Rome WIth Dad's Best Friend

by Flora Ferrari

  “I can’t wait any longer,” he growls, suddenly in front of me. He lifts me up by my shoulders until I’m kneeling on the massage table, then grabs hold of me, crushing me against his chest as he lifts me and swings me into a fireman carry. I yelp in surprise, my ass in the air and my body pressed against him, as he takes me down the corridor. Even though I already had my sweet release, I feel something growing again in my blood, an urgent need, compounded by the feel of his shirt against my skin, the way I’m exposed for all the world to see if they looked through the wide glass windows at the end of the hall, by Marco’s own urgency.

  He takes me into what I only just have time to register is a bedroom before he places me down on lavish sheets, satin slipping under my hands. Then he is already crawling over the top me, his body shadowing over mine, him fully dressed and me fully naked. I yearn for him, for this, for what he’s about to give me. I need it. Without waiting I spread my legs, feeling the sticky wetness between my thighs, throwing my head back on the pillow and my hands up towards him where I grip his thick biceps, wanting to touch him just as much as I want him to touch me.

  Marco makes a guttural noise and reaches up to grab his shirt by the collar, tearing it over his head instead of bothering with the buttons, throwing it down to the floor. He sits up momentarily to unbuckle his belt and thrust his pants down – and with them, the underwear fitted tightly to his ass and upper thighs, letting his cock bob hard and free.

  I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s much bigger than I imagined, both thick and long. After a moment of staring, I realize that Marco is watching me with a smirk. Not only do I want to make him eat that smirk, but I want to get a closer look at him– so I reach out and touch it, lightly at first, then wrapping my hand around it. Just as I hoped, the smirk falls off Marco’s face, replaced by a moan of pleasure and an expression that almost looks like a wince.

  “You want this, bella?” Marco asks. He does a little motion with his hips, and his member surges in my hands, moving as if it has a mind of its own.

  I gasp a little before nodding. “Yes,” I tell him, because I really, really do.

  He eases me down onto my back again, leaning over me once more, this time without any clothes between us. When he lays his length along mine I feel his hard rod against my thigh, pressing down, leaving a wet trail where it touches. Marco pulls me into a deep kiss, his tongue searching mine, and then I feel a pressure between my legs, a pressure in all of that wetness. Marco adjusts his stance only slightly, one hand down between us, guiding himself in, and I feel a nudge that seems far too big to fit inside where he is going.

  It makes me gasp at first, the sensation of him gliding forward. The pressure is almost unbearable for just a moment until he slowly pushes through and begins to fill me up inside. He keeps inching forwards, just a little bit at a time, waiting for me to adjust and get more comfortable each time so that he doesn’t push me too far. Even as I love his steadiness, his concern, the way he looks after me, another part of me – primal and instinctive – wants him in all the way. Soon I think he must be in all the way, I’m so completely full, but still, he pushes on further, filling me more and more, until I can’t even imagine that such a thing would fit inside of me.

  At last, he gives a low groan and I feel the connection between our two bodies slide home, pressed tightly against one another, no room for even a whisper more. He’s all the way inside, so deep it’s like he’s a part of me, and he looks down into my eyes with an open honesty that sears right down to my core, moving me deeply.

  He pauses there for a long moment, but even I feel that instinctive call to move, to buck my hips against him, to move them up and down as he slides in and out, at first slowly, letting me feel all of these new sensations deeply and in turn.

  Then we begin to move faster, in time, somehow moving to the same rhythm as though there is the same music playing in both of our bodies, so in tune and in sync. I gasp and moan as I feel that same sensation as before, though somehow different this time, all the pressure on the inside of my body and not the outside. Marco begins to thrust deeper and harder, his body crashing into mine, hitting that bundle of nerves, pushing me closer and closer to the edge…

  I don’t want to hold on any longer. I want to feel that ecstasy, feel it pouring over every part of my body again. I let go as Marco thrusts in, again and again, feeling him go deeper, somehow impossibly bigger and thicker, and all I know is that I cry out his name as I let go, a wave of bliss wiping out my consciousness in a blur of white as I give in to the pleasure and only pleasure, letting everything else in the world disappear and fall away.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Marco

  I lay beside Hannah on the bed, satiated and happy. After watching her come while calling out my name, feeling her grip tightening on me as she convulsed with pleasure, I could hold back no more. I had my own release, filling her with my seed and finally claiming her once and for all.

  Now that the afterglow is beginning to fade away, and we both have our breath again, I reach over to roll my fingers across her breast, watching her sensitive nipple stand to attention as I toy with it.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  Hannah lets out a moan before she can answer. It sounds like she’s already excited again. I’m not surprised after all it was her first time, and she’s young. I knew she would be ready to go again quickly. I’m not too far behind her myself.

  “Yes,” Hannah says at last. She glances over at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s past dinner time already.”

  I check and see that she’s right. “Takeout?” I ask, planting a kiss on her nipple to finish off my teasing. “I figure it’s easier than getting dressed.”

  “Takeout sounds good,” Hannah says. Her voice sounds dreamy, like she’s still in her own bubble of bliss. I want to keep her there for as long as possible. “I don’t care what.”

  I grin, deliberately rolling my hand across her body as I reach for the phone on the side table. For Hannah, who loves food so much, not to care about what we eat must mean that she is completely blissed-out. “I’ll order something,” I say, scrolling through the phone for my favorite takeout place. As a businessman, there have been many nights when I’ve worked so late that takeout is really the only option.

  I speak quickly down the phone to get the order placed, and I hear the snap in attention in the server’s voice as they recognize my address as one of their most valued customers. I always order well and tip generously, so that in the future I can expect the best service. It’s one of the tricks of my trade, treat others well and they will do their best for you in return.

  That done, I put the phone down and return my attention to Hannah, who is still sprawled out, open, and exposed to me. I hear her gasp when my fingers enter her without warning, slow and gentle at first, but when she groans and grinds her hips down against me as I move faster.

  I’m already hard again, and I move over her swiftly, taking her into my arms as I position myself to plunge deep inside. She feels so good, so tight and hot and wet, all ready slick and ready for me. This time is easier, better, the two of us moving in time without hesitation. The rhythm builds and I sit upright, going onto my knees in front of her and lifting that peach of an ass up onto my thighs as I drive down into her, watching her throw her head back as the angle drives her crazy.

  We cry out together, both of us getting our release as the doorbell below rings, signaling the arrival of our food. I grin down at her, panting for breath, and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the side of my arm.

  “So,” I say teasingly, meeting her dreamy eyes. “Looks like one of us has to get dressed and answer the door.”

  “Forget the door,” Hannah says, sliding her eyes closed with a smile. “I’m too happy to move.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hannah

  My eyes open in a rush, a flood hitting my consciousness as I remember everything that happened last night. The amazing sex, not just
my first time but my first three times – after we refueled with the takeout, and both managed to find a little extra stamina needed to finish off the night. We fell asleep then, and though I remember Marco’s arms around me last night, this morning the room is empty.

  I look up slightly, moving into a sitting position, and catch the sound of running water coming from behind a door to one side of the room. He must be in the shower. I think about joining him, but then I think about this house, this big, wonderful house that must hold all of his secrets. I don’t want to miss this opportunity, so I grab his discarded shirt from the floor and put it on like the girls in the movies, buttoning it over my bare breasts so I don’t feel so naked.

  The bedroom is well-decorated but masculine, and there are only his things in the drawers and by the bed. It’s not exactly a surprise to know that he sleeps alone, but I’m glad to have it confirmed. It’s not as though I really know anything about his life here – all I know is what I’ve heard from my dad, and in the past few days, Marco hasn’t let much slip at all.

  I move out into the hallway, trailing my hand along the banister above the stairs as I explore. Besides the massage room, there are another three bedrooms, made up neatly with guest beds, as well as a small bathroom at the other end of the hall. It’s big enough for a family here – can Marco really live here alone?

  I’m about to start my journey down the stairs when I hear a light step and look up, to see Marco wrapped in only a towel, water still dripping from his skin. “Morning, bella,” he says, reaching out to cup my chin with both hands.

  For a moment I think about my morning breath, horrified, but when Marco kisses me he doesn’t seem to mind. “Morning,” I manage, my brain short-circuiting at having him in front of me in only a towel and not letting me think of anything else to say.

  “I like your outfit today,” he teases, fingering the collar of his own shirt. His hand drops down to cup my breast and I shiver, my back arching as I instinctively push my chest towards him, wanting him to touch me more.

  But I’m trying not to get caught up in that again, at least not for a moment. I want to talk to him, to ask him the question that’s been on my mind.

  “Do you really live here alone?” I ask. “There are so many extra rooms.”

  “Yes,” Marco says, dipping his head to kiss my neck. “Those are for my family.”

  “Your family?” My heart drops down into my stomach. I thought it was too good to be true. Maybe it is. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t have one yet,” Marco says, easing aside the shirt collar to kiss my shoulder. “I’ve been waiting a long time for the right person.”

  The way he says it, coupled with the possessive way he holds my shoulder and kisses my skin right after, makes my heart leap all the way back up again, almost jumping out of my mouth. Could he mean… me? Really?

  I don’t have the chance to ask more, even if I could get the words together to ask for more. Because Marco has found the one single button holding the shirt together over my breasts and slipped it open, and his towel has dropped to the floor, and all of a sudden every single other thought in the world has been wiped right out of my mind.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marco

  After the best wake-up call that could be possible, I laugh and drag Hannah into the shower with me, knowing that all of the cleaning I just did has been undone – and also that there is a way to make getting clean again so much more fun.

  Once we’re finally dried off, I grab the bags of clothes we bought yesterday so that Hannah can get dressed. “Here,” I tell her, though I don’t think she could possibly look any better than she does wrapped in one of my towels, her face flushed from the heat of the water that still drips from her hair. “I just have to go make a quick work call.”

  It’s a lie, but a white one. She doesn’t need to know the reason I head outside to the garden, sliding the kitchen door closed behind me so that she won’t hear while she gets ready. Because the thing is, ever since she made that comment about the house being too big for just me, I haven’t been able to stop picturing one thing. Hannah, here in this house, chasing around after our children.

  And there’s one thing that I need to do before I can make that happen.

  I press the phone to my ear, waiting nervously for it to connect. I don’t get nervous – not me. This isn’t my thing. But somehow, I feel butterflies in my stomach as the line rings, and they only spring more into life when it connects.

  “Hello? Marco?”

  “Ciao, Simon,” I say, greeting Hannah’s father by name. “How are you?”

  “I’m great. I wasn’t expecting your call.”

  I half-smile to myself. No matter what I may feel about Hannah now, there is a lot of history between the two of us, as well.

  “Can’t a man call his old friend out of the blue?” I ask.

  “Less of the old,” Simon jokes. “Although, you’re probably right. So, what’s going on with you?”

  “Well, actually, I did have a reason to call you,” I say, sensing even myself that I’m stalling for time without getting to the point. “I was just – what do you Americans call it? – yanking your chain.”

  Simon laughs. “Go on, then. What is it?”

  “Well,” I say, hesitating one final time as I glance up towards the bedroom window, where I know Hannah is dressing even now. “I actually ran into Hannah.”

  “You did?” Simon laughs. “Did she contact you?”

  “Not at all.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Actually, it was kind of wild. I was walking down the street and we just saw each other.”

  “Wow!” Simon laughs again. “That’s great. How’s she doing? I was worried about her, taking this vacation on her own for the first time.”

  “Oh, she’s doing great,” I say. “I made sure to look out for her.” Gearing myself up to tell him just exactly how much I did that when he interrupts me again.

  “She hasn’t been running around with any boys, has she?” Simon asks. “I don’t want her to get distracted. Or taken advantage of, either. I know what those Italian boys can be like. You were one yourself, once, I’m sure.”

  “No,” I say, slowly, realizing I can’t follow that up with an admission of the truth. “No, there haven’t been any boys.”

  I think I’m still staying honest. I’m not a boy. It doesn’t exactly feel right, but what am I supposed to say to that?

  “Oh, that’s great. You will just make sure she comes home to us as innocent as when she left, won’t you?” Simon says. “I mean, as much as you can. It’s a father’s greatest worry, believe me. You’re lucky you dodged that one. I mean, not that I would change fatherhood for the world – but you do worry.”

  “Right, I’m sure,” I say. I feel my resolve dying. How can I tell him that I’ve taken his daughter’s innocence and that she is the one with whom I hope to have my own children with after hearing him say something like that?

  “Well, thanks for letting me know, Marco. And keeping an eye on her. I owe you one, buddy.”

  “Any time,” I say automatically. “Well, I’d better go. Work, and all that.”

  “Oh, right! Must be early there,” Simon laughs. “Alright, Marco. Talk soon.”

  I hang up, feeling desperate and hopeless. Not having Simon’s approval won’t stop me from staking my claim on Hannah. I have to have her. She’s mine, and I’m not going back from that.

  But I know it’s going to be hard to make her happy if her Dad won’t talk to either of us for the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hannah

  I feel like a million bucks dressed up in the clothes that Marco bought me, although there is something slightly wrong with the picture, the fact that all of my makeup, my hair products, and even my clean underwear is still in my hotel room. It’s a good thing these clothes look better without underwear on, but I still feel a little strange to be all dressed up and then plain on top.

 
When Marco comes back in, he sizes me up and shakes his head.

  “I know,” I tell him, making a face. “I left all my makeup behind.”

  “I was just thinking how good you look,” Marco says, drawing me close to him. “If you want, I can ask my assistant to pick up your makeup.”

  “And my underwear, too,” I say, quickly.

  Marco’s hands roam over my back, no doubt searching for a bra strap. When he finds none, he tilts his head down at me. “Huh. No underwear?”

  “None at all,” I say. “Maybe your assistant should gather everything for me.” I don’t exactly want to be reminded about his assistant, who must be young and pretty, but then again I’m the one standing in front of him right now – not anyone else.

  “I will get her to do that,” Marco says, his fingers inching up the hem of my dress. “Now, let’s get back to this underwear situation.”

  By the time lunch rolls around, I finally settle for putting on one of Marco’s bathrobes to walk around in, because anything else inevitably ends up on the floor – and at least the bathrobe is easier to put back on. I’ve almost forgotten about my things until there’s a knock at the door, and I watch from the sofa as Marco opens it and ushers in an elderly woman.

  I sit up straight. Who is this? His mother? I wasn’t expecting this!

  “Thank you for bringing those,” Marco says, and when I get over my shock enough to actually take in the picture before me, I realize that something is off. Marco’s mother is carrying my suitcase – and my jacket, the one I left hanging in my hotel room.

  The woman rattles something off in Italian as she puts my things down, and even pulls out a planner from her pocket and starts pointing at things, the light glinting off her sharp half-moon glasses. It slowly begins to dawn on me that this is not Marco’s mother at all, it must be his assistant!