," he says, and then his gaze darkens. "And I intend to fully enjoy it. If you'll let me."
And just like that, the shame, the self-consciousness, the fear of being not good enough, it all just... melts away, replaced by a white-hot desire that burns so bright it almost blinds me.
I don't answer.
I can't.
But I don't have to.
I grab my legs under the knees, and I pull them open for him, holding them wide, my body laid bare for him to do with as he pleases. The position is lewd. Vulnerable. And it makes me feel wild. Untamed. And so turned on I can barely breathe.
Triumph and pride flash in his eyes.
"Like this?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Precisamente," he murmurs.
And then he lowers his head, and the world as I know it ceases to exist.
There is no more Harrison. There is no more shame.
There is only Ricardo and his sinful, wicked, glorious tongue.
He starts with one slow lick from my entrance to my clit.
A strangled gasp escapes my lips.
My hips buck off the pillow.
He does it again, this time a little slower, a little more deliberate, as if he is savoring the taste of me.
Then he does it again.
And again.
Each lick is a slow drag that sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. He is building me up, stoking the fire inside me until I am a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, my hands fisted in the blankets, my head thrown back, my back arched.
He is not in a hurry.