Disenchanted

by L. D. Davis

  In my younger years, I had been an aggressive lover. I had enjoyed dominating just as much as I had enjoyed being dominated, but I’d thought that part of me had died a long time ago. Marco must’ve awakened that little tramp. She wanted to take charge now, and I wanted to let her.

  Without taking my mouth off his neck, I reached between us and ran my hand over the outline of his cock. The noise he made—somewhere between a whimper, a moan, and a growl—made me laugh against his skin. Skillfully, he lifted my body with one arm, and in two seconds, I was on my back with him on top of me. My mouth had detached from his neck, but he quickly busied it with his own as he kissed me ferociously. The kiss was brief but left my lips feeling bruised and swollen.

  When he straddled my thighs and began the quick work of unlatching my bra, I saw the angry red mark on his neck where I had sucked and bitten him. There was a clear outline of my teeth in his skin. I didn’t have time to feel bad about it, though, because then my nipple was in Marco’s mouth and my hands were in his hair, and one of his hands was unbuttoning my jeans. Seconds later, I was writhing against him as he sucked on my hard nipple.

  “Marco,” I moaned, my voice high. “Oh my god. Please, please, please.”

  “Please what? Tell me what you want, baby.”

  My words came out as a raspy plea. “Make me come. Please.”

  Two fingers plunged inside me, making me cry out as my hips rose off the bed. He continued the assault on my breasts as his fingers fucked me and his thumb pressed down on my clit.

  “Oh my god. Don’t. Stop. Don’t stop!”

  He laughed as I shattered, my body shaking with pleasure.

  “You are always so wet after you come,” he murmured with wonder as he withdrew his hand. “See how wet you are?”

  He showed me his glistening fingers, but instead of putting them in his mouth like he had last night, he brought them up to my mouth. Staring into his eyes, my lips parted.

  He hissed as I simulated oral sex on his fingers. With an Italian curse, he removed his fingers and replaced them with his mouth. His tongue swept inside, tasting and savoring. Suddenly, he rolled off the bed.

  “Get your pants off,” he growled before he headed toward my purse across the room.

  I’d struggled with taking my pants off long before I’d been injured. It had always been such a process, to put them on, to take them off. By the time Marco returned to the side of the bed with a condom, I had only managed to get them down to my knees. At some point, I wasn’t sure when, his pants had been unbuttoned and the zipper was down. I stared at the shape of his dick under his boxers, too transfixed to finish what I was doing, especially when he began to stroke the length of it.

  I reached for him, snagged the hem of his boxers, and pulled, then pulled again until he sprang free. No surprise that the beautiful man had a beautiful cock. I hadn’t gotten to see it last night, as he’d been solely focused on my pleasure.

  The shaft was thick, thicker than any I’d seen. Despite the subtle curve, the impressive length stood against his belly. His balls looked heavy from his arousal, and I was glad to see he didn’t shave, although the thick dark hair did appear to be neatly trimmed. The best part, my favorite part of any man’s genitalia, was the mushroom shaped head. It was broad and smooth, and there was a large pearly drop at the very tip.

  With a moan, I angled toward him, wrapped my hand around his shaft and brought it to my lips. Staring up into Marco’s gas-flame blue eyes, I licked away the clear drop, and then licked my lips.

  “Dio Mio,” he gasped.

  Suddenly, there was a savagery in his eyes that made me inhale sharply and recoil, but my heart raced, and I had a wicked ache between my thighs. Marco growled again as he literally flipped me over like a fucking pancake. Before I understood what was happening, he was on top of me, straddling me again. I looked over my shoulder and saw him expediently rolling the condom on. He hadn’t even taken his pants off, or mine for that matter. Before I could mention that, he was…

  “Oh, fuck!” I shouted as he entered me from behind, deep. Hard.

  He let out a chain of explosive curse words in Italian as his body settled over mine. He pulled almost all the way out, agonizingly slow before he slammed back into me, making me scream again.

  I felt his breath on my back and neck, his heart pounding against me. I was trapped beneath his big body and loved every second of it. For what could have been weeks, Marco fucked me with long, slow, but brutal strokes. I could feel his restraint, the tension in his muscles, and knew that he was trying not to come. He wasn’t ready to end it yet, even though we had all night, but I wasn’t ready, either. I felt like I’d been hollow my whole life until he’d entered me and hadn’t known it. The sensation of being filled was not just a physical one, but I felt him in my heart, and in my soul. I was unreasonably afraid for this to stop, afraid that I would be left feeling hollower than before.

  He must’ve felt the connection, too…must’ve had an emotional sensation of fullness.

  “I don’t care how many you’ve been with before me, Lydia,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “I don’t want you to have anyone after me. It’s just me from now on, and for me it’s just you. It is just you and me from now on. Do you understand?”

  When I couldn’t answer immediately because I couldn’t find my words, he rammed into me harder than ever.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” I cried out and came with a shuddering moan.

  Satisfied with my answer, he held me tightly and rolled over onto his back. My eyes rolled to the back of my head with this position change. He was deeper, and my movement was restricted because my pants were still around my fucking knees.

  Marco’s arm was like an unmovable bar under my breasts, and his other hand moved between my thighs and rubbed my clit as he pumped his hips. Despite the awkwardness of the position, I was nearly in tears because it felt so damn good.

  “You’re so damn wet,” he said as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.

  He took my own wetness and rubbed it on my nipples, pinching each one in turn, making me squirm and whimper.

  “I’m going to come,” he whispered harshly as he put his hand back between my thighs. “You’re going to make me come so fucking hard, Lydia. You’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”

  He grabbed my hand, put it on my clit, and then put his hand over mine. He thrust harder, faster, cursing under his breath and squeezing my nipples so hard it hurt, but I didn’t want him to stop. Couldn’t stop.

  I screamed, louder than ever. Screamed his name, screamed words that didn’t exist, and screamed curses, begged him not to stop, and begged for shit I’d never remember. When I soaked both of us from my orgasm, the orgasm that seemed like it could go on forever, Marco growled like an animal. I felt him pulsing inside me as he began to come.

  “Dio mio. Ti amo. Ti amo. Ti amo, cazzo. Cazzo! Dio mio,” he chanted as he climaxed. He said those words over and over in some variation or other.

  His hips slowed and finally stopped pumping. I was nothing but a shuddering mess on top of him. I nearly came again when he took my hand and sucked my fingers clean. My god, Marco Mangini was a dirty boy, and I guess I was a dirty girl, because when he put his fingers at my lips again, I didn’t hesitate to do the same.

  A little while later, after he’d disposed of the condom and I had finally gotten my pants off, we lay facing each other, fingers linked.

  “Are you okay, Tesoro? Did I hurt you?”

  I gingerly touched his neck with a fingertip. “I think I hurt you more.”

  “I liked it. I didn’t expect you to be such a hellion. Surprised the hell out of me. Your claws came out for real. It was so sexy.”

  I bit my bottom lip to try to tone down my big-ass grin. “I don’t always like to be the bottom bitch.”

  “I’m never the bottom bitch, Tesoro, so you better be ready for a fight when you want to wield your dominance.”


  “Sounds like a good time to me.”

  “Mmm. Yes, it does.”

  We were quiet for a couple minutes, but I could tell he was thinking of something. His brow was slightly furrowed as he studied my face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I didn’t mean for our first time to be like that. I wanted to make love to you, Lydia, not fuck you like an animal. I like to fuck like an animal, and often, but I didn’t want that for our first time.”

  “It wasn’t just you. Hello, hellion here. I think we started out that way, but…” I shrugged. “We have all night, Marco. We can still…be gentle.” I couldn’t say make love, because to me, that always implied…well, love. I knew what he’d said when he came, too, but I was going to pretend he hadn’t said it. I wasn’t ready for that.

  Hope lit up his face. “You will stay the rest of the night? I am not only asking because of that. I want you to stay because I want to soak up every minute I can with you before I leave, even if we are asleep.”

  My heart and stomach got all fluttery again, but this time I didn’t try to calm the flutters down.

  “Yes, I’ll stay.”

  He grinned, and then he moved closer and kissed me softly. It didn’t take long for him to harden again, but this time, when he entered me, I was able to gaze into his eyes. This time, I got to kiss him as he slowly rocked into me. This time, when I climaxed, I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t cry out those three words I thought I wasn’t ready for.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marco

  Delicate fingers plucked a strawberry from the bowl and brought the red fruit to her pink lips. I watched with lust boiling my blood as she parted those pretty lips and bit into it. Red juice trickled down her chin before she could stop it. Her tongue poked out and licked the corners of her sweet mouth as she raised her linen napkin to her chin. How disappointing. I would have very much liked to lick that strawberry juice from her cute chin, and then maybe lick her lips, and perhaps kiss her until I could taste strawberries no more.

  Lydia caught me staring, and her face turned a pretty shade of pink. Dio I loved to make her blush, loved to see the color crawl up her graceful neck and bloom in her soft cheeks. I had a feeling she was not the type to blush normally, and I very much enjoyed being the one man who could make her so deliciously nervous.

  “Why are you staring at me?” Her voice was sharp with irritation.

  I also loved getting her ire up. She tried to turn me off with her fire-breathing, but she only succeeded in making my dick rock hard ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time.

  “Because you’re beautiful,” I answered simply, without hesitation or shame.

  I sipped my coffee as I again watched color spread into her cheeks and her back straighten and her lips purse together. Lydia seemed incapable of taking a compliment. I didn’t think it was because she didn’t believe these things about herself, but I think she didn’t believe that I really believed those things about her, as if she were below my notice. In actuality, she was all I could see and think of whenever we were within a hundred miles of each other.

  Her eyebrows arched together in a scowl that made me want to adjust myself in my pants. She was too damn cute.

  “Can you just eat your breakfast?” she said with exasperation and gestured to the fresh fruit and pancakes in front of me that have mostly gone untouched.

  I gave her a ravenous grin. “Take off your pants and panties, sit on the table, spread your pretty thighs, and I will.”

  Her body reacted with a light tremble, even as she tried to pretend to be unaffected.

  “Is that what you want from me? Just sex?”

  “I want a lot of sex with you,” I admitted easily. “In many different ways, and in many different places.”

  She sat up straighter, frowning, but I continued to speak before she could say anything.

  “Sex is only part of what I want. I told you last night how I feel. I like to be playful and tease you, but I will never play with your emotions, Lydia. When it comes to that, I don’t play games. I told you I was in love with you and I meant it.”

  I could see the anxious energy zipping through her, even though she tried to hide it. It was impossible for her to hide from me. She was an open book for me no matter how hard she tried to hide the words of her soul, and I had a voracious appetite for reading.

  There was doubt on her face as she eyed me. “You’ve known me for, like, two minutes.”

  “Then I have been in love with you for one hundred of those one hundred and twenty seconds.”

  My words affected her, I know they did. I could see it in her sharp intakes of breath and that never-ending blush in her cheeks, but she could not grasp that I wanted her. It was beyond her understanding, and that frustrated me.

  “But you can probably have any other woman you want, someone more your type. Someone who fits better in your lifestyle.”

  “You are my type, Lydia. You fit. You, Tesoro. Just the way you are.”

  When I stood and went to her, she came into my arms without a fight, and as if she’d been waiting for it, she opened for my kiss and kissed me back with hunger. Although she smiled for me a half hour later as we climbed into separate vehicles, her to go home and me to the airport, I knew the truth of her feelings. No matter what I said, Lydia did not trust me, and I knew I would have to work hard to make that happen.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lydia

  My house was fuller than it had been in years. Full and a little chaotic, but it was a nice chaos. Along with my crew—including Marco—Shawna and Cliff were visiting, as well as Wes and his two children, Paris and Cody. Today was my first time meeting them. It was strange that our parents were dating but Cody was only ten and Paris thirteen. I’d grudgingly come to like their father, and it wasn’t just because he looked like the actor Terry Crews. Wes was admittedly adorably dorky, he had a great sense of humor, and a lot of patience, which was necessary because I hadn’t been very receptive in the beginning. He got along great with my kids, and above all, he was very good to my mother, and after years of being single and raising two kids alone, she deserved someone to be very good to her.

  It was a bonus that Wes and Marco became instant pals, especially since Marco was at our house more frequently than I could’ve ever expected. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d see him again after our night together, despite all he’d said, but the following weekend he was there. Then the weekend after that, and a few days after that. When he started to visit during the week, I thought it would throw my family off schedule, but he jumped right into the swing of things, until he was just part of our routines.

  We didn’t want to confuse the kids or answer too many awkward questions. So, in the beginning, Marco still took a room at the hotel, but after a few weeks, we slowly eased into him staying overnight. He liked being there when the kids woke up, and they liked having him there. They often asked him to make the waffles they’d fallen in love with at Lily’s when they’d first met him, but sometimes, he sat with them in the living room with bowls of cereal and watched cartoons. Secretly, I liked to watch them sometimes, sitting together so comfortably as if Marco has always been a part of our lives.

  I no longer thought he was a dangerous criminal when it came to my kids. I hadn’t told him so, but the attention he gave my kids was moving, like it literally made my heart hurt in a good way. He got Gavi interested in architecture and even taught him how to read some of his blueprints. They often sat for hours at the dining room table, brainstorming and sketching, and sometimes bringing their ideas to life on a miniature scale or using Legos. His relationship with Mandy was adorable. She loved tea parties with “Marmo.” The man had no qualms about sitting down in a tiny plastic chair at a tiny table and wearing a pink hat and having tea with “Signora Amanda.” I even snapped a picture of the pair, leaning across the little table, mouths smashed together in a kiss. A couple months ago, I would have found it disturbing, but now I f
ound it adorable, and it made me sad that my daughter missed out on times like this with her father.

  Cora, of course, was a future award-winning chef. Marco totally indulged her by buying all the ingredients for recipes she wanted to try out. They completely destroyed the kitchen with every experiment, but at least he cleaned up after himself and taught her to clean up, too.

  When Gavin died, most of the yard work and repairs on the house had been neglected, but Marco and Wes, both proving they were more than just pretty faces with brilliant minds, began to fix it all up. Now, neighbors I hadn’t spoken to in years—if at all—began to gravitate toward Marco whenever he was outside. Not only had he learned all their names, but he seemed to always know what was going on with these people—who was sick, whose basement flooded in the latest storm, or whose kid was away at college. They stood around with steaming cups of coffee, chatting and gossiping like a bunch of old ladies in a nursing home.

  Marco also enchanted a group of women and one man that powerwalked by the house every morning with their tight spandex and working legs. If Marco was outside, they ruined their whole workout to stop and talk and giggle and toss their ponytails. Of course, he was charismatic and made the heifers feel good about themselves, which always made me a little jealous and cranky. Maybe it was childish, but I was deeply satisfied after one morning when we were loading the kids in the car for a day at the zoo and Marco kissed the shit out of me just as the Power Walkers came by, making it very clear that he was my man. Their greetings were remarkably subdued that morning as they powerwalked their asses right on down the road.

  He seemed to be a natural family man. The kids loved to play with him, but they also learned quickly to listen to and respect him. I didn’t know if they responded better to him than me because he’s a male, or because he was new to the family dynamic and it would wear off with time. Either way, my children were very attached to him, and as thrilled as I was, I was also terrified of what it would do to them—and me—when he no longer had time for us. As much as I wanted to believe in happy endings, I was a realist, and I’d believed in happy endings too many times only to be disappointed.