by Noelle Clark
Like a drug, desire flowed through her veins, rushing through her system with an injection of urgency. Sitting up, she undid her jeans. In the confined space, she had trouble getting them off, her hands shaking with the effort. Silently, Pietro grabbed the waistband and lowered her jeans. She knelt as he drew them lower, revealing her briefs. His hand slid between her legs, feeling her through her knickers. She moaned and arched her back. Her breath coming in gasps, she reached down and flicked off both her sandals, then quickly stood up, one foot either side of him. She pushed her jeans off and kicked them from her legs. In a flash, she removed her underwear. Then, with tightening pulsating within her, she sat down on him and unzipped his jeans. Feeling inside, she had no trouble locating him.
He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, fumbling inside it awkwardly with trembling hands. With a soft groan, he pulled her down to him and kissed passionately, his arms encircling her, caressing her back, then her breasts. Electricity shot through her. She reached down to touch his erection.
“Here, cara mia.” She took the little packet and ripped it open with her teeth. The condom rolled on easily. She sat down on him, gasping as he slid into her. Bright lights exploded in front of her eyes as she rocked gently back and forward on him, conscious of his hands on her breasts. She bent down and kissed him, still maintaining her momentum. Their tongues brushed together with the rhythm of her movement. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps, getting faster and faster. He slid his hands down her body and cupped her buttocks, drawing her down tighter and tighter.
Sarah felt the pulse within her quickening, making her moan.
“Vengo!” He pulled her tightly to him, his body stiffening.
“Oh God!” She felt the rush of the oncoming orgasm. It exploded within her. They held each other, letting their bodies jerk and writhe together in the exquisite pain. She held her breath. Pietro’s tense torso was as hard as a rock.
Eventually the spasms within her faded. She let out the breath she had been holding, whooshing it out with the release of tension. She lifted her head from Pietro’s neck and looked at him. His face was shiny with sweat, his eyes still smoldering and his lips parted in a smile, revealing his white teeth. Tenderness welled within her. Her heart flooded with love, she smiled back at him.
“Mia tesoro. Mia amore.” His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the tenderness in his eyes threatened to melt her heart. She lay down on top of him, nuzzling her face into his neck. The warmth of his embrace flowed through her, making her feel safe, loved.
* * *
They walked hand in hand to milk Geraldina. A fresh sea breeze had sprung up, cooling down the late afternoon. As always, Geraldina was delighted to see Pietro and ran over to him when he approached. Sarah sat in the shade of the pine next to the goat pen, watching as he stroked and cooed Italian words of love to Geraldina. The goat reciprocated, rubbing her nose on him and leaning her fat belly against his legs. She looked as though she was in heaven when he milked her, her eyes staring off into the far distance, her pink lips curled up at the corners of her mouth. Soon, the milking was over and, as Pietro stood up, Geraldina gently head-butted him on his thigh. He held out his hand, and the two had a game of push and shove, Pietro laughing and cajoling the goat playfully.
He looked over. “She loves to play this game. When she was younger, I used my head and we would push, forehead to forehead. But then she grew horns, and although she is gentle, I now prefer to use the palm of my hand.”
They walked back up to Rosamanti via the chicken coop, filling bowls with water and spreading corn. Sarah, content to watch on, loved to see the gentleness in Pietro. Even the chickens are excited to see him, she thought.
They ate dinner outside under the pergola again. The mild, balmy weather was perfect, the air sweetly perfumed by the jasmine.
“So, what would you like to do tomorrow?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Tomorrow?”
“I have two days off work, and I am at your service. Where would you like to go?”
She thought for a moment. “Would you take me to see the Blue Grotto?”
He smiled. It was obviously a good choice. “I will check the tides and then in the morning I will get the wind forecast. If it’s calm enough, I will take you.”
Chapter Seven
She awoke to a hand roughly shaking her shoulder. Opening one eye, she peered into the playful eyes of Pietro.
“Rise and shine, sleepy head.”
Opening the other eye, she looked around the small bedroom. It was barely light enough to see.
“What time is it?”
“Time to head off. If we don’t go early, we’ll not be able to enter Grotta Azzurra. Only the tour operator boats are allowed in—and besides, it’s very crowded in there once the ferries arrive from the mainland.”
While Pietro packed a picnic lunch, she showered and dressed quickly, wearing her swimmers under her shorts and blouse. She gathered together a couple of beach towels and hats. Stowing everything in her backpack, they set off on his Vespa, down the winding road to Capri, and then across the amazing roadway to Anacapri. The poor little Vespa struggled on the steepest sections, but it gave Sarah a chance to appreciate the engineering feat of the roadway. In the most spectacular section, solid rock face was carved into a narrow road, and massive concrete pylons supported an extra width, suspended out over the cliff edge. Every so often, a faster vehicle came up behind them, tooting their horn relentlessly. Pietro, always gracious, would move as far to the right as he could to let them past.
They entered the town of Anacapri just as the sun peeped over the horizon. She recognized Piazza Vittoria and a few other places, as they continued through the town. Turning on to via Pagliaro, they wound sluggishly up steep, winding roads, through villas and hotels perched on the steep incline, affording them sweeping views of the Mediterranean. They passed citrus orchards full of lemon and blood orange trees. Under the trees grew grape vines, protected from the intense heat by the lush foliage.
On a high headland, they passed some more ruins. Turning his head, Pietro called out to her above the whine of the Vespa.
“Villa Damecuta. Another villa built by Tiberius. You should go there one day.”
All she could see from the road were some low walls, the rocks the same grey-white color of Villa Jovis. She had read the Emperor Tiberius had twelve villas here on Capri, most built about 127 AD. Not only did he like the solitude and beauty of the island, but he felt safe here. With only two small ports, two accessible beaches, and the sheer cliffs rising to well over one thousand feet above the sea, attack was unlikely. However, she read that after Tiberius died, there had been many successful colonizing attacks over time, including the Spanish, British, and of course, the pirate Barbarossa.
Shortly after Villa Damecuta, they turned into a dirt track heading down hill through thick shrubbery and bush, arriving at a small stone hut. Pietro helped her off the Vespa and wasted no time in guiding her down a steep, rugged pathway down the side of the cliff. Rough stone steps had been built in the track, but she found it hard going. Following closely behind him, she found herself slipping occasionally as she tried to keep up. He tried to help her down some of the steeper places, but it was awkward.
“Nearly there, bella.”
A minute or two later, they reached a cave which opened onto a small, shingly beach.
“Wait here.” He disappeared inside the cave. After several minutes, he came out backward, hauling a little aluminum boat across the coarse sand. She tossed the backpack into the boat, went round to the stern, and began pushing. Pietro waded into the water and soon the boat was floating.
“Hop in.” He held out his hand and helped her to climb over the stern. Then he pushed the boat out farther, and nimbly climbed aboard. He sat in the middle seat, facing her, quickly put the oars through the rowlocks, and began rowing. It looked like hard work, but he was smiling at her as his strong arms pulled against the wate
r, sending the little boat forward remarkably quickly.
They rounded a rocky headland and a cave gaped in the cliff face.
“The Blue Grotto.”
Other, bigger, boats were moored near the entrance.
“Those are the ticket seller boats, they are moored permanently there. There is no one else here at the moment.”
They had done it—they had beaten the day trippers and all the tour boats.
“Lie down on the floor, please, Sarah.”
Puzzled, she did as he asked and lay flat down with her legs protruding under the seat he was sitting on. She noticed the large ocean swell the closer they got to the cliff face. Peering above the gunwale, she could see that the swell almost totally closed the entrance. They paused outside, Pietro deftly maneuvering the oars so that they didn’t get too close to the rocks. He was watching the waves and swell intently. Suddenly, he rowed hard, propelling the little boat forward.
“Stay down! We go in now.”
They shot into the gaping maw and Pietro grabbed hold of a thick metal chain bolted to the roof of the opening. His muscles bulged as he hauled them through on the ebbing swell, taking them through the low entrance before the next rise of the waves.
“OK, sit up now.”
Sarah struggled from the floor and pulled herself to sitting position. Her jaw dropped open. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cave, the water shone an unbelievably bright blue under the boat. He put his hand over the side and scooped up a handful of the water, spraying it into the air. Like pale blue diamonds, the droplets hung in the air for a moment, then plummeted down, splashing lightly on the surface. She looked around her, now seeing the walls of the grotto. Orange lichen and little limpets clung to the tide mark on the rock walls. Looking up, she saw nothing but total darkness. Pietro gently rowed farther into the cave, turning the boat so that she could see the entrance through which they had just come. A semicircle of white light showed the opening, and the blue light was coming from way down deep.
“It’s much bluer once the sun is up farther. The blue color is because of the refraction of sunlight coming through the deep underground opening. It’s magical, don’t you think?” His words, though quietly spoken, echoed in the chamber, sounding a bit like the echo of a preacher in a cathedral.
She couldn’t see his face, but the light, reflecting upward, glowed on his chin. She wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. She could find no words to describe what she was seeing. He reached out with the oar and prodded them away from the rock wall, still guiding them deeper into the grotto. The boat jolted and hit something with a loud scrape. Pietro rose and, grabbing a rope, tied the boat to a big metal ring jutting out from the rock face.
“Come, bella.” His hand found hers in the darkness. She carefully stood up and strong arms helped her out of the boat and onto a flat rock ledge.
“Now you can swim in the blue water.” In the eerie blue light that made Pietro look as white as a ghost, he pulled his shirt over his head and took off his shorts, revealing his black swim suit. Then she saw him looking expectantly at her.
“Pietro—I can’t swim.”
Silence. “Everyone can swim. Especially Australians.”
“No. I’m frightened of the water.”
“OK, bella. I will hold you.” His voice was gentle. “Trust me, OK?”
She slipped her shorts and top off, then grasped Pietro’s hands tightly.
“I’ll jump in first, then you sit on the ledge with your legs in the water. I’ll help you get in safely.”
She did as he asked. Two strong arms grabbed her waist and lifted her in. He held her close. She felt safe in his arms. Looking down at their bodies in the water, their legs and torsos looked as white as snow. It was eerie, yet beautiful.
“Can you put your head under? Your face?”
Scrunching her eyes together and taking a big breath, she clung to him tightly as she dipped her head beneath the water. She came up spluttering and wiping her eyes with one hand. Then a big smile spread across her face. I’m actually here. I’m swimming in the Blue Grotto! She took another breath and put her head under again. As she did, his lips touched hers under the water. It was delicious. Once she was confident, Pietro told her to hold onto the rock ledge. Then he dived down deep, the water so clear she could watch him all the way. Soon he was back up, breaking the surface and flicking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. He held up his hand.
“A gift from the Emperor Tiberius for you.”
In his hand was a small, brown coin.
“A Roman coin? Really?”
“Ssh. Only we locals know where they are. It is simple to dig beneath the sand and find some.”
Soon Pietro climbed out of the water and held out his hands to help her out. Throwing their dry clothes into the boat, they climbed in and then he untied the boat.
“We should go now. The first tourists will be here soon.”
With the ease of a practiced local, he safely took them back out through the cave mouth, into the bright sunlight of day, an azure sky overhead and a gentle breeze ensuring that it would be a busy day in the Grotta Azzurra.
She sat watching him, his shirtless body magnificent as he rowed. Taut muscles in his chest and stomach rippled with the effort and his biceps bulged with each pull of the oars. His legs, the black hairs wet and sticking to his skin, were muscular and well-shaped.
“Am I OK, bella?”
The blood rose instantly to her face. She looked at his eyes. They danced with amusement, his lovely smile enjoying her discomfort.
She laughed, owning up to being caught out staring at him.
“More than OK.”
His gaze slowly crept down from her face to her neck, then to her red one-piece swimming costume which struggled to harness her voluptuousness. Then they traveled downward, over her hips, to her legs. She pulled her legs closer together. It’s so damn hard to sit like a lady in this little boat, she thought.
His head cocked to one side. He nodded and looked back up at her.
“Bellissimo!” His wide grin showed his white teeth against his brown face.
Soon they beached in the little patch of sand near the cave where he kept the boat. Jumping out of the boat, he stood knee deep and guided the boat to the water’s edge. Holding out his hand, Pietro helped her balance as she climbed out of the boat. He pulled it up onto the beach above the high tide mark, then reached in and got their clothes and backpack.
She spread out the beach towels. At home, she was used to soft, white sand, so fine that it was lovely to walk and lay on. This sand was more like roughly crushed shells and coral, sharp underfoot. He sat down next to her and opened the bag, taking out some containers of olives, cheese, and pastrami. Next, a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. She sighed loudly. He glanced up.
“Che?”
She impulsively reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him warmly. When she looked at him, her heart melted.
“Pietro,” she began, her voice thick with emotion, “you are the sweetest, kindest man in the whole world.”
She watched as his handsome face softened, his eyes full of emotion. He hugged her and kissed her tenderly.
“Ti amo, bella.” He quickly looked away, as if that had slipped out.
Soon, he reached for the bag, breaking the moment.
“Vino! To celebrate your big achievement. You swam in the Blue Grotto!” He opened the bottle of white wine and poured two cupfuls.
“To your stay here in Capri; to your new book; to…”
“To us! Salute!” They touched cups and took a sip. Pietro smiled lovingly at her. She felt so happy. So very happy.
He spread a faded green cloth on the towel and produced some paper napkins.
“Is this a place all the locals come to? This little beach, I mean.”
He finished eating a big black olive. “There are many little caves around the island. This is one of the best because of its proximity to the Blu
e Grotto. There are about five boats stored in there.” He indicated the cave. “Basically, if you happen to be one of the oldest families on Capri, you get the best one. We Lombardis have the best cave, on the best little private beach, right near the Blue Grotto.” He shrugged. “We share it with some others of similar heritage. We are all friends.”
“Carlo told me that he has a boat. He offered to bring me some fresh seafood.”
Pietro smiled. “Ah, little chiacchere. He is a good boy.” He indicated with his thumb, the cave behind them. “I let him keep his little canoe in here. It makes him feel important. But it is too small to fish from. He only uses it for fun. He does catch some wonderful seafood, though. He and Bruno go out in the motorboat quite often. I think it’s partly because Bruno loves Carlo, and partly because he gets to have dinner at Teresa’s. You know…some home cooked meals…” He winked at her.
“Oh, I see.” She smiled. “Well it sounds like a great arrangement to me. But isn’t it dangerous for such a young boy to come all this way on his own, and then go out in the sea in a tiny thing no bigger than a bathtub?”
He shrugged. “All children here—particularly the boys—learn how to fish and catch lobsters from when they are little. Being on a boat, for them, is like riding a bicycle. All fathers teach their children about boats. Besides, local children have a right to access the Blue Grotto and the other grottoes. It is their heritage. After the last ferry and hydrofoils have returned to the mainland, they swarm down to the grottoes. It is a rite of passage.”
Sarah stared out to sea. “I thought he might have been—you know—exaggerating. He’s so young.”