Chapter 9
Francesca
“We're so sorry,” Giselle said for the billionth time.
“Seriously, so, so, so sorry. Carlo thought he'd hung up with you guys.
And I didn't know his phone was still on.” Her beautiful eyes got all watery.
For the billionth time. “Even though he shouldn't have been on the phone at all.” She glared at Carlo with such rage, I was surprised when he didn't suddenly burst into flames before our eyes.
Carlo took a deep breath. “You were asking me to call them every five minutes. I was just doing what you asked.”
Giselle looked back at the phone. “You'll have to excuse the father of my children. He knows I needed help. Yet he conveniently decided to be all the way across the house.”
Carlo frowned so deeply, even I flinched. “Don't call me that.” A look of pure disgust covered his face.
“What?” Giselle asked, appearing to be oblivious to why he was upset.
“You heard me. That’s like calling me your baby daddy.” He swallowed and looked like he'd bitten into a lemon or two, “Baby daddy. That's completely tasteless.”
Now Giselle was frowning. “I didn't say baby daddy. But why can't I call you that? It's what you are.”
Carlo's face turned stone cold. “I'm a fuck of a lot more than just your baby daddy, Giselle. Christ, woman. I can't believe you'd say that. I asked you to be my wife. Did I not?”
She—laughed—at him.
Holy.
Cow.
Giselle apparently had no fear. “Your—wife? And when's that going to happen, Carlo? Hmm? You keep getting me pregnant, so we can't get married. Do you think I'm not catching on to your scheme?”
Stefan tapped the screen and ended our video chat.
“Giselle is very, very pregnant,” he explained. “Eve gets like this, too, near the end.”
I rolled to my side. The chaise lounge was huge. Big enough for us. And probably a few more people. “So, Carlo wants to marry her?”
Stefan chuckled. “Absolutely. There's nothing else he wants more in life.”
I peered off into the blue, blue sky. “But then why haven't they gotten married yet?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, it's a long, long story. But they had a bit of a rocky road. And then rockier things happened—” His hand landed on my hip and held onto me. “And then rockier shit.”
I bit my lip and laid my hand over his chest—where I knew the scar sat underneath his shirt. “Does it have anything to do with this?”
His hand slid over mine, and he sighed. “Yes. And no.”
I laughed and rolled onto my back. “Wow, that explains it all. Thanks.”
Stefan sighed and grabbed my hand. “It's not something I really want to bring up. It's over and done with. But I will tell you that Carlo will marry her in a second if she'd allow it.”
I frowned up at the sky. “That makes no sense.”
He rolled over, trapping my leg between his. “Giselle wants a big wedding. Carlo doesn't give a fuck if they get married in their hot tub. But he wants to give her whatever the hell she wants.”
I smiled at him and touched his arm. “That's actually really sweet. That he'd marry her anywhere. But why didn't they wait a bit longer between babies? Until after they're married?”
Stefan let out a long, low laugh. “Because Carlo enjoys getting Giselle pregnant. And Giselle enjoys letting him.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, I can see why. Carlo's a good-looking guy. But they could come to some other kind of agreement for now. It sounds like they both want the same thing after all.”
Stefan looked at me with curiosity in his gaze. “Like what?”
I shrugged and shook my head. “I don't know. They could always get married now. Like have a small ceremony. And then have a bigger wedding later. After she's had the baby and feels up to it.”
He looked at me for a moment. “That's not a bad idea.”
My hand wandered up his arm to the back of his neck.
“A little compromise can go a long way. That's what my grandma used to say.” I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him.
He tasted like the strawberries we had just eaten.
I let my hand slide over to his chest and then down over his hard, ripped abs.
And then—somehow—my hand slipped into his shorts. Stefan was already rock hard for me.
“Francesca, are you starting something again?” He deepened our kiss until my toes curled.
“Yes,” I answered, stroking him up and down.
“Then remove these before I rip them.”
I heeded his threat, not wanting these bikini bottoms to suffer the same fate as my panties had earlier. “Don't you dare,” I said with a breathless giggle. “What will I wear to swim in your pool?”
Suddenly—he ripped them. My jaw dropped open, but Stefan just grinned. “It's your own fault. You tempted me with skinny-dipping, Chesca. You can't wave that carrot in front of me and not expect me to take it.”
I thought he was going to roll on top of me—but instead, he pulled me onto him. It took him exactly two more seconds to rip my bikini top in half. Not that there was much to rip. It didn't exactly cover a whole lot. Which was probably why Stefan asked me to wear it.
He pulled his shorts down his thighs. “Your turn.” He grasped the base of his cock with one hand and set his hand on my hip with the other. “Up,” was all he said, encouraging me to raise up on my knees.
“I've never,” I stuttered slightly and shook my head. “I don't know what to do.”
He brushed down my slit to where he wanted to be. “You do what you want. You do what feels good. And if you need guidance.” I felt him right—there. “I’m here.”
But the thought of impaling myself seemed—strange. And kind of scary.
I mean, yes, I knew people all over the world for centuries had sex this way. Stefan hadn't invented some new sex position. But now that I was—in—this position, the whole thing just felt—odd. Not to mention awkward.
So, I did what he advised me to do and said, “Okay, I need guidance.”
Stefan smiled and kissed my lips gently. “Anything you want, Francesca. Anything.” With one hand on my hip, he coaxed me down. Once he was halfway in, he let go of his cock and set that hand on my hip.
Instantly, my eyes widened, and I froze. “I know it's stupid. But this—I don't think I can,” I started to say, but he cut me off.
His hands moved to my back, and he pulled me closer—so that my breasts were right in front of his face.
Stefan looked at my breasts and then moved his mouth over to lick one of my nipples.
“Certain positions take some getting used to.” He sucked my nipple into his mouth.
His tongue circled it a few times before he let go.
My nipple was wet and hard when it left his mouth.
“Everything takes practice. It's the same with sex. Why wouldn't it be?”
Hearing his logic actually relaxed me. Stefan wasn't upset at me for being afraid of doing something for the first time. He could have sat there and berated me for being ridiculous. Instead, he understood. Or he seemed to, anyway.
“You're not mad at me?” I bit my bottom lip as he grinned and licked my other nipple.
“Mad that I have the most beautiful woman in the world sitting on my cock?” He chuckled. “What kind of an idiot would do that?”
His words made me all warm and fuzzy inside. And that made me want to kiss him.
So—I did.
And kissing him just happened to relax me enough that I slowly—very, very slowly—sank down on him.
And, yes.
It still felt strange.
And all kinds of awkward.
But—I did it.
“Yay,” I whispered against his mouth. “We did it.”
Stefan let out a smexy laugh that made me clench all around him, making it an even tighter fit.
Which—from the look on his face—he didn't seem to mind.
“You did it. See? I knew you could.” His hands grasped my behind while he said, “Move however you want.” Then he encouraged me to start grinding on him.
And that felt—fantastic.
“Oh,” I breathed out as I slowly rocked on him.
It wasn't just the contact down there that was wonderful.
It was also the full-body contact. Mine against his.
Both of our hands were free to explore one another's bodies.
Stefan's mouth kissed, licked and sucked everywhere he could.
While his hands roamed and rubbed and made me feel—cherished.
And loved.
Finally, we'd set up some kind of absolutely awesome rhythm. I was reaching, reaching, reaching for something. And then I realized exactly what it was when that familiar tingling sensation began.
I knew.
I just knew I was going to come.
“Stefan,” I said between kisses.
“Yes, Francesca. I know. Come for me. I want you to come all over my cock.”
That thought made me shiver all over. I loved it when he talked like that. Nobody had ever said such dirty things to me before. And a big part of me was glad he was the first one to do it.
“Find it, Chesca,” he whispered into my ear as his hands glided over my breasts. “Take what you need.”
My fingertips dug into his back. I couldn't help it. Before the spasms even started, I knew it was going to be big.
Huge.
And I didn't know how to react. So, I bit down on his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me.
“That's right, my beautiful wife.” Stefan encouraged. “Come hard for me.”
And I did because there was no other choice. Not that I'd want one. Because this was pure bliss.
It took me a bit until I was able to have a coherent thought again. But when I did, I said, “Show me how to make you come now.”
He grabbed my behind. “It would be a pleasure,” he said and started moving me up and down on his cock. The first few strokes felt pretty bizarre. But a few minutes later—I think I got the hang of it. My thighs protested, though. I decided not to listen to them at the moment. This felt too good.
And when Stefan said, “Ride my cock, Chesca. Ride it fuckin' hard for me.” I knew he was also having a good time. I did what he asked and rode him faster—even though the muscles in my legs burned. It was worth it to watch Stefan's face and hear his breathing get erratic.
And watch him just generally lose control.
Because of what I was doing.
That knowledge gave me a feeling of power that was so heady, I wanted to—
“Oh, my gosh,” I gasped as an indulgent, lustful thrill set up between my legs.
Again.
This couldn't be possible.
Could it?
Was I seriously going to come again?
“Oh, fuck, yeah, you are,” Stefan moaned.
Oh, crap. I must've said that last part out loud. And he'd confirmed I was in fact going to come all over his cock again.
“Stefan, I can't. Not again,” I panted, disbelieving that such a thing could be possible. Certainly not so soon after I'd just come.
“I've got you. I'm right here. Give it to me, Francesca. Please,” he begged. “Give me your pleasure.”
I did the only thing I could do.
I let go.
And squeezed him so tightly, I wondered if I was hurting him.
But then his hands stilled on me and held me tightly as he wheezed out, “Fuck, yeah.” I felt him spurting inside of me, over and over again he filled me up with his warm come.
And I smiled.
Because he'd lost control. Just like I had.
“I'd call that a success.” I said, pushing back to look at him. “How about you?”
He kissed my neck and chuckled. “No complaints here. Other than the fact that we'll have to shower again.”
I gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Before or after we go skinny-dipping?”
He sighed. “I almost forgot. Thank fuck you remembered.”
Then we kissed and made out for a while.
And then he picked me up—and jumped into the pool.
As it turns out—skinny-dipping is even more fun than I imagined.