by Lea Bronsen
“You take care, now.” Brian petted his fellow-countryman’s arm.
Like a shower of tiny spikes, raindrops fell from the sky, wetting everything in their path. The guys would be soaked in no time. She prayed they would soon find a safe place to stay.
“Sure.” Flashing a shiny smile, Todd leaned forward to grab his handlebars and plowed on the pedals. His tires crushed tiny stones on the wet asphalt, spraying them to the sides, the sound ricocheting between house walls.
Anne let her eyes drift to the Italian, who seemed to hesitate. His mesmerizing black diamonds met her gaze and sharpened. Rain splashed on his cheekbones, giving his tanned skin a glow.
What? She raised a brow at him. A pulse pounded in her ears.
In the next beat, he ripped his look away from her with a shake of his head, sent her husband a courteous nod, and followed his blond friend down the street.
If Brian hadn’t taken her hand to drag her back into the house, she would have stood still, numb, under the now-pouring rain, until the two bicyclists disappeared at the end of the village.
Chapter Two
“Talk dirty to me.” Legs apart, Anne writhed, her back pressed deep into the mattress by Brian’s heavy body. Soft heat from the bed sheets enveloped her, and her husband’s warm skin touched hers in all the right places.
Low moans drifted from another room. One of the tenant couples. Outside, a symphony of sounds revealed Mother Nature’s fury. Rain hammered on the roof. Violent wind tore at the closed shutters, making them clatter against the frames. Occasional thunder boomed in the distance as the storm moved to a neighboring village.
Brian grunted disagreement into her ear. The tip of his thick, hard cock poked at her entrance, teasing. One thrust and he’d slide in, but she wanted more than the usual fucking and moving on to other family matters. She wanted hot, she wanted dirty.
“S’il te plaît.” She pressed her hands against his hips, stopping him from penetrating her. “Say porn stuff to me, first.”
He grumbled, moving his nose down the side of her throat, his excited breath leaving a trail of moist heat on her skin. “Why? We don’t usually….”
Why? Because—dare she even think the thought?
It’s because of those ebony eyes. I can’t get them out of my mind.
The teasing eyes of a Latin beauty on a bike, staring at her in a haze of naughtiness and shameless seduction.
How pathetic, really. All day, the memories had haunted her, each time making her breath catch and her chest ache. And each time, she’d pushed the vivid images away and forced herself to concentrate on everyday life instead.
But now that the familiar, musky scent of sex filled the dimly lit bedroom, and her husband lay on top of her, eager to introduce his hungry erection into her wetness again, she couldn’t help bringing the Italian back into her mind.
She had to be delirious to allow such a violation of acceptable conduct—infidelity. Her cheeks colored.
A lusty female scream flared through the thin hall walls separating them from the other lovers. A moment later, a male groan.
Anne listened, and when silence settled, she replayed the sounds in her mind. Jealousy stung. Several times, Brian had brought her close to the edge, making her whimper with pleasure, but never this far. She wanted to scream like that woman, wanted to experience a real orgasm like her.
The black-haired bicyclist could do it to me, I’m sure.
Just thinking about it made her pussy muscles contract. Her husband didn’t need to know why. It would be her small secret. The first and only.
She moved aside a bit, leaving air between their stomachs, took one of Brian’s large hands, and brought it between her legs.
“Oh, fuck.” He gasped and brushed his lips against her throat, the hairs of his moustache tickling her sensitive skin. “You’ve never asked me to do this before.”
True. But he hadn’t shown much interest, either. Though he said he loved her more than his own life, he’d never been curious about her body, never fingered her. Hadn’t this liberal-minded hippie learned a few tricks during his world travels?
“There.” She guided his two longest fingers into the damp heat of her cunt and pressed them inside. “Can you feel how wet I am?”
Wet? Dripping might be a better word.
She withdrew her fingers.
“Yeah.” Sucking in a breath, he moved around inside her, probed, discovered. His breathing picked up, grew heavier.
As a reward, she squeezed her inner walls around his fingers, massaged them, and showed him what she wanted. With a resolute push of her hand, she shoved his fingers deeper, then out, and in again, mimicking the regular gliding movements of his cock, wet sounds filling the space between them.
“Say it.” A burning sensation built from her inner muscles and spread to her stomach like a brutal rush of heat. Closing her eyes and conjuring up Micaela’s sparkling Latin eyes in her mind, she raised her hips to help Brian’s fingers dive farther.
It might work, this time. She wanted an overwhelming orgasm. One that rattled her innermost core and made her lose her mind.
Brian groaned against the skin of her neck. “Holy fuck, baby, you’re wet…you’re very wet.” He lifted his face and gave her lobe a surprising bite.
The sharp pain made her gasp. Needing more, she grabbed his thumb and guided it to her clit. “There, please!” As he rolled it around the sensitive nub, his touch sent sparks of fire through her entire body, and her hips jerked. “Ah!”
A loud rap at the bedroom door made them both jump and stare at each other, holding their breaths. What now?
A low, male voice behind the door. One of the tenants. “Excuse me, uh, Mister Johnston?”
“Fuck.” Brian lifted his head, the tendrils of his long hair brushing Anne’s chin. “Yeah?”
“Didn’t you hear?” The voice sounded irritated. “The doorbell rang.”
“Pfff.” Brian put his hands on the mattress and raised his heavy, glistening body from between her legs. His huge erection appeared before her eyes like a gigantic lollipop.
Oh mon Dieu. How tempting. For a brief second, her mind flashed to the gorgeous Italian. What must his stiff cock look like? Thinner, perhaps? Darker?
“All right.” Brian jumped out of bed and put his pants and a sweatshirt on. Grumbling, he opened the door and stepped into the hall.
Heart beating a little faster, Anne crept out of the sheets, put on a bathrobe, slid into slippers, and followed him.
One light bulb lit the dark, paneled walls. To the left, next to their bedroom, stood a small spare bathroom and a bigger one with a tub. Across the hall were four rented rooms. The tenant gave them a scowl before closing his door. The whole house was quiet, as if every other breathing soul listened, wondering who could be waiting out in the pouring rain at such a late hour.
Anne was coming down the creaking wooden stairs when Brian opened the front door. A gust of cold, wet air blew in. She wrapped her arms around her waist.
Oh! The young Italian bicyclist and his friend stood outside, shoulders hunched. They wore raincoats, but these had done little to protect them. The shower hammered so hard on the asphalt, she couldn’t hear what they said.
Behind them, a flash of white lightning pierced the dark sky above the neighboring rooftops. Brian stepped aside, and the guys hurried in, water dripping from their clothes and rucksacks, forming instant puddles on the floor.
Brian closed the door and turned to face them. “Fucking hell.” He shook his head. “Well, all I can offer you guys are these sofas.” He pointed to the living room corner. “Hope they’ll do.”
Anne’s heart pounded as she gazed from one wet hottie to the other.
Brian nodded at her. “Anne, my wife, will give you blankets.”
With a thankful nod, Todd took off his rucksack, removed his raincoat, and hung it on a chair at the dining table. He wore a pullover, but it was soaked, and his hands shook from cold. He looked pallid.<
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Micaela, equally haggard and wet-dog-like, sent Anne an inquisitive glance before undressing. Dripping black locks hung over his eyes, and his whole body trembled. He knelt on the floor to unpack his own rucksack.
“Anne, sweetie.” Brian shot her a look. “Maybe you could make them a hot drink first.”
One more order. Her jaw clenched, but she swallowed her pride. “Yes, of course. I’ll put on the kettle.” She turned toward the kitchen.
“Franculo.” The Italian’s curse behind her drew her attention again. “Wet. Clothes, everything.”
As she and Brian stared, Todd groaned and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Fuck, I’m sick of this shit. We’ve had rain before, but nothing like this storm.”
“Well.” Brian lifted his brows. “You can have some of my clothes. Anne will get them for ya. They might not fit, but….”
Again! At this point, she blocked everything and everyone out and pivoted back to the kitchen. The guys chatted on, but she didn’t want to hear anymore. First the blankets, then the hot drinks and the clothes. She didn’t know where to begin, or what to think of it all. Why was Brian giving her orders in front of the guys, humiliating her?
And look at me, dressed in a simple bathrobe. How unsexy. Probably have mascara smeared all over my face, too.
When she’d fantasized about seeing the Latin beauty again, she hadn’t imagined such an awkward mess.
She stormed through the kitchen door and turned on the light. Though white-tiled and clean, Brian’s cuisine was old-fashioned and sparsely furnished. She filled the steel kettle with water, put it on the stove, and turned on the gas.
To be honest, his conduct was nothing new. It had started after they’d married. She had overheard her father giving Brian advice on how to run the bed and breakfast, apparently assuming his son-in-law would take over as custom dictated. No one had asked her opinion. In the beginning, Brian had looked sheepish, as if ashamed of his abusive patriarchal behavior, and she’d obeyed his orders so he wouldn’t feel even more uncomfortable. But, little by little, they fell into a pattern, a frustrating habit she could only deplore because he was so unlike the man she’d fallen for. Whenever she objected, he would raise his voice, the same way Papa did when Maman dared argue with him. In an attempt to accept the situation, she told herself Brian loved her, and that his devotion to the family business was the most important thing. He was doing his fair share of the domestic tasks, anyway.
Lost in thought, she barely heard the low voice behind her.
“Anne?”
She spun around and stifled a gasp.
The handsome Italian stood cross-armed in the doorframe. Despite tired eyes and cold clothes glued to his body—spandex pants leaving nothing to the imagination—his lips were flushed in contrast with his pale, damp skin, and he exuded the same charismatic self-confidence as earlier.
He smiled. His first gesture of kindness since they’d met, so touching, her chest ached, and so surprising, it took her a while to recover.
She swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“Your name, Anne?”
Again, the thick roll of the R. What a charming accent.
She nodded, took a deep breath. “And you, Micaela?”
“Sì.”
The blond—Todd, she remembered—appeared in the door, pressing Micaela aside, and behind him stood her big bear of a husband.
Todd’s green eyes darted from Anne to the Italian and darkened. “What are you guys talking about?”
Micaela shrugged. “Our names.”
“Ah.” Todd gave an exaggerated nod, as if having been told something of great importance, and glared at his friend. “Speaking of which. Did he tell you, Anne, why he has a girl’s name?”
“No.” His hostile tone surprised her.
“’Cause when he was born, the doctors couldn’t tell if he was a boy or a girl, so his mom chose a girl’s name.”
Brian chuckled at his side. “Tough luck.”
“Yeah.” Todd’s eyes gleamed with mockery. “His prick looked like a clit, and his nuts hadn’t fallen down yet. So he’s told me, anyway.”
She blinked from the man’s spite. Why did he ridicule his friend? Was it jealousy because he wanted to be the one flirting with her?
Brian sent Micaela a wink. “You coulda changed it to Micae-lo.”
The Italian shrugged, somber eyes fixed on a spot behind her.
At that moment, the water boiled, saving them from further conversation. She turned to pour it into two mugs. After adding a few spoons of cocoa and sugar, she gave the steaming mugs to the young bicyclists, avoiding their gazes.
Brian scratched his head with a sigh. “So, let me show you the shower, I guess. It’s upstairs.”
They turned off the light, left the kitchen, and climbed in line up the creaking stairs to the landing. Todd went to the bathroom for a shower, Brian to the spare toilet, and Anne offered to get Micaela and his companion some clothes.
Chapter Three
Cocoa mug in hand, the gorgeous Italian followed willingly, walking next to her on the bare floorboards with the grace of a panther. They entered her small peach bedroom with the dark-wood furniture.
He sniffed the air and glanced at the ruffled bed sheets with a grin, black eyes sparkling. Could he tell Brian and she had just had sex?
She chose to ignore him and opened Brian’s closet. Her husband was a big man, and his clothes would be large for the two guys, but they had no alternative.
“What do you want to wear?”
When he didn’t answer, she turned to him.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror beside the bed, bending to remove the bicyclist pants, his bluish but very sexy ass pointing toward her. His long, black locks hung like a curtain, hiding his face as he struggled to pull the spandex down his shivering legs.
After a few groans of frustration, he straightened and gave the bundle of wet clothes on the carpet an irritated kick. At the same time, his reflection in the mirror showed the full length of his masculine body. Skinny, but with neatly defined muscles in all the right places, suntanned and beautiful and, by God, sporting a magnificent cock. Dark, just like she’d thought.
Todd’s spiteful comments resurfaced. Well, Micaela had definitely had his birth problem fixed.
She swore the penis grew before her eyes, thickening and lengthening, a fascinating metamorphosis, sending a sharp signal of lust between her thighs. She blinked, believing she must be dreaming—but, no, this perfection of a male specimen stood in front of her, tempting the hell out of her hungry body.
With a deep breath, she let her gaze travel upward from the half-erect organ to the hairy, muscular chest, and farther up to his handsome, grinning face.
Grinning! Yes, above a self-satisfied smile, a pair of black, smoldering eyes met hers in the mirror.
Oh, no. She quickly looked away. The picture of dear Brian making love to her earlier flashed in her mind. The way he’d finally attempted to satisfy her in bed outweighed any issue she might have with him. How could she then behave like this, openly admiring the aroused body of another man?
Micaela gave a low, teasing chuckle. “What is problem, you no like?”
Of course she did, but she refused to admit her interest.
“Don’t you?” He tilted his head, teasing.
“I’m a married woman, Micaela.”
“Is easy. You like or no like.”
She glanced back with a severe look. “You can’t talk to me like that. Do you understand?”
He frowned. A shiver ran through his body, and he tightened his jaw. Wrapping his arms around his trembling torso, he threw a sideways glance at the tempting bed sheets before looking back at her. “I’m cold.”
She shrugged. “You should take a hot shower.”
“No, Todd still there.” He nodded toward her bathrobe. “Give me.”
What? She widened her eyes. She wore nothing underneath, and Brian could come in any time. Or Todd. She s
hook her head. “Take Brian’s clothes.” She pointed to the open closet behind her.
“I’m freezing.” He rubbed the goose bumps on his arms. Before she could react, his hands shot to her bathrobe and opened it. Cold air from the room brushed her exposed nipples.
With a gasp, she put her hands on her breasts and closed her eyes, couldn’t or didn’t want to see his reaction.
His breathing hitched, too. “Che bella.”
“Stop it.”
He stood still for a moment, short, regular pulses of heat drifting to her from his breath. With a sudden tug, he slid the warm fabric off her shoulders, leaving her nude.
She opened her eyes and reached out for the robe, but he snatched it away from her, laughing. If only Brian would play with her like this. Her nipples hardened from arousal.
The toilet in the hall flushed.
In the next instant, a deafening detonation shook the entire house as if the sky itself exploded above the roof, and the light bulb in the ceiling snapped. Total blackness enveloped them.
Now what?
No longer able to rely on eyesight, she focused on her other senses, holding her breath as everything happened at once. Todd called for help from the bathroom at the end of the hall, Brian yanked open the door to the adjoining toilet with a curse, and Micaela’s breathing in front of her picked up pace. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears like a high-speed locomotive. Tch-tch-tch... .
Afraid of what might happen if she moved, she remained still as a corpse, nude and helpless. The aroused Italian stood so near, the salty scent of his sweat and wet hair surrounded her. He might complain of being cold, but steady, unmistakable heat drifted from his body, brushing her naked skin. And with her husband a few meters away, she’d never been so close to…serious, fucking trouble.
She widened her eyes, trying to discern Micaela’s shape in the immediate dark, but sensed him more than she saw him. Her heart palpitated.
Again, Todd shouted from the bathroom, sounding angry. Maybe he didn’t dare climb out of the slippery tub.