Say Yes

by Celia Juliano

  “Have a good night.”

  “We will,” she and Lorenzo said together as he stepped into the elevator.

  18

  Lorenzo set her down in the center of their room. Lita giggled nervously but stopped seeing the hunger in Lorenzo’s eyes. This was really it. Would he fit? Would it hurt? Would she do it right? What if she was terrible in bed?

  She twisted her hands together. The one lamp cast a faint glow over the small blue sofa, beige stuffed chair, coffee table and patterned carpet. She couldn’t see the bedroom behind her. They had a suite.

  Lorenzo studied her. “Do you need help with your dress?”

  She should have had Joanna help as planned. It confused Lita how she wanted him so much one moment only to become paralyzed by fear and worry five minutes later. What if that happened in the middle…

  “Lita?”

  She looked at him again, her eyes, like her mind, had wandered. “Sorry. If you could undo the back, I can manage.”

  She turned and he slowly unfastened the hooks and zipper. She almost thought his hands trembled, but that was silly. Lorenzo had no reason to be nervous, unlike her. His hands dropped and he stepped back. She walked toward the bedroom.

  “What should I wear?” she asked without turning.

  “Whatever you want. I’ll wait here.”

  She nodded and shut the bedroom door.

  She shouldn’t have let so many months go by without trying to learn more. Then again, she’d had her reasons. It scared her how good, wild, out of control good, Lorenzo could make her feel and how inept she felt when she tried to do the same for him. Only Christmas night last year had been completely free of that--beginner’s luck, she guessed. Hopefully it would work for her again tonight.

  She stepped carefully out of her dress and laid it on the chaise next to the bed. The bed loomed large in the room, white and pristine. She rubbed her arms and padded into the bathroom.

  It took several minutes to take all the bobby pins out of her hair. Then she brushed it until it shone, soft and wavy, the way Lorenzo liked it. He’d probably like the white bustier she wore, but after almost eight hours, it was uncomfortable. She eased it off, slipped off her hose, and stepped into the pearly, sheer, short baby doll nightie before examining herself in the mirror. She bit her lip and turned to check her rear. White made her butt look big. A robe, she searched her overnight bag to find the long white garment. She cinched it around her waist and opened the door before she lost her nerve.

  Lorenzo examined her. He stood, his coat, vest, and tie draped on the arm of the couch. His shirt hung open, a V neck undershirt tight against his torso, pants still on, but bare feet. Even his feet were sexy. Her eyes flickered over the room while her hands fiddled with the tie of her robe. He cleared his throat.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked.

  She shook her head. His hand smoothed her hair as he stepped closer. Heat washed over her but she shivered. She placed a hand on his cheek, a hint of stubbly roughness now it was night. He kissed her palm, drew her to him. Her hands on his chest, she pressed her cheek into the soft cotton of his tee. The city traffic hummed below, muffled and distant. His heartbeat throbbed, quickening as he brought her closer, his hands on the small of her back. He exhaled. She propped her chin on his chest and met his eyes. His mouth took hers, sipping, drinking, demanding more. Her hands gripped the back of his neck, hot and moist. A sound escaped her throat, a whimpering moan. Too fast. She tried to speak, but only the little noise came out as he tasted her neck.

  She willed the dizziness to stop, her hands to push him away, but he lifted her, carried her into the bedroom. Her feet scraped the doorway. He didn’t notice, too busy kissing her. He set her down and began to strip, not stopping the touching and teasing of his mouth on her. Her lips ached, her head light, she blinked. The room was dim, but his eyes shone, he glowed with heat. She felt his nakedness, but she kept her eyes on his face. He was intent on her clothes. He pushed off her robe, peeled off her nightie.

  “Lita,” he sighed out before he maneuvered her onto the bed, swiftly pushing the coverlet aside first.

  He hovered over her, but on her. His kisses made her skin prickle and she cried out softly when his tongue found her nipples. She gripped the sheets and wiggled. That moment he slid open her legs. He filled her. She bit her lip before her mouth formed an o. A brief shock, a burn shot through her, dulling into discomfort. She lay still, but he moved in her, clasped her now slack hands in his and pushed them up, holding her.

  A breath freed itself. She closed her eyes. Breathe, just breathe. She squirmed, almost finding comfort, when he quickened his pace, deepened his movements. His breathing came fast and shallow, broken by the brief sounds of his pleasure as he explored her lips, neck, and chest with his mouth.

  Her body confused her, hot then cold, tight and soft, moist one place and dry another. Her mind raced, when it was able to form thoughts they fought, opposing: I love him, this is too fast, I need him, ow. She winced when he grunted, almost imperceptible.

  Finally, he gazed at her again. He frowned and rolled off her. She shuddered, empty and cold, but only for a second. He pulled her into his side, holding her. Warmth raced through her. She tensed again, something felt too moist. She didn’t want to dirty the sheets. But it would be worse to bolt from bed now.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t right.”

  Her throat closed, her stomach clenched. She sat up, blinked back tears. She shook her head and her face broke out in hot splotches. She scooted over and hopped from the bed, unable to speak. She ran into the bathroom. Quickly she did what she had to do, then washed her hands and face.

  He knocked and called her name.

  “Go away,” she said, having recovered her voice.

  He opened the door. She hadn’t locked it.

  “I knew this would happen,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  He hung his head. She faced him and warmed. He was too sexy for her own good.

  “I know I might not be all you want, but maybe if--” Lita hugged herself.

  His head shot up, his brow puckered. “What? Have you been paying attention? You are all I want, Lita. The only one I’ve wanted for the last two years.”

  She ran her hand over the cool counter. He embraced her, his breath in her ear sent a thrilling shiver through her.

  “Come back to bed,” he whispered.

  She softened; the familiar mellow sultriness engulfed her. He clasped her hand and led her back into the bedroom.

  Warmth radiated in her as Lorenzo held her in bed, her mind jumbled and incoherent. She smoothed a hand over his chest and smiled. Her husband should be People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.

  “Lita,” he said. He ran his fingers through her hair and held her hand with his. “I meant what I did wasn’t right. You were…”

  She rested her chin on his chest and smiled at him.

  “I took it too fast.” She kissed him and he chuckled. “I wanted your first time to be special.”

  “It was with you. That’s what I wanted.”

  She snuggled into him again. He caressed her back, sending tendrils of heat into her.

  “I wanted to give you more. I saw the look on your face. I hurt you.” His hands stilled.

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie. I can’t stand it when women lie about sex.”

  “I’m not. Maybe it was a little uncomfortable, but that’s probably normal, right?” She figured the physical discomfort was over. If only the uncomfortable memories would stop as quickly.

  “Maybe. As far as I know, you’re the first virgin I’ve been with.”

  Lita tugged the tiny hairs on his chest. She bit her lip. As far as he knew…how many women had he been with who he knew nothing about? Maybe not even their names? She shuddered. He took her face in his hands, their heat and smoothness covered her cheeks.

  “I love you. Only you,” he said.r />
  “Me too.”

  He kissed her and pinched her rear, like she hoped he would. Then he started tickling. She giggled and squirmed.

  “Stop,” she called through her laughter.

  He pulled her onto him.

  “I love you, forever,” she whispered.

  He kissed her. Waves of molten pleasure poured through her. She moved her legs astride him and let herself kiss back, let herself make all the moans and purrs she wanted, let herself grind and nibble and lose control. Lorenzo grunted, like when she’d…she pulled up, her hair in his mouth, red scratches on his chest. Oh, his wonderful chest. She sat all the way up, accidentally kneeing him in the stomach as she tried to climb off him. She collapsed onto her back and pulled the sheet up. A full body blush was possible. They eyed each other. She covered her face with the sheet. He snuck a hand under and moved it over her. She squirmed, the heat starting again.

  “I like your enthusiasm,” he said.

  There was an implied “but” at the end. But she needed work. But she had no idea what she was doing. But…mmm. He slid over her and gave her a long, hard kiss, the kind that made her head tingle and her body find his.

  Though he hardened against her, he only kissed her for a long time. His tongue played with hers, circling and darting. They feasted on each other like they would a light, delectable chocolate mousse, complete with tiny sighs and groans of delight. Lita’s cheeks burned, her whole body suffused in a hot glow, almost like a sunburn, but no, the heat and calm from the sun before you later feel the burn. She parted her thighs and wriggled closer to him. He sucked her earlobe. She moaned and tried to arch into him, but he pressed himself firmly onto her.

  Caressing her arms, he whispered to her. “I love you, my sweet angel, my wife.”

  She tried to answer, but only a slight gurgle came out as he found her special spot with his fingers. He flicked it with his fingertip then rubbed around it before circling closer with increasing pressure. He smiled at her before she tilted her head back and gripped his hand, which still held hers.

  Prickling moisture heated her and she threw her head forward when he joined his other hand in hers and entered her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She never wanted to be without him, without the feeling of him inside her. She sighed back further with his every movement, their movements, their pleasure, their love. Their breathing quickened while their bodies slowed.

  “I love you,” she breathed out as they gazed at each other.

  He brushed her hair back. He said nothing, but his touch, his eyes told her all she wanted: he loved her, she was enough.

  She smiled, her muscles relaxed. The sharp intake of her breath sounded when he tilted slightly and doubled his efforts. She gasped for air as he continued, holding her hands again. She moaned. She was the ocean, ebbing and flowing, powerful and beautiful, calm and sun-kissed. She quaked and stilled. Lorenzo. She found his eyes again, they focused on each other. He closed his eyes and shuddered; she felt his release in her. She hadn’t known that was possible. She wrapped her legs around him as they held each other.

  They kissed. She wanted to stay like this all night. But he pulled away. She pressed herself into his side after he rolled to his back. He put his arms around her.

  “Better?” he said.

  “The best.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  He yawned. She brushed her lips over his. His eyes flickered shut, he smiled. She made him smile. She beamed and melted into him. The best man, her man, her husband. Family, marriage, togetherness, a honeymoon in Italy, a lifetime, all miracles, but she expected nothing less.

  19

  “Good morning,” Lorenzo said in his deepest voice.

  Lita opened her eyes fully and smiled. Lorenzo, propped on his hand, watched her. His free hand caressed her hair, her forehead, tickled the bridge of her nose, brushed her lips, tweaked her chin. He kissed her. She sighed, satisfied and cozy. Her eyes roved the room, wanting to remember each detail, the light shafting in onto the pale carpet, the walls shadowed, the orderliness of the few accessories, the lamp, chair, clock…seven-thirty. Lorenzo nuzzled her neck.

  “Aren’t we meeting everyone for breakfast at eight?” she asked.

  He made a low noise.

  She pushed on him. “I’ve got to shower. Pete’s driving us at nine. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  She scooted away and hurried into the bathroom. Lorenzo’s solid body flopped on the bed as he groaned in frustration. A lot of sounds he made were still new to her, but she knew well those of his frustration. She smiled as she turned on the water, steam billowing out. But now she could make it up to him later, now she could give him what he wanted—what they both wanted.

  He snuck in a few kisses and pinches when he stepped into the shower as she got out. Fifteen minutes later, they sat at a large table in the hotel’s restaurant. Lita’s hair stuck to her neck, still wet underneath. Soon Pete, Joanna, Sophia, and Carlo joined them, all hugs and smiles. Maybe not Carlo, who hugged them both but whispered something to Lorenzo as he did. Lorenzo tapped his foot while they ordered. Lita glanced at him but was soon distracted by Joanna, who wanted to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything she needed to do.

  “Carlo and Sophia made sure all the presents got to your uncle Enzo’s. I’ll take your dress and bouquet to be preserved and follow up with the photographer,” Joanna said.

  Lita thanked her.

  “Where’s Janetta,” Lorenzo asked. “I want to make sure she remembers that meeting on Tuesday.”

  “You’ve already been over everything with her. She told me. You know she likes to sleep in on weekends,” Sophia said. “Besides, we have the number at the villa.”

  “Honeymoon. Remind Janetta, huh?” Lorenzo said.

  He took Lita’s hand and circled her palm with his thumb. She returned his touch.

  “We know. You don’t have to answer.”

  “But no extending your vacation,” Pete said. “You need to be back by August.”

  “Why?” Lita asked. A snap of excitement made her smile as Pete and Joanna glanced at each other.

  “We’re getting married,” they said.

  Lita squealed and ran to hug them both. “If you need any help, we’ll be back June thirtieth.”

  “Of course I’ll need your help. I’d like you to be a bridesmaid,” Joanna said.

  Lita hugged her again and bounced in joy. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Better finish breakfast,” Pete said. “We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes.”

  Lita chattered away with Joanna and Sophia. Lorenzo had congratulated them, but remained silent, even once they were in the town car with Pete and Joanna.

  “What’s wrong?” Lita asked him as Pete merged onto the freeway.

  “I can understand why Uncle Vittorio offered me the cottage in Point Reyes for our honeymoon. I want you alone. Now,” he whispered. He held her hands, tracing her fingers.

  “We will be,” she said. She kissed his ear, his neck. “By tomorrow we’ll be all alone. We just have to wait.”

  “I’m done with waiting.” He glanced at her.

  The wicked grin on his face made her giggle. “Aren’t I worth it?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t care that Pete and Joanna chatted in the front seat, she kissed Lorenzo for the rest of the fifteen minute drive to the airport.

  Lita wore Lorenzo out with her nonstop talking on the flight to New York. He told her so before they landed. At least he said it with a laugh. She had to stop as they rushed across the terminal to catch their connecting flight to Naples.

  Once they settled into their oversized first class seats and the seatbelt light dimmed, Lita slipped off her heels and curled up next to Lorenzo. She tucked away the armrest and took his arm. Just when she got comfortable, she realized she had to use the ladies’ room. She tugged her shoes on and stood.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  He p
ulled her to him. “Why don’t I meet you back there in a few minutes?” he whispered.

  Lita cringed and shook her head.

  “Come on, Lita.”

  She still bent over him. He brushed her breasts in a quick movement.

  She pushed his hands. “No.”

  She strode down the aisle. She wouldn’t even sit all the way on a seat in a public restroom much less have sex in the tiny, probably dirty, airplane bathroom. As she washed her hands, she tried to imagine how he could even accomplish such a thing, but she failed.

  When she returned to her seat, a tall Nordic-looking stewardess blocked the aisle with a drinks cart. And stood smiling at Lorenzo, whose deep chuckle made Lita clench her hands into fists.

  “Excuse me,” Lita said. The flight attendant glanced at her. “I’d like to sit with my husband.”

  “Of course,” she said with a calm, cold smile. She inched the cart back so Lita could reach her seat. “Can I get you anything?”

  Lita pulled the armrest down. “A Sprite, thanks.”

  The stewardess handed Lorenzo a glass of champagne.

  “Nice to see you again, Lorenzo,” the attendant said.

  “You too. Have a good time in Naples,” he said.

  Lita stared at the bubbles clinging to the glass.

  “I will, but we’ll miss you. Safe travels.” The cart clattered a few feet before her voice disturbed Lita again.

  She sipped her drink. Clouds obscured the window view. Lita’s ears hurt, but not from the altitude.

  “Why don’t you meet her in the bathroom?” Lita whispered. “She seems willing enough.”

  “I can’t help it if we run into women I’ve known.”

  “It’s never your fault.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Not lately.”

  He exhaled. Lita made herself see him. Her stomach dropped at the hurt in his posture, his shoulders hunched, his face like a boy’s who wouldn’t cry even though his best friend hit him.

  She pushed the armrest up and snuggled into him. His arm tensed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She smoothed a hand over his chest and he slid an arm around her. “I love you. I don’t want to fight.”