When I come out, Marco is fully dressed too in another sharp black suit. I notice that he never wears a tie, only leaving the first few buttons of his shirt undone for a more casual look, even though it still makes him look even fancier than anyone else I’ve ever met.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, still feeling a little awkward. I still don’t know what we’re going to do today, even if I know what we’re building up to. I picked out my nicest underwear to wear today, but I still don’t feel remotely like the kind of women you see in lingerie advertisements. I’m just me, a little awkward, big, inexperienced, and all the rest.
“Then let’s go.” Marco swipes my purse off the side table and hands it to me as he ushers me towards the door. Out in the hall, he takes my arm and leads me down to the lobby and out to the street, where a car is waiting for us, much to my surprise.
I’m even more surprised when Marco slides behind the wheel, putting the key into the ignition – a key I didn’t even notice he was carrying.
“Something else your assistant brought?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt as I look around the interior of the car with wide eyes. I don’t know much about cars, but I can see that this one is very nice – and, by extension, very expensive.
“Easier for us to get around today,” Marco grins, pulling out into the road.
We drive to a broad street with glass-fronted stores, many of them for big names that I recognize – legendary Italian designers and brands. Marco parks up along the road, in front of a yellow and black sports car that crouches almost like a panther with its over exaggerated lines, and hurries around to my side to offer his help as I get out of the car.
I feel stupid – after all, I can get out by myself – but it’s also so flattering to have his attention, and I realize I am starting to feel like this is a special day. The car, the flashy street we’ve stopped on, Marco’s gentlemanly manner – we’ve only just begun, but I’m sure there is more to come.
“So, where do you like to shop?” Marco says, flashing me a grin.
I look up dubiously at the names of the stores near us. “I’ve never been anywhere like this,” I say, thinking of the chain stores I shop at back home and how cheap they seem compared to this.
Marco laughs. “Then let me guide you,” he says, walking me towards one of the nearby stores. I follow him with a little fear, will these stuffy Italian brands even have something for someone like me? Surely they only cater to women who are size zero, six foot tall, and impossibly proportioned?
My doubts increase as we step inside, past a security guard in a dark suit with an earpiece who eyes us only lightly before letting us pass, and I see the other customers in the store. They are just how I had imagined, so thin they look like a stiff breeze might blow them over.
Marco must sense something, maybe I’m shaking because he squeezes my hand tightly where it lays on his arm and draws me over to an assistant, flashing me a smile as he does so. I should trust him. I know he will look after me.
He says something that I can’t follow in Italian, and I let my eyes drift off as they talk, looking over the racks of beautiful clothes. It’s not at all like the places where I normally shop, where every surface is heaped with different garments and you have to search through them for something you like, every item here has its own space and consideration, highlighted so that you can admire the craftsmanship and style of each piece.
I’m startled when the assistant addresses me, holding out her hand as she asks me to follow her. I look at Marco; he nods encouragingly, so I follow her to a changing room with a plush armchair inside and a heavy velvet curtain to block the view. As I watch in surprise, the assistant rapidly dashes around the store, piling six different items one by one in my stall on a peg, three dresses, a coat, and a blouse with a pair of pants, all of them in my size.
I didn’t even tell her my size or what I wanted, but – somehow, she has picked out things that I love the look of.
She ushers me behind the curtain then, and I quickly change into the first dress, marveling at the feel of the fabric and how it seems to mold perfectly to my body. When I step shyly outside to show them, the assistant claps her hands and gushes something that I don’t understand, and Marco covers his mouth with his hand for a moment.
Under the hand, I see a smile.
“Beautiful,” he says, his eyes lighting up with something new. “Just beautiful. We’ll buy it.”
“Wait,” I say. “It’s only the first dress!”
“Do you love the way it looks and feels?”
I catch sight of myself in another mirror across the room and nod. “I do,” I have to admit.
“Then we buy it,” Marco says, drawing a credit card out of his wallet and handing it to the assistant. “And if you love the way the others look and feel too, we buy them. Whatever you want. You get it all today.”
I don’t know what to say. “But, Marco…” I start. It’s too much. Surely, it’s too much.
“No buts,” Marco tells me. “Remember. Today is your special day. Everything you want.”
I’m so overwhelmed, I just don’t know what to say. But the assistant is saying something to me and pushing me back into the changing room, and so I simply do as I’m told and go try on the next outfit.
I try to temper Marco’s generosity with my own desires, after all, I don’t need this many new clothes just because they’re being offered, and I don’t want to take all of his money just because he offered it. In the end, we walk out of the store with two dresses and a blouse – and just when I think we’re done, Marco leads me next door, to a famous Italian shoe brand.
By the time we’ve been through several more stores and had lunch, I feel as though I have a whole new wardrobe. I can’t imagine needing anything more, and with a new necklace clasped around my throat, Marco unloads the rest into his car – though I’m surprised the tiny trunk can fit it all.
And we still aren’t done.
“This way,” Marco says, taking me by the arm. “There are still some parts of Rome you haven’t seen, yes? We can’t let you miss out on those.”
So we find ourselves in the Roman Forum, mixing amongst the other tourists and tour groups, Marco helping me pick my way amongst them as we get to see all of the best parts.
“And this,” he says. “Is where Julius Caesar was murdered. It happened right here.”
“Right here?” I murmur, staring at the spot he is pointing to. “Wow.” I try to picture it, happening so long ago. The buildings here are in ruins. It almost seems strange, to be in a country with a history that dates back so far before when mine was even born. There is so much to look at, around every corner and in every alleyway.
A stray cat wanders across the road when we emerge once more, just one of the many we’ve seen around here. I want to pet them all, though Marco already warned me that most of them carry disease and pests. It makes me sad to think of them having to get by on their own, without medical treatment or a loving owner to scratch their ears.
“Well, are you satisfied with history for today?” Marco asks. “We could carry on.”
“No,” I tell him, smiling. “I think I’m satisfied. That was a lot to see already.”
“Then let’s go,” he says, taking my arm to steer me back to where we last left the car.
“Go where?” I ask my heart rate quickening. Is this it?
“Home, of course,” Marco says, with a smirk, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he teases me.
Home… like his home? I keep my mouth shut and focus on walking, while in my mind, so many different things are flashing through, mostly the thought of seeing his home, and his bed, the place where he sleeps – the place where…
Is it going to happen now?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marco
I drive the familiar route back home, to my own place. Just outside the city of Rome, close enough that I can go to work easily but far enough from the center that I can have some peace and quiet. The home I�
�ve worked for all of my life to create.
It’s one of my main sources of pride and joy, for now at least. Gates encircle an area of private land that contains the house, a gravel drive in front where I can park several cars, and a yard out the back that includes a pool and pool house.
I take the opportunity to glance to the side whenever it’s safe to catch Hannah’s reaction. Her eyes are wide as she takes it all in, craning her neck to look all the way up to the top of the house as we pull in closer. I had the house built to my own specifications, with wide glass spaces letting in plenty of light but shading the viewer from seeing inside, dark brickwork, and an impressive architecture right up to the roof, which I had made to resemble a traditional Italian castle.
This is my castle, after all – the place where I’m lord and master. And I don’t usually allow people to come here. Only Fran has ever seen it, except for those I employ to do work around the house because it is a sacred space for me. Too special to share with anyone but the most important in my life.
And now Hannah is here, about to come inside with me and take her claim on a life by my side.
I step out of the car and rush to Hannah’s side, to open the door and help her out. Then I turn towards my home with her hand on my arm, about to lead her inside. Size-wise, in fact, it should correctly be called a villa – especially since we are here in Italy, the seat of the empire which made the villa-style famous around the world.
“It’s beautiful,” Hannah says, her face filled with wonder. A moment later she must realize that she spoke without thinking because she continues awkwardly. “I mean, your home, it’s so – so big and grand.”
I chuckle. “Thank you,” I say. “But you haven’t seen inside yet.” I don’t mean it as an idle boast – I know that the interior of my home makes even more of an impression than the outside. I’ve worked hard to ensure that it's comfortable yet stylish, representing everything that I want when I come home from work.
Except for one thing – the family to share it with me. But perhaps, from today, we can change that.
I show Hannah inside, allowing her to step in before me and take in the entrance. As soon as we enter, motion sensors set off my homecoming routine, mood lighting lights the walls, gentle music plays from hidden speakers, and a spray of delicate scent fills the air. Even with Hannah here, and all my nerves straining with desire for her, I instantly feel relaxed.
Hannah’s eyes are wide with wonder as she moves into the space, admiring the art pieces I have on walls and side tables, the layout and furniture. Her face when she turns back to me is lit with a radiant smile.
“Marco, it’s so… you,” she says, and I’ve never wanted anyone more. Hannah understands me on a level that I don’t think anyone else ever has. It only reinforces what I already know. Hannah is here because we are fated to be together. From the moment I saw her on a random side street, without even looking for her, I knew that she would be mine.
“Come upstairs,” I tell her, holding out my hand. I see a flicker of nervousness before she reaches out and takes it, so I clasp hers in both of mine as I lead her upwards. “Don’t be afraid. I have more to show you.”
“I’m not afraid,” Hannah says, and it doesn’t sound like the feeble excuse of a girl trying to wish away her fear. No, she’s confident and clear. I see it in her eyes. She really isn’t afraid, she’s expectant, full of anticipation. She shakes because she wants this so badly, just as much as I do.
I lead her first into a room off the main corridor upstairs, not the lavishly upholstered master bedroom yet, but instead a room I’ve prepared just for this very occasion. I set it all up the first night that we met when I came home and left her in the hotel, knowing that I would want to use it. I just didn’t know that it would be part of making this day so special, because I had no idea that Hannah was so inexperienced then.
I let go of Hannah’s hand and allow her to take in the room as I step to the side, lighting a few candles that I have scattered over surfaces around the edges of the space. The one thing I couldn’t set up to work automatically beforehand. A soothing scent fills the air, and an electronic heater whirs to life across from me, adding the heady scent of massage oils to the air.
“Well?” I say with a smile, gesturing to the massage table in the center of the room.
Hannah hesitates, a shy smile lighting her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be undressed, for a massage?”
I smile again and step forward, gently slipping my hands around her back to undo the zip on her dress. “Good point,” I say, easing the dress down over her body, taking the utmost care to make sure that she’s comfortable and happy.
When she stands in front of me in her underwear, I can’t help but want to stop and stare, admiring her from head to toe. A faint flush spreads over her cheeks, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed to stand in front of me like this. Instead, there’s something else in her eyes. Desire.
I will give her what she wants. But there’s no rush. First, she can have more pleasure and enjoyment than she could ever have imagined. I want her to have that.
I help her up onto the table, earning a pout as she realizes that I’m not going to strip her fully naked. But it isn’t time for that yet – if I had her fully displayed before me, I doubt I could hold myself back. My cock is already straining hard inside my pants, and to see her in full would be agony if I couldn’t give myself over to it.
Once she’s lying face down, I unhook her bra and pull it away from underneath her, and carefully and softly draw down her panties. That gives me a wonderful view of that apple bottom ass, but I swiftly cover it with a towel, just like in a real massage parlor. I will take this in the direction that we both want – just not yet.
For now, I dedicate myself to her. I start with her right arm, soothing my hands over her skin, earning moans and sighs as I work the massage oil, paying special attention to every single muscle – even her individual fingers. I will take her to a place of blissful relaxation before ecstasy – and when we’re finished here, her body will belong to me in all its entirety.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hannah
I lay face-down on the massage table, my face cushioned by a hole that allows me to see down to the floor and gives me room to breathe. And I need that room because every touch of Marco’s hands makes me want to moan in bliss.
He’s already worked his way over both of my arms, from the tips of my fingers up to my shoulders, releasing untold tensions that I didn’t even know I was holding, making my muscles tingle and open up, all the aches and pains I barely even noticed disappearing and leaving me feeling like I’m floating on air. Now he’s working his way down my spine, his fingers passing lower and lower with each circular motion, and I feel both the release of tension and the build of it, thinking about what he will do when he reaches the towel across my ass.
I don’t have to wait long to find out the answer to that. As all the tension floods out of the muscles across my back, Marco’s hands finally brush across the top of the towel. He pushes under it a little, massaging the very base of my spine, and then…
And then his hands disappear, forcing a groan of disappointment out of my chest.
Marco chuckles, somewhere out of my range of sight. “Patience, bella,” he says.
I do have to admit that I am enjoying the massage, and I’m in no rush for it to be over. I try to do as he says, remaining in the moment only, not giving in to my impatience. It becomes a lot easier as soon as his strong hands touch my right foot, beginning to firmly massage my sole and arch. Now I moan again, in pleasure, feeling all pain slip away from three days of lots of walking, giving way only to bliss.
Marco makes his way gradually and carefully up my right leg, massaging my calve, my thigh. His hands begin to move closer towards the towel again, and I feel a prick of desire. Will he reach further? It only strengthens as he moves closer and closer until he’s massaging my thigh directly underneath my ass, so close I keep thinking his fi
ngers will brush between my legs. The anticipation of it is almost agony until I can think of nothing else but how much I want him to touch me there.
But his hands move away again right down to my left foot, and I realize that I’m panting for breath, even squirming in place. I want him so much. But his calming touch on my leg brings me back down, leaves me relaxed and comfortable, even as I feel the heat between my legs that still screams for him to touch me.
His hands slip higher up my thigh again, and I realize I’m squirming still, moving my ass up and down in tiny movements that I can barely control. I almost expect Marco to start laughing at me, but he doesn’t. The atmosphere in the room is serious, so serious that I can hardly breathe, as his hands slip up towards the towel again…
And up, over the towel, then under, cupping my ass in each of his hands, squeezing and lifting. I gasp out loud as he massages my ass, feeling him spread me wide and then push my cheeks together, as the towel slips away from my body. I hear it hit the floor, leaving me fully exposed in front of him again, my legs parted from his massaging touch.
Just when I think he will tease me even further, his hand slips down, over my ass and lower, and dips into my wetness, making me moan and squirm in relief and desire, feeling the touch I’ve longed for.
Marco’s quick, strong fingers begin to work over me, performing the same motions his tongue did last night, making me feel as though I’m going to burst. It feels so good, and when his finger slips inside me, I gasp in surprise at both the motion and how amazing it feels to have something inside me, filling me like that.
I’m powerless to do anything but moan as he rubs me from both the inside and the outside, his careful fingers circling every bundle of nerves that makes me moan out loud, silently bringing me to a frenzy. I can’t help it – and before I even know it, I’m on the brink again, and then tumbling over it, ecstasy flooding my whole body, making me light-headed and dizzy, making me gasp and buck my hips without control until I slowly begin to come down and Marco’s fingers draw away.
Rome WIth Dad's Best Friend Page 5