L’Arancia Più Dolce – by Gemma Snow #4
I’m no angel. Maybe I was once, or maybe this need has always been simmering inside me, waiting for the day I met these men.
Before I can say anything, before I can beg for more, Alesso is spreading my legs and baring me to his touch, to the garden all around us, and then he’s devouring me with the intensity of a natural force, my storm against the rocks, tonguing and licking and sucking and biting until I’m so close to my own devastation I can’t keep my own legs up, until all I can think about is the feel of him on my most sensitive skin, the strength of Matteo at my back.
And then Alesso is slipping a finger inside and then a second, stretching me, preparing me for their shared touch, and it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, almost too much for me to bear.
And then they’re touching me together, a dance of fingers and wet, hot slickness, and Alesso’s familiar tongue and Matteo’s artist’s fingers, harsh and unyielding as they pursue my pleasure.
Matteo is whispering in my ear, sweet fucking poetry about my body, my pleasure, delicious promises about taking our husband together, and I’m losing the stone floor beneath my slippers, losing everything but the scent of oranges and the sweet, burning pleasure, and with one more stroke, one more kiss, one more lick, they send me bursting over the edge into my white hot release.
Alesso looks as debauched as I feel when he stands, licking my release from his swollen lips and bending slightly to capture Matteo’s mouth.
They like to share the taste of me, and it makes my blood heat all over again, because it’s filthy and depraved and delicious in all the ways artists dream of, and it took us so long to get here that I’ll never get tired of watching my men love each other.
“ Amore .” Alesso pulls back, holding Matteo’s gaze before turning his dark look on me.
He promises he will never be an artist, that he’d much prefer to watch Matteo and I and admire art from afar — if he had his way, we’d create wearing nothing but ink stains and the weight of his eyes on our skin.
But Alesso is a storm of emotion when he looks at us, like he’ll never be able to get his fill, no matter how many times he drinks from the cup.
“You hardly look satisfied.” A game he likes to play. Because I like to play.
“And what does a satisfied woman look like?” I ask, because he may drink from his cursed chalice of pleasure, but I bend at the shores of the magical spring to take my fill of his desire, and that spring will never empty.
Alesso’s gaze darts behind me, and in the next moment, I’m swept into Matteo’s strong arms and carried across the room.
At the far end, hidden between the flowering orange trees, is a semi-circle of chaise lounges and settees, and a glass-enclosed wall of leather-bound books and Greek busts, to make this room seem even more out of place and time.
Alesso sits on the settee and Matteo sets me on his lap, pulling my silk shorts off the rest of the way and tossing them to the side before tugging at the bows of my shirt straps.
Alesso adds his fingers, and then my men are stealing a kiss across my bared body, the deep, masculine groans reverberating through me, making my belly warm and the sweet heat between my thighs turn liquid and honey thick.
I need so much more than fingers and lips.
I need the connection, the fullness, the dark intensity of my men losing their control. And I need it now.
“Please…”
They know what I’m begging for, and there is no doubt now that I am begging. At times, I wonder if they kiss just to push me to the edge, because they know how they look, all torrid dark need and sweet, building pleasure.
“She missed us too, amore ,” Alesso murmurs against Matteo’s throat. “Look at how needy she is, slick and waiting…”
Sometimes they talk about me like I’m not there, like I’m a piece of art before them to be observed and appreciated, like they’re going to take exactly what they want from me.
It shouldn’t make my nipples tighten and my clit ache, but we passed shouldn’t a dozen moons ago and now all I want is to be their muse, their real-life sculpture of flesh and need.
“I don’t want to keep waiting,” I manage, sliding my fingers between my legs to stroke at my needy pussy.
Below me, Alesso’s cock is hard as marble, and I stroke him as I’m stroking myself.
It’s too hard to stop, too hard to do anything but chase that pleasure with my fingers, especially when I know how my men like to watch.
I could come with the heat of my husbands’ gazes and three strokes of my fingers on my swollen clit, but there’s no way they’re letting me get off that easily. Or get off that easily.
In true form, Matteo wraps his large calloused hand around my wrist, staying me with the motion and brushing Alesso’s cock at the same time. At my back, my husband’s body is taut and coiled tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
“If you keep taking what belongs to us, cara ,” he murmurs, “we won’t touch you again until the party ends.
” The idea of sitting at a high-society wedding with an aching, leaking pussy is torture enough, but then he continues.
“Instead, cara mia , we’ll let you watch us please each other, own each other’s bodies until we’re spilling our release, and we won’t let you touch at all.
” And that’s the true torment. Which Matteo knows, of course.
“Then take what’s yours,” I whimper, loving the strength of his hand around my wrist, loving the weight of him between my spread thighs and the intense power of Alesso at my back.
He reaches between my thighs, stroking my slickness before unzipping his dress pants, and then he’s pushing them down just enough to bare his thick, swollen cock.
The head falls between my parted thighs and I rock into him, loving the soft swear words on his tongue, loving the concentration with which he tries to hold himself back.
“Close your eyes, amore ,” Matteo whispers, just as Alesso presses the swollen head of his cock to my entrance.
“Open your mouth.” I do as I’m told, to the best of my ability with the overwhelming sensation of desire ratcheting through my body when Alesso’s swollen crown stretches me wide.
Matteo places something at my lips, and when I bite down, I taste the citrus tang of oranges, the sweet flesh exploding on my tongue, juice spilling over my lips and chin and down my throat.
Alesso slides his fingers through the juice, his strong fingers at my throat guiding me to lie back against his chest while the head of his cock pulses against my entrance.
Matteo glides another slice of orange to my lips, and I let the juice spill freely this time, because he’s following the dripping stream with his tongue and sucking Alesso’s sticky fingers into his mouth between kissing my fruit-stained lips.
With each taste, Alesso pushes just a little deeper inside me, stretching me wide and holding me at the edge until I’m whimpering into Matteo’s mouth with each sticky kiss.
Alesso’s fingers are at my clit now, circling my swollen hood, making my back arch until Matteo stills my hips with sugary fingers then leans down to lick the juice from my heated skin, and when I fall back into Alesso, he lets me take one more inch of his cock, and then another, slowly, slowly, filling me, stretching me.
“More .” It comes out a plea, the juice of sweet orange trees still on my lips, pure sin, pure delicious sin.
And Alessandro pushes the final inches, settling his entire cock deep inside me, notched together in a stolen kind of pleasure that will shatter into a million glistening pieces the moment either of us move. But it’s not enough, of course.
I reach my hand out, and Matteo wraps sticky lips around sticky fingers at the same time he pushes his linen trousers down, just enough to let his beautiful cock spring free.
He’s shorter than Alesso, but thick and swollen, leaking from a darkened head, and all at once I know what they want from me.
What I’ve been craving from them.
I watch Matteo stroke the swollen tip of his crown, but instead of moving toward us, he leans down and presses his mouth to where Alesso and I connect.
I whimper and Alesso somehow gets harder inside me, rocking and pulsing as Matteo licks sticky orange kisses across my clit and Alesso’s hard length, until I’m holding on to Alesso’s strong arms for dear fucking life because I’m seconds away from falling into the edge of pleasure, and I don’t want to do it without Matteo.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, barely able to think of a single other word, barely able to find my thoughts in the haze of abject pleasure and need.
I’m so close, so incredibly close that I know it’ll be the work of a second to push me to my very limit, but I’m going to hold on until that very last second.
“Let him love you, amore ,” Alesso whispers in my ear, running his teeth along my lobe, just to add more sensation to my overly stimulated body. “Let him make you feel so good…”
I can’t argue with that, especially when they start stroking me together, Matteo with his tongue, Alesso with his talented fingers, and I’m out of my body, made of glowing hot pleasure and coming undone before I even realize I’ve crossed the invisible edge, coming hard and fast all over my men, Alesso pulsing inside me, Matteo devouring our connected bodies like he could play sacrifice to our pleasure for the rest of his life.
And then the ripples of pleasure turn to another great big wave, rising, rising, rising, impossibly large, too big and too powerful to hold back, and I’m clutching Alesso’s strong arms, when the wave crashes, another impossible breaking of pleasure, spilling and bursting like a million tiny sparks of wet, hot need.