Under Her Skin

by Michelle Love

  “If only I could forever.”

  Ama giggled. “Man, that would make grocery shopping awkward.”

  “And business meetings.”

  “And recitals. Here, tonight, a recital by pianist Amalia Rai, who, you will notice, will perform while being comprehensively fucked by an incredibly handsome man. Front row tickets extra.”

  Enda laughed out loud. “Those tickets would sell out for all the wrong reasons.” He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Although, the thought of people watching you cum and seeing that beautiful rose flush in your cheeks …that’s kind of hot.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Guilty. What about you? Have you any kinks I should know about?” He finally pulled out of her and lay on his side, his hand stroking her belly. Ama smiled up at him.

  “You know, it’s hard to tell, because when I’m with you, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t try. But I don’t think I have enough experience to start thinking that way yet. If you want to suggest some things, I’m willing to consider them.”

  “Hmm.” Enda stroked her cheek with his finger. “Not sure. I’m sure we can come up with something together—no pun intended.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. Ama snuggled into his arms and breathed in the night air wafting in through the open windows.

  “This place is heaven.”

  Enda smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Listen, I was thinking …not wanting to stand in your way or anything, but have you thought any more about going back to San Francisco?”

  Ama felt a wave of nausea. Being so close to Jackson again …but then, there was her work to consider. “I keep going over it in my mind. I don’t want to be driven out of the job I adore because of Jackson and his threats, and I owe the conservatory at least a proper goodbye if I leave. My contract stipulates three months’ notice.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been considering leaving.”

  Ama nodded, her eyes serious as she looked up at him. “Truthfully, Enda, I have. I would be happy never to go back to the States. This place feels like home to me. You feel like home. I mean …” She went red and sat up, suddenly shy. “I’m not expecting you to …I don’t want to make you feel like you’re stuck with me, is all.”

  Enda chuckled. “Piccolo, I’m in this for the long haul. For good. You have no need to worry about that.” He ran his hand down her back. “As soon as the divorce is finalized, I would like to …well, I don’t want to make any demands of you, but I would be honored if you would think about …a commitment of some kind. Engagement, marriage, whatever we both want. Even just a commitment ring, if you feel like you don’t want to be legally tied to someone else. Whatever works for us. I love you, Amalia, and this is it for me. You are my person.”

  Ama tried not to let the tears in her eyes fall. “You always know how to make me feel like the most loved person in the world. Thank you, baby.” She pressed her lips to hers, then pushed him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. Enda cupped her breasts in his hands, then traced the indented line down her stomach to her navel. She shivered with pleasure as he circled it with his fingertip, her own hands reaching for his still half-erect cock and stroking it until he groaned and she lowered herself onto it, sighing as it filled her cunt.

  “God, Enda, I will never get tired of this …never …”

  The next day, Amalia met Inca for lunch in the town. They found a little trattoria and ordered a light seafood linguini and salad for lunch. Since being in Italy, she and Inca had grown incredibly close, and now Ama couldn’t remember when they hadn’t been friends. Inca was sweet, funny, very intelligent, and was so full of empathy for others that Ama marveled at her capacity for love.

  They also had the same sense of humor—bordering on raunchy—and they often talked about their men in their lives. Inca was obviously still head-over-heels for Raffaelo even after all this time.

  “He was a tough cookie to fathom when I met him,” she admitted now as they ate, “But just his presence used to send my body reeling with desire. Honestly, he’s my walking, talking aphrodisiac.”

  Ama grinned. “I know how you feel …except my lightning bolt moment happened when I was walking down the aisle to marry Enda’s brother. Talk about awkward.”

  Inca’s cheek flushed scarlet then, and she tried to hide a smile. Ama squinted at her.

  “What’s this …gossip? What are you hiding, Sardee-Winter?”

  Inca grinned. “Oh, you might as well know. Tommaso was my boyfriend first, before Raff. And then it was Raff. And there was a little …overlap.”

  “You cheated on Tommaso.”

  Inca shook her head. “No.”

  “He knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he didn’t mind?”

  “No.” Inca looked at her steadily.

  “So, you were sleeping with both of them …” Suddenly Ama got it and gave a shocked giggle. “Both of them? At the same time?”

  Inca grinned. “Guilty. Are you shocked?”

  Ama processed this new information. “No,” she said finally, “Not shocked. Definitely not judging you, either, just F.Y.I. Kind of …envious? I’d love to be that uninhibited.”

  Inca looked relieved. “Eventually, it had to come to a choice though …and Tommaso knew that, although I did love him, it was Raffaelo who had my heart. And then I got stabbed, which kinda put a little of the wrong kind of kink in the relationship for a while,” she quipped, grinning, and Ama was amazed at her ability to joke about it.

  “The thing with Enda and me …I was a virgin before him.”

  “You were?”

  Ama nodded. “And although the sex is mind blowing, I’m a little scared to …suggest anything more adventurous yet.”

  Inca nodded sympathetically. “Before the Winter twins, believe me, I wasn’t nearly as open, shall we say. I think it’s just the matter of being with that one person who you can entirely trust in.”

  Ama smiled at her friend gratefully. “Thank you for sharing your experience with me, Inks. It does help …and, girl, you were wild.”

  Inca laughed. “I’m still wild, just with Raff now, as it was meant to be. I also have a great relationship with Tommaso now. I think because he has changed so much and grown more content in himself. He was unsteady emotionally when I met him. Our time together …I think it both messed with him and helped him, too, as strange as that may seem. Anyway, now he’s with Bo and their quadrillion kids. They’re coming over soon …I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

  Ama was still thinking about what Inca had said as she drove back to the villa. She felt a pang. She missed her own friends—Lena, Christina, and her sister. She would try to invite them all to Italy, although they had to be careful. Enda had made sure their tracks were covered, so Jackson couldn’t find them. Yes, he probably knew they were in Italy, but where, he wouldn’t be sure.

  In the three months since she’d left him, they had only communicated once, through their lawyers. Jackson wasn’t going to give her a divorce or an annulment. She would have to wait for the two years before she could divorce him. She had even tried to say that he could claim she cheated—because, technically, she did—but he just wouldn’t even consider it. She didn’t want his money or anything from him, but her freedom.

  That they hadn’t heard from him since was a relief to her, but she knew it made Enda uneasy.

  “He’s planning something,” he would fret, but she had told him.

  “This is what he wants. He wants us to be nervous, to be constantly looking over our shoulders. No. I refuse to live like that. What will be, will be.”

  She walked into the villa now. It was silent, but cool—a relief from the hot sun outside. Enda was still at work, still planning on building music schools with Raffaelo, but currently catching up on the work he’d let slide when he was in the States. Ama dumped her bag, changed into shorts and a halter-neck top, and checked the time. Four p.m.

  She hadn’t wanted any staff when they moved here,
and Enda had agreed. So, now only a light security team were on the premises, but they worked the perimeter of the grounds and the house was a private sanctuary for Ama and Enda.

  She went to the cool, open-plan living area and sat down at the piano. She thought of the beautiful Bösendorfer that Jackson had bought her, trying to curry favor, and realized she preferred this much older, well-loved instrument here. Enda had told her his mother used to play on it and so it felt more like a friend than an object. Ama ran her hands over the keys and played a few bars of various compositions; Mozart, Bach, Copland. She closed her eyes and let her fingers move of their own accord with a new composition, light but sensual …a love song. She hadn’t written anything for months now, it seemed, but as her fingers moved across the keys, she could feel the imperative within her. She switched to modern music—Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, Norah Jones—singing along softly with the music.

  “I had no idea your singing voice was so beautiful.”

  Ama turned and smiled at Enda. “Ha. Thank you. It isn’t, but thank you anyway.” She started to stand, but he waved her down and joined.

  “Stay, and play some more for me.”

  So, she did. With Enda’s arms locked around her waist, she played through some of her own compositions for him. Neither of them noticed it had gotten dark by the time she had finished. Enda pressed his mouth to hers.

  “That was glorious. Grazie, cara mia.”

  Ama leaned into his embrace. “You, music, and this beautiful place. I’m in heaven.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her. “I’m glad you feel that way, piccolo.”

  Ama stayed in his embrace for a moment, then her stomach growled and they both laughed. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. I was going to make us some supper.”

  “Let’s cook together.”

  They went into the kitchen that Ama had grown to love. Exposed brickwork and old-fashioned fixtures belied the state-of-art kitchen equipment. She opened the vast fridge. “It’s too hot for curry,” she said, grinning at his disappointment. Since meeting her, Enda had become addicted to spicy meals. “Well, I suppose I could do a light vegetable one, and we could have it with salad and roti?”

  Enda grinned. “Sounds good to me …but you may be right about the heat. Maybe something lighter for tonight?”

  Ama laughed. “Look at us all domesticated.” She turned back to the fridge and made a decision. “Stir-fry?”

  Enda nodded. “Sounds good.”

  They ate out on the terrace, over-looking the Bay of Naples, Enda’s hand on her thigh. Ama was thinking about what Inca had said earlier. “Isn’t it weird that, when you meet the right person, anything goes?” she said now to Enda.

  “I know what you mean. I keep thinking back to that day. Your wedding day. You might think I’m the kind of guy who does that all the time, but no. It was just a confluence of events and feelings, and I thought what the hell? You looked so sad, Piccolo. It got me here.” He touched his chest. “I felt as if I couldn’t breathe until I kissed you.”

  Ama was moved. “Ditto.” She grinned mischievously. “I was talking to Inca today …she was pretty wild when she was younger. Not that she’s old now, but you know what I mean.”

  Enda grinned widely. “I do.”

  Ama studied him. “You know? About?”

  “The three of them? Yup. It was quite the scandal here back then. Well, not really scandal … not like it would have been back in the States.”

  She stroked his hair. “I think I would be too jealous to share you.”

  Enda kissed her. “Yeah, that scene isn’t for me.”

  “What is? You know, I would try anything with you. Anything.”

  Enda wiped his mouth on his napkin and studied her, a grin on his handsome face. “Okay …challenge extended. Let me fuck you somewhere we could get caught.”

  Ama chuckled, a thrill going through her. “For example?”

  “We have that benefit in town later this week. We could sneak behind a pillar and go for it.”

  Ama considered, then stuck out her hand. “Challenge accepted.”

  Enda laughed. “There’s a part of me that hopes we do get caught.”

  “You know what,” Ama said, smiling widely. “Me too.”

  Jackson Gallo picked up the phone. “Tell me you’ve found my wife.”

  His detective, Larry, chuckled. “And then some. They’re in Sorrento, as you thought. They have a villa—pretty comprehensively guarded, but both of them go out quite freely. Your wife had lunch with another woman today. Another Indian woman? Her sister?”

  “No, her sister is still here in the US. That must be Inca, Raffaelo Winter’s wife. They were unprotected?”

  “As far as I could see. Want me to kill her?”

  “No,” Jackson said sharply, “If anyone’s going to kill my wife, it’s me this time. The Winter woman …maybe. Another Penelope situation for her, I think. But not yet. I want to have all the pieces in place before I hit them with it all. What I have planned for them …they won’t have dreamed up in a million years. I don’t just want to kill my wife. I want to destroy her, my bastard brother, and anyone else who loves them before I finally kill Ama. I can wait for the right moment.”

  He gave Larry some final instructions just to keep watching and reporting. Putting down the phone, he smiled to himself. What he had planned wasn’t just murder.

  It was a slaughter.

  Ama lay in Enda’s arms as he slept. It was past midnight, but she couldn’t get to sleep at all. She wondered what was bothering her and couldn’t get a grip on it. Something was changing inside of her, and she couldn’t figure out whether it was physical or emotional or …what the hell is it? she thought in frustration, but the answer would not come. She gazed at Enda’s sleeping face. In rest, he looked so much younger, less stressed, more boyish. I love you, so much, she thought as she looked at him. I can’t imagine my life without you.

  The thought of being without him made her feel sick, and she gently extracted herself from his grip and went into the bathroom. The nausea passed, and she brushed her teeth again, looking in the mirror. Something was different with her. Her face looked fuller, her eyes sparkled, and her hair hung long and lustrous down her back. Her breasts seemed larger and her belly softly curved. Was it just that, finally, she saw herself as a sexual being? More confident? Maybe, Ama thought now.

  “Hey, you okay?” Enda had woken and was standing naked in the doorway, eyes sleepy, his dark curls wild about his head. He looked adorable.

  Ama grinned and went to him, pressing her nakedness against him and feeling his cock respond. She brushed her lips against his. “Fuck me, Enda …fuck me hard …”

  A thrill of danger and arousal flooded her as he pushed her roughly against the wall, his mouth harsh against hers. He spread her legs with his foot. “Open them wide for me, woman.”

  She did, grinning, and his cock, huge and swollen, thrust hard into her. His fingers bit into her skin as his teeth did the same to her shoulder. She gasped at the pain, but clawed his back with her fingernails, urging him deeper into her. He tumbled her to the floor and pressed her knees to her chest, driving himself into her as hard as he could, almost violent in his actions. Ama screamed her pleasure to him, calling out his name over and over, urging him to be rougher. He slammed her hands to the cool tile with his, growling his need for her, his cock plowing deeper and faster with every stroke until she came explosively, her whole body shaking violently. Enda pulled out and came on her skin, creamy cum spattering over her belly and breasts. His thumb delved deep into her navel, finger fucking her as he bit down on her nipples, then crushed his lips against hers until she tasted blood.

  It was feral, animal, and they tore at each other as they fucked. Enda thrust into her perfect ass, hooking her legs over his shoulder. “God, you’re so goddamn beautiful, Ama, I could spend my life just fucking you over and over and over again …”

  Ama came quickly, quivering and shudde
ring. “Enda …please …nail me to the floor. Fuck me everywhere …”

  And they did. They spent all night fucking each other in every room in the villa, even the tiny utility room. Ama sat on the washer as Enda thrust into her again and again.

  By the time dawn came, they were sated and exhausted. This time, Ama had no trouble falling asleep.

  The same night, Raffaelo Winter was also having trouble sleeping. For some reason, although he and Inca had made love as usual—rapturous love—when she had fallen asleep, something was nagging at him too.

  He got out of bed and went to get some water, staring out of the window over the Bay. Lights of the boats in the Bay bobbed around, and the night was serene.

  But he felt something. Something was coming. Lurking in the shadows, waiting. Watching. He emptied the glass and went back to the bedroom. For a long moment, he stood at the door, watching his wife sleep. Her long, dark hair clouded around her on the pillow, her thick, dark lashes resting on her downy cheeks. Her beauty had always made him weak. The last ten years with her had made him happy beyond what he thought was possible.

  And yet …

  He was always that someone would try and take her away from him. Inca had survived so many attempts on her life—both offenders were thankfully dead now—but he was always tensed for the next attack. Her beauty attracted admirers and obsessives.

  His mind flipped to his friends now. Enda and Ama had fitted seamlessly into their lives here, but the woman his friend had fallen in love with had a little too much in common with Inca for Raffaelo’s liking. Jackson Gallo was very much alive and well and was undoubtedly planning his revenge. And who knew who would be caught in the crossfire?

  Yes, Raffaelo thought grimly. Something is coming.