by Karina Halle
“Fuck,” he cries out gruffly, the pace picking up again. “You feel so good, you are so good, so perfect, I can’t help myself with you.”
With this new position on the floor, my hips higher, another swift thrust of his cock slides against the right places and that pressure inside me expands, making me feel like I’m on the verge of going off like a bomb.
His fingers find my swollen clit again and that’s all it takes. A few wet strokes of delicious friction, and the match strikes, an aching flame rolling down along my spine until it explodes at the base, licking through me, taking no prisoners.
“Oh god, oh god,” I cry out. “Yes.”
Garbled nonsense follows as I come apart around him, feeling like I’ve been blown wide open. There’s nothing left of me, except tender, spent pieces.
My upper body collapses onto the ground, my face crushed against the velvet soft roses, and I try to brace myself for what I know is coming, all while I slowly come back down to earth.
Claudio keeps pumping into me, the sharp slap of his hips filling the room, the feel of his balls as they whip against me. He is a voracious, relentless beast at this moment and I think he might just fuck me into the ground.
Then he stills for a split second, his breath sucked inward, before his fingers bruise my hips, and he comes inside me with a low groan.
His thrusts slow, and eventually his grip loosens and I feel drops of sweat fall onto the small of my back.
“Grace,” he says, and I can still feel myself pulsing around him as my body tries to regulate itself. He lets out a shuddering breath. “Mi hai distrutto. You have destroyed me. Body and soul.”
Likewise, is all I can think. Likewise.
He affectionally runs his hand over my back, smoothing out the sweat, and then pulls out. I immediately feel the space he leaves behind. I wanted him to stay buried in me forever.
He gets to his feet, while I slowly straighten up, on my knees, picking away the loose petals that are sticking to my damp skin. I hear him pull on his clothes, and then he walks around in front of me, just in his briefs, holding out a hand for me.
I give him a quick smile and put my hand in his, letting him help me to my feet.
I expected things to be awkward between us now, since we just had hot, sweaty sex in his artist studio, but it doesn’t feel that way. He grins at me, his eyes glossy and sated, and then wraps a hand around my waist, the skirt of my dress straightening out.
Even after all that, the sight of that smile takes my breath away, making those little butterflies dance.
“Here,” he says quietly, reaching out and touching my forehead. When he removes his hand, I see peachy rose petals in them. “I suppose I’ll have to get more roses for next time.” He pauses, searching my face. “And by that I mean the sculpting session. Let’s see how far I get before you distract me again.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead where the petals had been, his lips warm and lingering. We’re both still trying to catch our breath.
“So,” he says to me, as he pulls away. “Are you done being a model for the night or would you like to try again?”
To be honest, I don’t think I could go back to staring at him for hours and sitting in one spot. I need to be alone to process what happened. I need to think about what this means.
“I might be ready for bed,” I tell him, even though it’s still fairly early. Vanni is probably still up.
But he just nods. “I thought you might.”
Then he turns and grabs his clothes, getting dressed.
And I stand there, wondering how much my world has changed.
Fourteen
Claudio
It wasn’t a dream.
I wake up with a voracious hard-on. I roll over to my side, my legs catching in the sheets. I’m used to waking up like this, particularly after Grace arrived in my life, like a shining star caught in Earth’s gravity. My dreams have been filthy with her.
But last night’s dream wasn’t a dream at all.
I close my eyes to the faint sun streaming in through the curtains, replaying the scene in my mind.
Her smell, her taste, the way she felt when I drove my cock inside. So tight, warm, it was like coming home. I saw the side of her I always wanted to see, the side that was buried under all her layers, coming apart like the petals of the roses as they crushed beneath her. I don’t think I’ll ever smell roses the same way again.
Fuck. That was real.
It happened.
Art come to life.
Granted, I didn’t get that much work done, but that’s hardly the matter. The work will come easy now, I know it will, now that she’s given me permission to sculpt her. As long as I can keep my hands off her and on the clay.
That won’t be easy, not when she looks the way she does, not when she takes me in with those baby blues of hers, looking at me sometimes like I’m a god.
At the very least, I felt like a god last night.
I get up, deciding to take a shower, thoughts of Grace rolling through me until I have to get off again. It’s been a long time since I last slept with someone, and now my body is firing on all cylinders, a slumbering beast that’s been awakened.
When I step out of the shower, I get changed, and glance at the time. It’s seven thirty, perhaps a little too early to wake Grace. After we fucked in the studio, we ended up going our separate ways to sleep. I could tell that she had a lot on her mind, and I wasn’t going to push it, especially as Vanni could easily catch us with the other in bed. The boy doesn’t knock when it comes to me.
But when I head down the hall to her room, her door is already open a crack.
“Grace?” I call out quietly before pushing it open.
Her bed is made, the room empty.
Hmmm.
I head downstairs, checking the study, then go to the kitchen.
No sign of her.
I step out the back, thinking she might be in the pool for some reason, when I see her sitting at the veranda, her back to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her up this early and it makes me uneasy somehow. As if last night disrupted something.
“Buongiorno,” I say to her as I walk across the grass, hands in my pockets.
She turns to look at me, giving me a quick smile, before focusing back on her laptop.
“Uh oh,” I say, coming over to her. “I’ve interrupted something.”
I put my hand on her neck and lean in for a kiss, but she instantly jerks her head back.
Feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach, to be honest.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says softly, eyes darting everywhere. “I just … Vanni could see us.”
I look back at the house. Vanni is most likely still asleep.
But from the frightened look in her eyes, I’m not going to press her.
I drop my hand and step back, swallowing my discomfort.
“Forgive me,” I say, displaying my palms.
Her face softens. “I’m sorry. I just … I need to figure things out first.”
I angle my head, staring at her, wondering where she’s coming from.
“What do you need to figure out? We had sex last night, yes? There is no mystery there. Certainly no mystery of whether you enjoyed it or not.”
I can still hear her low, breathy cries as they echoed around the studio.
She rubs her lips together, pink staining her cheeks. “I know.”
“Don’t tell me you thought it was a mistake,” I say teasingly. I keep an easy smile on my face, though I know I’ll lose it in a moment if she agrees.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head, taking her hands off her keyboard and putting them in her lap. “Not a mistake. I just need to … move past it.”
My brows go up. Move past it?
“Don’t tell me you want to pretend it didn’t happen.” I decide to push her, make that blush deepen. “I know my cock is all you can think about.”
Yes. There it is, the pink spreading across h
er face and now her chest.
“Claudio,” she whispers. “I…”
I walk around and sit down across the table from her, folding my hands on it, fingers steepled. “I am going to pretend that last night I fucked a few brain cells loose so that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Grace, why on earth would you move past that? Why not think about it? Revel in it? I know that’s what I’ll keep doing until it happens again.” I pause, reading her tense body language. “I get the feeling that I might be waiting for a while … if you feel shame.”
She exhales loudly through her nose and gives me a pointed look before shutting her laptop. “I’m not ashamed. I’m sorry. I just … I don’t want to ruin what we have and I really don’t want to make things complicated between you and me and Vanni. Not to mention Jana.”
“Jana isn’t a part of this conversation. Neither is Vanni.”
“But he’s your son.”
“He is. And I love him. I would do anything for him. And I have. But right now, what you and I share, our bodies, it does not involve him. So you can stop worrying about him. Okay?” I place my hand palm up on the table, gesturing for her to give me hers. “This is about you and me, Grace. That is it. That is all. That is enough.”
She hesitates and then puts her hand in mine, nodding her head.
I grasp it hard.
“I just need to go slow,” she says quickly. “I don’t want to … lose focus.”
She eyes her laptop.
“That I understand.” But I’m not sure how much of that is the truth for her and how much is an excuse. “Your work comes first.” I pause. “You also come first.” I give her a weighted look so she can’t escape my meaning.
I lean over and kiss the top of her hand before letting go. I straighten up.
“Then I shall leave you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up this early.”
“Yeah, well I couldn’t sleep much,” she says, looking coy. “And I figured this was the only opportunity to write out here before it gets too hot.”
“That’s smart,” I tell her. “I’ll go get breakfast ready.”
I walk around the table and head into the house, but the spring I had in my step earlier has faded. I’m sure that Grace will come around, I just wish we were on the same page about this whole thing. Whether we’re sleeping together, or whether it’s something more, whatever we create is something just for us. And for now, it doesn’t need the permission of anyone else, not even of my own son.
I just need Grace’s permission.
And I can only hope she’ll give it to me.
Breakfast was fairly easy. I made a frittata and put together a board of sliced meats and cheeses and bread. Vanni, of course, only had the Nutella. I swear he goes through two jars a week. Where does he put it all?
Grace was acting quiet and demure during breakfast, which I understood. She was trying to appear like nothing was wrong, like nothing had happened between us, and since she’s a bad liar, I guess the best thing was to talk as little as possible.
Vanni, as observant as he is, didn’t notice. He was too busy talking about a movie theatre in Lucca playing a matinee of Back to the Future.
“Can I go, please?” he pleads as I settle down with an espresso.
“Not with those crumbs on your face.”
He grabs a napkin and aggressively wipes them off. “Okay, now can I go?”
I sigh. I did want to take part of today to work on the sculpture of Grace, providing Grace would volunteer as model again. But Vanni looks so sincere, and I still feel bad that he didn’t have the vacation he wanted.
“Okay,” I say. “Matinee? What time?”
“Two o’clock,” he says. “It’s in the city, you know the old theatre Cinema Astra? We can bike there and have lunch. Then I can meet Paolo. It was his idea.”
Paolo is one of his school friends, also a nerd like Vanni.
“Are you sure? It’s not too hot for a bike ride? Also, why not another movie, if you must? You have seen Back to the Future a million times.”
“Gio’s father would let him go.”
I roll my eyes and exchange a dry look with Grace, who has a smile dancing on her lips. “Fine. If alternate dimension Vanni can go, then you can go.”
“It’s alternate universe.”
“Okay.” I turn to Grace. “Would you like to come with us?”
I expect her to say no, so I’m surprised when she nods. “Aye, that sounds like fun.”
Hmmm. Always keeping me on my toes.
It’s not long after that we get the bikes out and are set to ride off. We leave a little earlier than we should, trying to beat the heat, but it’s no use. It’s ten o’clock and we’re already sweating. Luckily the road through the valley is flat and there’s a breeze as we go. When I catch glimpses of Grace, she’s smiling again.
That’s something I wish I could sculpt, or at least take a picture of. Her eyes closed, lips spread wide and tilted up to the sun. She looks so happy and free. That’s the Grace I saw last night, moments after she came around my cock.
Fucking hell, what am I doing? I’m falling for her a little too fast.
And I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it.
We get to Lucca, overheated, with our clothes sticking to us. We walk our bikes through the uneven streets until I find a nice restaurant that’s open for an early lunch, in the cooler shade of the buildings.
We sit around an outside table, drinking Aperol Spritzes (a Coke for Vanni), while watching the world go past, waiting for the kitchen to open. We’re silent for a lot of it, all of us just existing in the moment. There’s this indescribable warmth in my chest, this feeling of contentment that I haven’t felt in a long time. Perhaps my feelings are ridiculous, but just being here, the three of us … it feels like family.
But you’re not family. She’s a guest and she will be leaving sooner than you think.
I feel cold at the thought. I’ve been doing what I can not to dwell on the fact that Grace’s time at Villa Rosa has an expiration date. There’s no good in counting the days, knowing how fast time will pass you by anyway. It’s a fight that I won’t win.
Soon the kitchen opens and we place orders for our food, sharing grilled eggplant, zucchini, and bocconcini as an antipasto, then moving on to pasta. Grace practically loses her mind over the spaghetti carbonara, demolishing it like she’s starving.
There’s nothing sexier than watching her eat. She does it with such enthusiasm, her face collapsing in pleasure, the same way she did when she came.
Then we take our time relaxing over espressos and then limoncello, before Vanni bids us goodbye.
“Remember, go straight to the theatre,” I tell him. “I don’t want you getting lost.”
The theatre is around the corner, and Vanni has been to Lucca so many times, there’s no way he will get lost. The city isn’t that big, regardless.
“I will, I will,” he says. I can tell from the look on his face that he’s both annoyed and grateful I’m not walking him there. At least I know Paolo is a good kid, and his idea of a good time is studying (or watching Back to the Future, it seems).
“I’ll meet you outside in two hours. We’ll keep the bikes locked up here.”
Vanni nods and takes off down the street.
“Must be nice to be in a city where your kid can do that,” Grace comments, finishing the last of her drink.
I shrug. “Perhaps I wouldn’t let him go in Rome, but here it is okay.”
I’ve already paid the check, so I drum my fingers on the table. “So? Where to?”
She shrugs. “Anywhere would be nice. I guess we have to leave the bikes?”
“No, we can take them and keep his bike locked up here, as long as we don’t leave our bikes out of our sight. Want to take a ride?”
She nods.
I get the attention of the waiter again and add a bottle of white wine to the bill. The wine is to-go. He brings it to me with two plastic cups.
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Grace’s brows raise appreciatively. I know the true way to her heart.
Biking through the city streets is a little complicated with the amount of pedestrian foot traffic, so at the first opportunity, we take the path up to the medieval walls again. Last time we didn’t do a complete circle, so this time we go where she hasn’t been yet.
It’s still hot as sin and the shade of the massive chestnut and linden trees aren’t doing much to cool us down. I decide for us to stop, and take a path down that leads to a wide expanse of grass, lined with crumbling ruins on the other side of the city.
“What is this?” Grace asks, getting off her bike once we get to the grass.
“This is history,” I tell her, pushing my bike along. “These are the ruins of bastions. When this was built in the 1500s, they expected Florence to attack. When they didn’t, these old walls became disused. It’s the perfect place to enjoy a bottle of wine.”
Hopefully in private.
We walk along the crumbling walls until we come to a nice spot shielded from view of the main wall where cyclists and walkers pass. I pluck the wine and glasses from the basket on Grace’s bike, then throw our bikes down on the grass and sit down beside each other, backs against the wall.
The bottle is a screw-top, and I open it, pouring it into the cups.
“Cin, cin,” I tell her, raising my wine.
“Cin, cin,” she says, raising hers.
I know I’m staring at her too much, and I know I’m possibly being too much, especially when she told me this morning that she needed space. But to change would be like changing who I am. I can give her space, but I can’t pretend I don’t ache for her.
I finish my sip and clear my throat. “So, this evening. Would you care to model for me again?”
She stiffens. Not the reaction I wanted, but one I expected.
“Tonight?”
“If you’re not writing, but I understand if you are.”
Understand, but I would still be disappointed, no matter how wrong it is to feel. How can she keep her focus on her work when I am here and losing my mind over her?