Royally Romanced

by Marie Donovan

  The sun filtered through the green vines, turning their veranda into a secret bower that sheltered the two of them, hiding them from everyone but each other. She was utterly safe in the circle of his arms—but then she wasn’t. She had the sensation of standing on the edge of a precipice, safe for the time being, but on the brink of danger.

  He lifted his head and stared at her. “You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  “What?” He couldn’t read her thoughts—could he?

  “It’s never been like this—not with anyone.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her voice failing her after that one syllable. She didn’t know if she was agreeing with him or trying to deny it. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and just concentrated on the physical sensations, blocking out the messy emotional ones.

  Her fingers pressed into his butt as a signal and he went along with her silent request, starting to move inside her again.

  “Oh, Renata, Renata.” It came out a long groan. He pounded into her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her sensitive nipples brushed over his silk shirt, and she wished he was totally naked. Wished she was naked, too, right out in the open, the sun beating down on them. Where anyone could see them, could see how perfect their bodies fit together, how big and hard and thick he was—and he was all hers.

  The exhibitionistic image made her moan.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She told him what she’d been fantasizing.

  He jerked inside her. “You would?”

  “Yeah.” She blushed again.

  He withdrew from her and stripped off his shirt and then his shorts. Totally naked, where anyone with a long-range camera could see him. And they would need a panoramic lens to capture his cock, wet and glistening from where it had just been welcomed inside her burning, throbbing body.

  “Giorgio!” She reached for his hand to pull him down.

  “Ah, let them see.” He tugged her to a standing position and shoved the robe off her arms so she was totally naked herself.

  He sat on the chaise where she had been and pulled her on top of him, sliding easily up into her. “Now they can see. They can see your naked body taking your pleasure on top of me—using me as your sex toy, a tool to make you come and nothing more.”

  She shuddered, lust rushing through her trembling body.

  “The world is watching, Renata,” he taunted. “The women want to be you and the men would kill to take my place.”

  She fingered her clit, brushing his shaft as he ground into her. Faster and faster, she raised and lowered herself. Shivering and crumbling, her breath came in pants. Unlike Giorgio, who wore none.

  “Oh, Renata, what a fichetta you are.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. She knew that one—he was calling her a hot piece of ass. “What if they saw me spanking you?”

  She lifted her ass slightly in invitation and his nostrils flared with arousal. He gave her a quick rap. “You asked for it.”

  She had, and he gave it to her, pounding into her. His hands fell from her breasts and he gripped her butt, playing and squeezing her cheeks as she touched herself. He spanked her lightly. Pressure built up deep inside her, radiating from her nipples down to where his shaft filled her and around to her stinging buttocks.

  His face was strained and dark. “Come now, Renata. Show them how a real woman fucks a prince.”

  His provocative taunt pushed her over the edge and she came hard. Her orgasm triggered his and he gave a loud shout before exploding into her.

  Locked together, they clutched each other as Renata writhed on his pulsating cock. He suddenly let go of her butt and stroked her clit. “Go again. I command you.”

  “No, no,” she whimpered. He ignored her and circled the throbbing knot, pulling and teasing at it until she sobbed. Leaning forward, he cupped her breast and flicked its peak with his tongue, sucking and nipping at her until she couldn’t stand it anymore and threw her head back in a climax more powerful than the first.

  Wild, almost animalistic noises came from her throat, startling her with their ferocity. But this was who she was with him—anything he wanted to do to her, she would let him. Her naked body on top of him outdoors was proof of that. If anybody was watching them…she shuddered again a third time, her pussy jerking and quivering around him.

  He threw his head back and laughed in sheer masculine triumph. “Ah, if only I could come three times in ten minutes!”

  “Shh,” she managed before collapsing on his chest.

  “I mean it. The only sights of Italy you would have seen would have been your view out the window as I fucked you all day and night.”

  “You mean you haven’t been?” She lifted an eyebrow.

  “I cannot help it.” He shrugged. “My appetite for you is insatiable, my thirst unquenchable.” He kissed the top of her head and eased out of her.

  The ocean breeze cooled her overheated nether regions and was quite chilly, in fact. She reached for her robe but Giorgio insisted on walking around the terrace buck naked as he gathered his clothing.

  “Geez, who’s the exhibitionist now? Won’t you be embarrassed if any naked pictures of you get out?”

  He straightened from where he picked up his shorts. “I am not particularly vain, Renata, but I have nothing to be embarrassed about concerning my body.”

  She had to agree, drinking in the sight of him.

  He waggled a finger at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You keep looking at me like that and we’re back to noisy, naked public acts of indecency.”

  She fought to restrain herself. “What about your subjects? Wouldn’t they be embarrassed?”

  Now he was really laughing. “We are an earthy bunch, like the Italians. If there were photos, I would get a round of raunchy jokes emailed to the palazzo, but they would take pride in their ruler’s masculinity, so to speak.” He stalked toward her, his cock actually hardening again. “The di Leone princes have always had reputations for being, ah, well equipped and well versed in using it.”

  OKAY, SO THE REST OF THE morning had been taken up by discovering the capacity of the hot water heater—not so much hot water, but plenty of heat.

  She had managed to dress in something besides a robe, choosing a frilly teal-green blouse over a white tank top and khaki capris. She was wolfing down a ham-and-cheese toasted panini sandwich that Giorgio had bought from the breakfast pastry café. He was eating an insalata caprese made of fresh basil leaves, tomatoes and slices of fresh mozzarella. He’d tossed it with only a little olive oil vinaigrette and had given her several slices of the cheese. The man certainly took his healthy eating seriously. She, on the other hand, was on vacation and would just deal with extra poundage by returning to her ramen and cracker diet.

  She set down her water bottle and brushed the crumbs off her blouse and pants. “Did you want to go out this afternoon? We could take a guided tour of the castle or sit on the waterfront drinking vino.”

  “I had something else in mind. Do you have any sensible shoes?”

  “You want me to wear sensible shoes? Out where everyone can see me?” She’d been more embarrassed at their bout of semipublic, raunchy sex. She drew her bare feet up on the couch and admired her dark red pedicure. Taking care of her feet was one thing she didn’t skimp on. Healthy food, yes, cute feet, no. Maybe she needed better priorities?

  He shook his head. “No more of those sexy high heels. You need to wear good walking shoes today.”

  “I can walk fine in high heels, even on these cobblestone streets.” Even if the wine hit her a little hard, she’d just clutch Giorgio’s nicely muscled arm.

  He shook his head. “Today, we are hiking.”

  “Hiking?” She raised her eyebrows. Walking, sure. She walked most everywhere since she didn’t own a car. Did he mean in those really high hills behind the town? Even the vineyard workers took a special elevator/train up to the grapes. “I’m more of a pavement girl.”

  He burst out laughing. “What is the American sayi
ng? You can take the woman out of New York City, but you can’t take the New York City out of the woman. The people I talked with assured me that some of it is pavement. You did not bring walking shoes?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but…” She almost hadn’t, but had feared her feet swelling on the airplane.

  He lifted an eyebrow and waited silently.

  She couldn’t help herself. “They’re ugly, okay? I only bought them last year when my brother stepped on my toe with his heavy cop shoes and broke it.”

  He held up his hand. “I promise not to think the less of you because you are wearing less-than-fashionable footwear. I have a nice collection of Italian leather shoes myself.”

  “I noticed your shoes when you came to my shop. I admire good footwear in a man.”

  “How lucky for me.” He pulled her close. “I also have many excellent suits, Egyptian cotton shirts and Vinciguerra’s largest collection of ties.” He nuzzled her neck. “As you well know, they are sewn of finest silk that slips over your skin yet still holds a firm knot. Perhaps you would like a closer look at them.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom and gulped. The idea of him tying her hand and foot to the bed was wildly arousing, to put it mildly. She wet her lips and he groaned. “Enough. We need some fresh air.” He turned her away from him. “Go put on your walking shoes. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  Renata dug down to the bottom of her suitcase and pulled out the boxy white leather sneakers and a pair of white ankle socks. Her feet settled into the unaccustomed padding and actually felt good.

  Not that she would wear gym shoes with her work clothing like a suburban commuter, but maybe on weekends…

  “All right, here I am.”

  “Lovely. Now I don’t have to worry about your twisting an ankle. The path to Corniglia can be steep.”

  “Corniglia? We’re walking to Corniglia?” He had to be kidding. From what she’d seen on their boat trip, Corniglia was straight up a cliff. She’d even wondered in amazement that the whole town hadn’t plunged into the Mediterranean drink aeons ago.

  “You cannot come to Cinque Terre and not go to your ancestral village. It would be a terrible disgrace.”

  “But that sucker is vertical. They probably have to bring supplies in by rope and pulley,” she whined.

  He was implacable, and Renata shortly found herself wearing a floppy sun hat and carrying a backpack filled with sunblock, water and snacks. Giorgio wore matching gear but of course he didn’t react to the sun like she did. He was even more of a bronzed god after a few days of sun exposure.

  “All right, where to?”

  “The trail starts up by the train station.” He grabbed her hand and guided her toward the top of the town.

  “No train going up there?” she asked wistfully.

  “Not for us.”

  She gave up, but not before one last parting shot as they started uphill. “If all my muscles cramp up, you’re carrying me on your back.”

  He laughed. “Come on, city girl. You should see the hills in Vinciguerra.”

  “So that’s why you have such nice legs.” She leered at his strong calf muscles and tight glutes.

  “Stop buttering me up and walk.”

  The trail wound around the base of the watchtower of what used to be the castle. It had crumbled away over the years and now was just a stretch of grass overlooking the harbor.

  The watchtower was still impressive—perfectly round and made of dark gray, flat, rectangular stone. “The lookout for when Turkish and North African pirates came raiding for slaves in the Middle Ages. They would build fires to warn the other villages along the coasts.”

  Renata shivered. To be living in a sleepy Italian village where you never went anywhere else or met anyone else, and then to be kidnapped and sold into slavery in a Middle Eastern slave market. It was a horrifying thought. “Did they ever go home?”

  “Some of them.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Others would have adapted as best as they could to a new life.”

  She snorted. “You would have been bought by a lonely old widow and kept in the male version of the harem.”

  “As long as there was a sexy redheaded maidservant who could sneak in, I would be content.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Now come—let me take your picture. How about there?” Giorgio pointed to a section of trail with a great view of the harbor.

  “Okay.” She faced him and smiled as he took several pictures.

  “That looks great with the boats behind you.”

  A young couple came around the corner and oohed and ahhed at the view. They spotted Giorgio and Renata.

  “Hey, y’all speak English?” the pretty blonde woman asked. Her dark-haired boyfriend wore a University of Texas shirt, so no bonus points for guessing where they were from.

  Not quite like she did, but close enough. “Sure, I’m from New York.”

  Apparently, from the amused glance between them, her accent was just as entertaining. Giorgio didn’t say anything.

  “This is such a super spot—we could take y’all’s picture and then if you didn’t mind, you could take ours,” the woman offered.

  “Oh, sure. You want to go first?”

  The blonde handed her a pink cell phone. “Sure! Chase and I are on our honeymoon…” She stopped to gaze adoringly at Texas Longhorn Man. “And we’re updating our Facebook as we go.”

  “Every ten minutes, Mandy?” the groom grumbled.

  The happy couple posed in front of the Vernazza harbor and Renata fired off several shots, feeling rather like a prom photographer when Mandy turned Chase so she could gaze into his eyes and looped her arms around his neck as if they were slow dancing.

  “Thanks!” Mandy bounded back up toward them. “Now your turn!” She accepted Giorgio’s camera. Renata decided to hang on to Mandy’s pink one so she couldn’t accidentally take Giorgio’s photo and plaster it on her Facebook wall.

  “Come on, George, let’s get our picture taken.” Renata thought she heard Giorgio sigh but he followed her to the scenic spot.

  He slipped his arm around her waist. “All right, Renée.” She winced. She’d been mistakenly called that since she was a kid.

  “Snuggle in so I can get a great shot.” Mandy aimed Giorgio’s digital camera and took a few pictures. “How romantic! Don’t they look sweet together, honey-bun?”

  Chase grunted, either in agreement or disgust at being called “honey-bun” in public. Renata wasn’t sure which.

  Giorgio was shaking with silent laughter by then. “Do not ever call me ‘honey-bun,’” he muttered.

  “Don’t worry,” she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “I’d wear black socks with tennis shoes before I do that.”

  Mandy finished, and she and Renata traded equipment. “It’s so neat to meet other honeymooners, isn’t it, Chase? We’re staying in Manarolo at the cute little hotel above the Dionysus wine bar, so stop by if you want to hang out.”

  “Thank you.” Giorgio gave her his most gracious nod, turning his green gaze full wattage on her. “Have a wonderful time here in Cinque Terre.”

  “Oh, my.” She stared up at him in wonder. “You have the cutest accent, doesn’t he, Chase?”

  Chase was understandably less enthused. “Him and every other guy here in Italy.”

  Sensing a potential brouhaha in Honeymoon-Land, Renata pulled Giorgio down the trail. “Congrats! Happy honeymoon!” she called over her shoulder.

  He hurried after her. “Ah, Texans certainly are friendly. I expect meeting fellow honeymooners George and Renée will make her next posting. If only you New Yorkers were as easygoing.”

  “Hey, we have things to do—we can’t run around after cattle all day.”

  He laughed. “I’d pay a thousand euros to see you in cowboy boots running after a cow. Red boots, to match your hair.”

  She groaned. “I barely do hiking trails—I definitely do not do cow pastures.”

  “How do you d
o with vineyards?”

  “Can I get some wine?”

  “Once we get to the top,” he promised.

  She took a deep breath. Never let it be said New York girls lacked grit. “Let’s go.”

  The trail was steep but green with lush vineyards, and despite Giorgio’s initial whip-cracking, he stopped often to admire the scenery and gallantly ignored the loud wheezing noises emanating from her lungs. They hit a wider point on the trail next to a nasty-looking cactus plant.

  “Wow, I didn’t know it was warm enough for cactuses up here.”

  A grizzled old vineyard worker came over to greet them. He and Giorgio chatted in Italian. “Ah.” Giorgio nodded. “He says these are called fichi d’india—figs from India. I think the English name for them is prickly pear cactus fruit. I had some in California once.”

  The old guy told Giorgio something else.

  “He says he is sorry you are not here in late summer. They are a beautiful golden-yellow and so sweet and juicy. You will have to return to try them. He promises you will love them.”

  Giorgio gestured to Renata and told him that her ancestors came from Corniglia, which inspired an excited exchange.

  “He said, of course you are from Corniglia because you are a beautiful girl and everyone knows the girls from Corniglia are the most beautiful in Italy. I told him the most beautiful in Europe.”

  “Aww.” She smiled up at him.

  “Well, anyway…” Giorgio reddened slightly under his tan. “He says to visit his cousin’s wine shop on the main square and tell him Carlo sent us.”

  “Sounds great. And maybe something to eat.”

  “Of course.” They shook hands all around and headed uphill again. “Carlo also said we passed the nudist beach a while back.”

  “Really? I don’t remember that.”

  “No, I didn’t see any nudists, either. It must not be nudist tourist season yet.”

  Renata shuddered at the idea of full-frontal sunbathing. All the money in the world couldn’t make her risk sunburned breasts and even worse…a sunburned…no, that would never happen.