L’Arancia Più Dolce – by Gemma Snow #3
They’re behind me now, and we might as well be the orange trees in the earth, for the way my body responds so naturally to their proximity.
I hadn’t finished getting dressed for the wedding by the time Harlowe brought us down to this secret room for their confession, and all at once I realize just how little I’m wearing.
The blue and white pattern of the silky pajama set is a nod to the coast where Capsian and I were raised, and it made for some very cute getting-ready photos earlier in the day.
But now I’m very aware of how little stands between me and the men at my back.
Already my breasts feel heavy and achy against the thin straps that Harlowe helped me tie into pretty little bows, and the fluttering circulation system in the room makes the scalloped edge of my indecently short shorts kiss like butterfly wings against my overly sensitive skin.
A year I’ve called these men mine, and still they make me feel like I’ll die if I’m not touched.
“I might have a secret of my own, amore ,” Alesso whispers at my back, lifting a heavy curl off my shoulder so he can press his lips to the column of my throat.
“You have four secret lovers?” I whimper, because it’s impossible to keep my composure when he knows exactly how to touch me.
“Two is plenty,” he replies. “You’ll tire an old man out.”
Alesso may be older, but he delights in pushing us to the very limits every chance he gets.
“I thought we couldn’t call you old…” I reply, because there is nothing so enchanting as ruffling his feathers. “In fact, last time I did…”
“You couldn’t sit for a week,” he replies. “Try it again, amore . Just as an experiment.”
If I didn’t have to sit through Caspian’s wedding, I just might. But first…
“Tell me your secret.”
Instead, Alesso just chuckles, dark and rich as the espresso he drinks with the sun every morning.
Then he presses a line of kisses down my throat that make it impossible to think about anything other than the sacred place where our bodies connect.
I wrap my fingers around the stone railing at the edge of the orangery and muster all the willpower I can find to keep from moaning his name. It’s not enough.
“Such a tease, Alessandro,” Matteo says from my other side. I don’t think the day will ever come when I get accustomed to being between these men, their plaything to tempt and toy with. I don’t think I’d ever want to.
“Patience, amori miei ,” he says. “Good things are worth waiting for.”
He pushes one strap of my silk shirt off my shoulder and presses a kiss to the swell of my breast.
“You don’t seem very patient right now,” I point out, though he’s making it impossible to think with the way he’s running his tongue over the very sensitized skin of my breast.
Instead of answering, Alesso bites. The sensation bursts through my entire body like an explosion, erotic heat chasing sweet hot pleasure, until the only thing keeping me standing is the strength of Alesso’s hands on my waist and Matteo at my back.
“You seem like you want to go out to the wedding without getting your pleasure,” Alesso replies. Matteo chuckles and runs his fingers down my bare arm, making my skin heat in his wake.
“He missed you this morning,” Matteo whispers in my other ear.
We’ve been in California a few days, helping Cas and Harlowe with last- minute wedding preparation and trying to see as much of the city as we can.
This morning, I was gone before the sun rose, starting into motion the whirlwind of hair, nails, makeup, and earth-shattering confessions.
Which, of course, meant Alesso couldn’t wake me up the way he prefers, by spreading my legs and…
“And you couldn’t help him?” I ask, loving the way Matteo’s cock presses against me at the words. My little devil.
“You have no idea how much he helped,” Alesso replies, still very much focused on his task of making me lose my mind.
And, of course, now all I can think about is my two men entangled in each other in the early morning light.
They’re harsher with each other than they are with me, and there’s something so damnably erotic about the forceful pleasure they wring from one another’s bodies.
Pure, masculine beauty, in its most dangerous form.
“Not enough, apparently,” I manage. “Seems like you could use some more.”
Because Alesso’s cock is pressed against my leg and Matteo is at my back, and thank goodness I haven’t had my hair done for the wedding yet, because there’s no way it would survive what they have planned.
“And how exactly would you do that, cara ?” Matteo asks. “You know how he likes specifics.”
My artist, begging for the dripping honey of sweet imaginings.
“I have… ideas… ” Ideas which are nowhere to be found, now that they have both straps of my silk pajamas down, now that the room smells of oranges and masculine heat and heady eroticism that might just be my own.
“Tell him,” Matteo whispers, his stubble brushing my ear and making me swallow.
Hard. I haven’t gotten a good look at them yet, but I can already picture their wedding outfits.
Matteo, in his gray or green linen suit, his shirt unbuttoned beyond propriety, beard trimmed, but still a little thick, fingers and wrists dripping with rings and golden chains, around his neck an audacious cross, which after all this time may be satire and may be sacrosanct and may change from day to night.
Alesso, no doubt, is in his perfectly tailored designer suit, maroon or navy or emerald, his salt and pepper hair pinned half up, the rest brushing his shoulder in shimmering shades of silver and onyx.
Golden designer sunglasses carefully tucked into his pocket, along with a matching pocket square.
To be known is to be loved. And I love these men.
“Here against the wall,” I whisper. “Where anyone could see…”
“ Cara .” Matteo’s hand slips below the elastic band of my silky shorts. “You know we don’t like to share.” Except they do like to show me off. It’s the reason we’re in a glass room and I’m already half-undressed.
“Liar.” The word gets caught in my throat as Alesso frees my breast from the silk top and wraps his mouth around my peaked nipple. I hiss in a breath and cling to the stone railing, but my thighs quiver and my inhales become labored and shallow.
“Maybe,” Matteo says, his tone slightly devious as he uses his free hand to capture my chin and finally turn me to face him.
Light green, his summer suit. It brightens the blue of his eyes.
Azure, cerulean, aquamarine. Matteo is the painter, not me.
“I did love watching you model for my class…” Life painting, where a few of the less-focused artists got a little distracted…
and I got very distracted when teacher dismissed his pupils early and had his way with me on the velvet settee…
“ Professore ,” I manage, because a day hasn’t gone by that Matteo hasn’t lost his mind to that word on my tongue, and I am very interested in making my husband lose his mind.
“Now you have us both wanting to punish you,” he murmurs, holding my chin and my gaze with his strong fingers. “That’s dangerous, cara .”
“I hardly deserve it,” I whisper. “You both just like marking your territory. Brutes.”
Alesso cups my breast with his large hand and presses a hard kiss to my bare shoulder.
“You have no idea how brutish we can be,” he replies. “How untamed you make us, amore .”
“Then show me.”
The words are barely past my lips when Alesso is down on his knees and tugging at the sleep shorts.
They fall easily, baring me to his inspection, to the earthy orangery, the garden of earthly delights.
And then Alesso’s mouth is on my swollen pussy, just as Matteo slips his fingers between my folds, and it’s them together, licking and stroking, Matteo’s fingers at Alesso’s lips, my wetness shared between them, that makes my legs tremble and my lower belly warm, and my nipples peak and…
“Isn’t he so pretty with his head between your legs?
” Matteo asks, never pausing his strokes against my swollen clit.
He releases my chin and uses his other hand to pin me into place, pressed against him and bared to our husband’s delicious torment.
He circles my clit with what definitely isn’t enough pressure and then slides his soaking fingers between Alesso’s waiting lips, staining them with glossy desire. I nearly come right then and there.
“Not yet,” Alesso demands, and he should be the submissive, the sacrifice on his knees, but even in this position, kneeling and practically begging, he is every bit in control. “You need to know how much we missed you.”
“Please…” I’m not above a little begging, even if I know that means they’ll only make me wait longer. The hot sear of need and shame makes me ache and they know just how much I like to be denied what I want most.
“Please what, amore ?” Alesso asks, running his fingers along my swollen slit until all I can feel is touching, not certain where one of us begins and the other ends. “Use your words.”
“Inside me,” I whimper, knowing it isn’t enough. They’ll make me beg for mercy before they grant it, if they ever do. “Please, I need you in my pussy.”
Matteo’s cock hardens even more behind me, and I press into it the best I can in my pinned position, but he just laughs, rich and right on the edge of control.
“You want to be all filled up, cara ?” he asks. “In a glass room, where anyone could just wander in…”
“You locked the door.”
“You wouldn’t care if we didn’t.”
Maybe that’s true. Maybe I have a streak of the devil inside me, too. At this moment, I would very much like some of the devil inside me.
“ Teo… ” A nickname for my artist that only spills free in moments of desperation.
“So pretty when you’re whimpering my name,” he murmurs against my ear. “Sin on the lips of an angel.”