by Emerson Rose
“Yes.”
“See? And I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Bellagio at Christmastime. It’s a fairytale world that makes any person yearn for family and tradition. Satisfied?”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. He’s exactly right, Bellagio feels like the inside of a Christmas snow globe.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, loosening his grip on my hand to slide it behind my back and pull me against the safe warm curve of his body.
I rest my cheek on his chest and watch the people of Bellagio hustle through the snow from one shop to another. He slips his hand into my coat between the buttons to cup my breast.
“You’re warm,” he says and kisses me on the top of my head.
I shiver when I feel the chill of his hand penetrate my shirt, “You’re cold. And, yes, it’s breathtaking, Marcus. I’ve never seen a place more enchanting.”
“I’m taking you to church,” he says matter-of-factly.
I straighten up and his hand slips out of my coat.
“Church?” I haven’t been to church in years and I never imagined Marcus attending either. I don’t know why, though. He’s always worn a crucifix, and I’ve seen him pray on his knees at my bedside more than once. When I found him, traumatized in his closet, he was praying so I guess it’s not such a foreign idea after all.
“We’re too late to attend a service but I wanted to show you the Basilica di San Giacomo.”
“Do you attend church?” I ask.
I feel like a collector of antiques trying to figure Marcus Castillo out. I’m always on the lookout for that one rare piece but when I find it I have a hard time believing it’s real.
“I did growing up. We went to so many I can’t even remember them all but Aunt Angelica was Catholic and I consider myself a Catholic.”
I almost forgot his sick twisted mother was a religion fanatic.
“But you don’t go anymore?”
“I’m a fair-weather Catholic, I go on Easter and Christmas. I do it for my aunt. I’m not a man who belongs in church. I know God is a forgiving entity but… I’ve burned my bridges with Him, I’m afraid.”
There’s that squeezing of my heart again. I can’t imagine feeling like your Creator doesn’t love you anymore. Even at the lowest place in my life, I still knew I had worth in God’s eyes.
“Stop.”
I look up at his beautiful olive-skinned face and I know he is interpreting my sorrow for pity.
“No,” I whisper, effectively putting an end to this conversation just as we pull into the parking lot of the Basilica.
Marcus’s hand is still inside my coat over my breast and he pinches my nipple quick and sharp.
“Ouch,” I say, sitting up to give his shoulder a shove. I hold my hand over my breast and scowl at him.
“I’ll make that all better later. Along with the red ass you’re going to have after I spank you for every time you’ve used your smart pretty mouth with me. I have a lot of catching up to do.” He smirks and a thrill of excitement tingles between my legs.
“Let’s go to church, baby.”
Elijah opens the door and Marcus slides out first. He turns and reaches for my hand tugging me out into the cold Italian winter air.
He loops his arm through mine.
“I’m good with public places but not like I am at home. I’ll keep ahold of you if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind, as long as you keep your pinchers to yourself.”
He chuckles but I’m serious. “Are Mr. Black and Elijah going to lead? I don’t know where to go.”
“No, they’re going to flank us. I’ll lead.” And lead he does. We stroll casually to the doors of the church. Inside it’s warm and the smell of incense envelopes us.
When my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I stand in awe at the phenomenal beauty of this old church. A long aisle down the center of the cathedral leads to an intimidating altar and hundreds of votive candles twinkle all around the nave.
“We’re going up front to sit so you can see well,” he says in a hushed voice. In the middle of all this history, art and religious symbolism, his attentiveness turns me on.
He tightens his hold on me and guides me up the aisle. Locals and visitors are scattered here and there in the wooden pews. A few are kneeling with their rosaries dangling from their fingers murmuring quiet prayers. Tourists weave in and out of arches around the perimeter that open into smaller separate chapels pointing at different sculptures and murals.
Marcus leads me to the front pew with our entourage no more than five steps behind us on either side. I feel silly having babysitters, but we’ve earned them after last week. My neck is finally looking better. The bruising has changed from deep purple to a faded yellow, and my voice has lost its scratchiness.
Today is the first day we have ventured away from the house, and I’ve strategically placed a lavender silk infinity scarf around my neck to cover the marks. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a little more than a week since his last black out. It feels like a lifetime ago.
There has been no sign of that Marcus since he lost his sight. I wonder if the two symptoms are connected.
Mr. Black and Elijah take their places in the pew behind ours. They would blend in with the locals if they would stop scanning the area. I thought they were supposed to be protecting me from Marcus but they seem to be doing a security sweep of the whole church and everyone in it.
I try to forget about them and gawk at the architecture and history around us. Marcus reaches out and turns my face to mirror his. He traces my hairline with the tips of his fingers and then along the side of my face. Our internal magnets are working overtime drawing us close to each other.
Right here in front of God and everyone, he covers my mouth with his and the foundation crumbles under my feet. The world falls away until we are alone in our private invisible bubble.
His long fingers slide through my hair and grasp my nape. His touch conveys urgency but his kiss is light and tender.
He stops with his lips still on mine, “Come with me.”
So much for appreciating the intricate murals and the huge stone pulpit, he’s summoning me and like the blind leading the blind I follow.
We stand, and Black and Elijah begin to stand to follow us. Marcus places one finger on the back of our pew with so much authority I’m as intimidated by the tiny gesture as they are.
He looks like a Roman soldier commanding his army to fall back and wait for further instruction. They look at him and back at me, eyes darting with concern and confusion.
I mouth the words, ‘it’s OK,’ but I have no idea what’s going on.
Marcus turns my buzzing body away from the center aisle entrance of the pew and nudges me forward. With one hand on my waist, he guides me to one of the side chapels.
He feels around in front of the votive candles for a wooden lighting stick and when he finds it he offers it to me.
I gaze into his eyes at the candlelight flickering there and lose my train of thought. He does that to me. I’ll be going about my business any time of day or night and find myself lost in his beauty.
I shake myself back to the here and now when someone moves past the entrance of the chapel and take his hand leading him to a flame.
Trembling I guide our hands toward the flame of a votive and wait for it to catch before spreading it to a fresh wick of a candle next to it.
The act feels so intimate that if we weren't in a church I’d think he was trying to seduce me. As if I need seducing. I help him extinguish the flame in the container of sand with a sizzle.
He reaches up and touches me on my arm again. This time it’s not the brief touch he uses to locate me. He squeezes my arm and pulls me against his chest.
I glance around quickly but no one is looking at us. Black and Elijah are still sitting in the second pew. Black is scanning the church and Elijah is looking in our general direction, but it doesn’t seem like he can see us from his angle.
There is no light here other than the candles and we are virtually invisible, but it’s still public and it’s a church, a church!
“Look at me,” he growls, and I return all of my attention to him, only him, exactly how I know he wants me to.
“That’s better. No worrying. You and me, it’s just you and me, baby, there’s nobody else here.” He talks in a soothing hypnotizing tone while he unbuttons my coat and tugs my shirt from my jeans.
I shift nervously on my heels and he steadies me.
“You with me here?”
“Yes,” I say and blow out a big breath. I try to release the tension that’s been building in every muscle of my body since we kissed in the church.
“That’s it, that’s my girl. I knew you could do this.”
Instinctively I arch my back and press against him. My pulse races when he slides his hands down into my jeans, cupping my ass, claiming me, owning me.
I work on the zipper of his coat with shaky hands and my head swims with his signature smell of eucalyptus and spearmint mixed with the candles and incense. I wish I could bottle the combination of scents; I’d be a billionaire.
I swoon and take a deep breath to recover.
“Oh no, you don’t. Focus, Imani. You’re not leaving me now.” His insistence helps to clear my head and my hands find their way inside his jacket and under his thick cable knit sweater to his tight abs.
I’m done worrying about getting caught. Every moment with him is a gift, and I’m unwrapping mine right here, right now.
A moan escapes me echoing softly off the walls of the small chapel. He raises his hand to cover my mouth but moans himself when I slide my hand between his legs and stroke his thick cock through his jeans.
He is just as lost in the moment as I am. I’m on Planet Marcus and nothing can touch us, nothing can hurt us but, most importantly, nothing can separate us from one another.
His mouth is on my breast, my shirt pushed up and my bra pulled down. I can’t keep quiet when he sucks my pebbled nipple into his warm, soft mouth. I whimper and his hand covers my mouth.
I’m glad he has the presence of mind to keep us concealed and quiet because I am coming unglued. I hold his shoulders as he works my body into a frenzy of nerve endings. My skin flushes with heat in sharp contrast to the drafty cold air of the church.
Kneeling in front of me, he circles my naval with his tongue holding me in place by my hips. I thread my fingers through his hair and drop my head back against the stone wall.
Chubby naked cherubs are painted on the ceiling of the chapel, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight trying to unsee them. It’s not difficult when he tugs at my jeans and kisses my slick mound.
It’s not going to take much to make me come. I’m so ready, I’m soaking wet. I want him, no, I need him inside of me. He stands up with his hand still over my mouth.
A shiver races up my spine when he unzips his jeans and frees his rock-hard cock. I wiggle my hips and try to get one leg out of my jeans in a panic. Hurry, hurry, hurry, my body screams but Marcus isn’t one bit concerned.
He kneels down and peels my tight jeans off of my right leg leaving my black five-inch sequined boot on my foot. He rises up slowly, pausing at my core to breathe me in.
Without the luxury of privacy or patience to do what he wants, he unfolds to his full height, gathering my ass in his hands on the way up. I wrap one bare leg around his hip and both of my arms around his neck.
Our foreheads touch and he presses me against the wall into a perfect position for optimal leverage.
“Ready?” he asks just loud enough to grab my attention.
“Yeah,” I pant. I’m tingling with anticipation, aching to feel him deep within my walls. He draws out the moment when he slides his tip up and down my soaked folds three times before entering me slowly and completely.
“Ah, Imani,” he groans, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Keeping quiet is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done but he helps when he covers my mouth, swallowing my moans and whimpers.
He thrusts in and out only a few times before picking up the pace. We begin a delicious rhythm that won’t last long but right now it’s about quality not quantity.
I’m impressed with myself when I don’t come immediately but I’m not smug for long. I dig my nails into the back of his neck warning him that I’m almost there but there’s no need. My body is his body; our minds and souls are one and my heart beats for him and him alone.
I throw my head back and hold my breath when it happens. It takes every ounce of my strength to keep quiet. Marcus being an expert in all things Imani, he rides me through the best part before allowing his release. I love this technique because it extends my pleasure even longer.
God, I love this man. I think that counts as a prayer since I had the thought within the walls of this house. We couldn’t be closer to God right now, literally and figuratively.
If I had to defend our actions today I’d say, ‘God made a woman from a man, to keep him company and love him, to care for him and bring him pleasure and joy.’ What better way to prove to Him that we shouldn’t be separated by death and that our love is too immense to extinguish?
Fifty-Four
Once upon a time there was a crazy man and a crazy woman who fell in love, if I were writing our story that would be my opening line. My life now compared to my life less than a year ago is unrecognizable. I am not who I used to be and neither is Marcus.
I would argue that this is for the better but he would not. He loves me of that I am sure. The problem is that he loves me so much he believes he isn’t worthy of me. He thinks my life would be better without him in it. For a man who is always right, he is one hundred percent wrong.
After a long day exploring Bellagio with Marcus, I am curled up resting in my favorite part of his house. The Castillo manor is a little slice of heaven built into the side of a mountain with a million-dollar view of the sparkling Lake Como from a bay window in his living room. The sunny warm nook is the perfect place to daydream about this morning’s rendezvous at the cathedral.
I tuck my feet under me on the plush loveseat and tilt my face toward the warm sun like a sunflower soaking up the rays.
Mornings here are cold but the late Italian afternoons feel like early fall days back home. I have traveled to many places in my life, and I know I’ve only seen a sample of Italy, but I’m hooked. He is right; this is the most beautiful place on earth.
When we left the church and drove to a small intimate restaurant for lunch, we managed to keep from having another tryst in public but only just.
After lunch, we walked from shop to shop, looking at famous landmarks and local art. Well, I looked while Marcus described everything perfectly from memory.
We checked out leather goods, clothes, and Marcus tried and failed to get me into a jewelry store. After this morning, I will never need another piece of jewelry again.
It didn’t take long to wear me out. We decided to come home and nap, but I couldn’t settle my mind enough to let go and sleep. Marcus, on the other hand, sacked out after only a few minutes.
I slipped out of bed and took advantage of the alone time to call Dr. Carlson. He remembered me right away and agreed to review Marcus’s case and even offered to travel here for a consultation.
This was the news I wanted, but one thing was bothering me. His tone changed when I explained Marcus’s recent blindness. If he was worried so was I.
And that is how I ended up in this sun-drenched living room listening to music on my iPad. I had every intention of reviewing Marcus’s medical records and familiarizing myself more with his case, but I’m reliving our experience in the chapel today instead.
I’m listening to the alluring sultry music of Jocelyn Pook. I downloaded it after Marcus spread me out naked on the hostess desk at Dominus and took me where no man ever had before.<
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We have had many erotic experiences together and until today that was my favorite. Sex in a chapel in Italy quickly catapulted to the top of my list this morning.
The feeling of being pressed up against the wall and ravished passionately by the man who changed my world forever could easily become an addiction.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I jump. I haven’t had a phone call or text since we arrived two weeks ago. I slip it out and see a text from Lana.
I’ve had enough of this mysterious shit! I’m going to hunt you down if you don’t contact me right now!
I smile and tap the call button and, of course, she answers right away.
“Imani! You’re in so much trouble, girl. Where the hell are you? When are you coming back? Are you OK? What the hell is going on?”
Yep, that’s my Lana, bombarding me with questions without pausing to take a breath. When she allows me, I answer in rapid fire just to get a word in edgewise.
“Why am I in trouble? I’m in Italy. I don’t know. Yes. And I really can’t say.”
“No way, I need more details that that, Imani, come on. You disappeared and that man of yours left a fucking cryptic mysterious message on my voice mail saying you needed to escape for a while. I thought you two broke up.”
“Lana, I know. I know this is a fucked-up mess. More than you can possibly imagine. Didn’t my mom call you and tell you I was okay?”
“Nope, just a text from Mr. Billionaire assuring me that you were fine. I tried to message him back but I got nothing. What a dick.” I inhale a deep calming breath and blow it out slowly. She’s right; he can be a dick but his dried-up damaged heart is in the right place when it comes to me.
“It’s OK, everything’s fine; he took me to Italy,” I say and clench my teeth as I wait for the hysteria. After a pregnant pause, I finally get hit with the expected storm.
“Italy? You’re in fucking Italy? You were going to Italy and didn’t tell me? Are you dying or something? Did you have to go because you’re sick? You were really sick, God, Imani, you looked terrible. You don’t have cancer, do you?”