Good Girl Gone Bad

by Falcone, Carmen

  All of it was too much for her to keep track. She felt lightheaded, as the sensation of him ramming her both holes drove her insane…and she loved it. Every time he removed and thrust the plug from her ass, her nerve endings sizzled, that friction sending thrills down her spine. Damn, he’d been right.

  “Marco,” she called, knowing full well she was on the edge of climaxing.

  He didn’t relent, increasing the intensity of his cock fucking her while he plunged the plug into her faster, deeper, harder. She grasped the sheet, her fingers biting into the fabric as she balled her fists. So. Close.

  He thrust into her pussy, her walls clinging to him, her inner muscles clenching around his hot rod. “Come for me, Lily. Show me how much you like being fucked in both holes by me. By only me,” he said, then quickened the screwing of her ass, too, without mercy.

  “Yes. Only you,” she gasped, loving the sound of him slapping his body against her skin over and over again. Her clit pulsated, the achingly exquisite sensations increasing in intensity, sending an incredible surge of pleasure throughout her body until everything shattered, dizzying her, blinding her until she collapsed onto the bed barely able to breathe.

  She felt him withdraw the plug, emptying her as he plunged into her pussy, stroking deep, fast, hard until he cried her name, jettisoning his release into her. Though about to pass out from the sheer magnitude of the aftershocks of her orgasm, she couldn’t stop wanting to hold on to the moment, because having his cock buried deep inside her was amazing.

  …

  Marco steered his Ferrari through the wrought iron gates and into his grandmother’s beautifully landscaped grounds. During the drive to Bellagio, one of the towns bordering Lake Como, memories from the previous night flashed in his mind. He kept his eye on the road and used small talking to dispel from his own senseless craving. Lily had been so hot for him, so willing.

  “This is where your grandma lives?” Lily asked, looking everywhere, unable to hide the wonder in her voice. “It’s beautiful.”

  The waterfront villa nestled in the mountains was breathtaking. “Yes,” he said, contemplating the neoclassic mansion once he parked in front of it. That place had a historic value and been in his family for generations. It certainly would never be the same after Nonna passed.

  A band squeezed around his chest for a while. A valet attendant walked up and kindly offered to park the car. The valet opened the door for Lily, and soon they both slid out and stepped toward the opulent entrance.

  “I haven’t been back in six years,” he said, because he didn’t want her to think he vacationed here often. What if she mistakenly lied about always wanting to accompany him in a trip, but couldn’t because of her schedule? Everyone would know something was off.

  “Why not? It’s not like you have to save money for a trip. And you have an apartment in Rome.”

  “I come to Italy often. I’ve seen my grandmother a couple of times in Rome. I haven’t been to the villa in six years, though.”

  “Why not?”

  Because the older his grandmother got, the more endearingly overbearing she became. She often asked him a lot of questions about his dating life, his broken engagement, and once had brought the granddaughter of a friend to meet him, which embarrassed him. He could find his own woman—when he was ready to play that settle-down card. Nonna meant well, but it also meant every time he saw her he had to tread carefully around subjects he’d rather forget. “My grandmother is a lovely lady. She’s one of the best parts of my childhood.”

  “Nice sentiment, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Not everything is simple, Lily.”

  “It can be.”

  He curled his lips, entertaining a quick comeback, then settled for a smirk. Lily was uncomplicated and positive, untainted and hopeful. Were they really so different? He liked to think he was positive, in a pragmatic way. A realist. And every time he’d been naively hopeful, life had shown him what a fool he’d been. Yes, they were different. He clung to his contracts and structure as much as she clung to her dreams and faith.

  “Whoa,” she said, yanking him from his musing. “Unless people sacrifice virgins inside, or the mansion is haunted, I can’t fathom anyone choosing not to visit this place.”

  He looked at the imposing entrance. Purple saffron flowers outlined the stone path to the door. Before he knocked, his grandmother’s longtime concierge, Marie, opened the door.

  “Well, look at who the cat dragged in,” she said, with her thick French accent. More than an employee, she had become his nonna’s right hand and an honorary family member. The middle-aged brunette gave him a hug then patted his back. “Let me look at you, Marco Giordano. Every time I see you, I wish I were ten years younger.”

  “Why mess with Mother Nature’s great work?” he asked. “This is my fiancée, Patricia.”

  “Fiancée!” Her hand flew to her chest. “Seriously? How nice. Debora will be overjoyed when she finds out.”

  “Hi,” Lily said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Marie glanced at the hand Lily offered, but enveloped her in a hug. “Great to meet you.”

  Lily blushed, maybe overwhelmed with Marie’s friendliness, but nevertheless she smiled. “Thanks,” she said, regarding the two staircases on either side of the grand lobby. “This place is amazing.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet. Marco, when you said you were bringing company, I picked one of the rooms on the east side for you. Now I see she’s family, I say we move you to your old room. Maybe your fiancée will appreciate your former stomping ground.”

  Irritation skated up his spine. “No,” he said quickly. “I want one of the suites in the east wing.” He had specifically requested one of them in his email. As far as he was concerned, they could burn his childhood room. He didn’t want to set foot inside it, let alone share it with Lily.

  Beside him, Lily stiffened, then flashed Marie a small smile. “I’m sure any one of them will be perfect for us.”

  Maybe this had been a bad idea. While Marie talked Lily’s ear off as they climbed up the curvy flight of stairs, he pretended to listen, but his mind raced. The idea of pretending to be happy, with his emotional life figured out, had seemed easy and simple. But now, with Lily here, he questioned his decision. This brought her too close to everything he wanted to forget, to erase permanently. Still, he wanted to give his grandmother a poignant, immaterial parting gift by faking his happiness.

  He might have avoided seeing her, but they still called and talked regularly, because he meant what he said to Lily—his grandmother was one of the best parts of his childhood.

  Now, however, every time they spoke, the silence after she asked him how he was had grown longer, and her sigh deeper. He’d wondered if Nonna knew what happened that night.

  The night his mother died.

  Chapter Eight

  Lily slipped into the deep fuchsia cocktail dress. Because of the decadent color, the outfit didn’t have any embellishments other than the soft, high-quality fabric. In fact, it was even conservative, with knee-length hem and a modest cut above her chest. She preferred it that way.

  She applied makeup, choosing some dark shadow to enhance her eyes and a nude-colored lipstick. Her hair was up in a topknot. Where the hell was Marco? After they’d checked into their room, he did some business stuff while she surfed online. He’d been occupied with work, and she unpacked for the six days they were to stay, busying herself for most of the afternoon. An hour ago, he’d told her he needed to talk to his grandmother quickly, to tell her the news of the engagement himself.

  Lily imagined he wanted privacy to catch up with his grandma before introducing her, and she respected that. She skimmed their enormous room, figuring not even honeymooners ever got such nice accommodations. The immense bed was raised, pinned by four posters, and adorned with sheer drapes that floated in the light breeze. They hadn’t had time to make love, but she yearned for him to take her in
that giant bed. Take her in the dirtiest way… Images of him thrusting into her ass populated her mind, and little thrills of anticipation tingled her insides, hardening her breasts.

  She cleared her throat, yanking herself from a fantasy she was sure he’d turn into reality.

  From the minute they’d arrived in Bellagio, she’d noticed the tension in the taut muscles stretching his shirt. He had to have a good reason to avoid seeing his grandmother all those years—if he didn’t care for her, why come up with a fake engagement to give her something to smile about? Her stomach knotted. None of this was her business. Yet…

  She slipped her feet into the nude Louboutin shoes and straightened her shoulders. Asking him to give her anything other than what he’d promised—hot sex—was dangerous. Determined to stop those furtive thoughts, she left the room. Surely, he’d meet her later.

  Other than Marie, she hadn’t met any of his family members or his grandmother yet. Anxiety cooled her skin with every step she took down the stairs. Once again, she found herself admiring those huge paintings, with pictures of what she imagined were former generations. The house had luxury, but an old-world quaintness also had its stamp on the furniture and accents. She stepped onto the distressed wood flooring at last, and this time quite a few people occupied the opulent living room, which was enormous, with double doors that opened to a terrace overlooking Lake Como.

  “Miss?”

  An impeccably uniformed waiter offered her some champagne. She picked a glass from the tray, thanking him quietly, then took the flute to her mouth and drank the entire contents in one gulp. By the time she set it on a nearby table, her limbs had loosened, and a delicious bubbly sensation overpowered her head, leaving her dizzy and relaxed. If everything else failed, drinking would be the best way to get through the next few days of pretending to be someone she was not.

  A tall, red-haired woman in her forties walked up to her. She spoke Italian.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” Lily replied in English.

  The woman smiled. “I said your dress is pretty. Who made it?”

  She should have spent more time fumbling over the tag. “I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s a spur of the moment purchase I made when I was in Bloomingdale’s last week.”

  “I quite understand. I’m Arietta,” she said, pronouncing her name with a sexy musicality Lily envied.

  “Pretty name. I’m Lily, nice to meet you.”

  Arietta lifted her champagne flute. “Pleasure. I’m sorry for prying, but I haven’t seen you in any of Nonna’s previous parties. I would certainly have remembered.”

  “Yes. I haven’t been in any of her parties. Haven’t met her yet, actually. My fiancé brought me here.”

  Arietta’s eyes gleamed, and she leaned closer, visibly interested. “How adorable. And who would that be?”

  “Marco.”

  Arietta’s expression froze for a moment, as if she was legit shocked about the news. Quickly, she blinked and recovered. “I didn’t even know he was engaged.”

  “It happened quickly, but when you know, you know.” That’s what people said, anyway. The only thing Lily knew, or hoped, was that Marco wouldn’t shun her for introducing herself before he’d had the chance to. Relax, her inner voice whispered. They had a fake story in place for a reason…for opportunities like this. Besides, she was being handsomely rewarded to be his fake fiancée. Which meant she should act like one at all times.

  “What I know is, I can’t wait to learn more about you, Lily,” the lady said, bringing her arm to her.

  Oh, shit. She’d given Arietta her real name! “Actually, my name is Patricia. I’m sorry. Lily is my middle name, and I use it sometimes as a pseudonym. I go by Patricia with my friends and family.”

  “Patricia Lily. What a cute combination.”

  “Actually, just Patricia please. Let’s forget about Lily,” she said, forcing a smile. She was so screwed. If Marco found out, he’d be less than thrilled. Apprehension pressed hard in her gut, and bile rose at the back of her throat. Crap. Crap.

  “Sure. Well, you said you have a pseudonym. Are you an artist?”

  Lily clasped her hands together, eager to ease the cold sweat breaking out on her palms. She sooo sucked at lying. “Unknown artist. I work with numbers…investments… In my free time I love to sculpt. I haven’t found someone to represent me. It’s more like a hobby,” she added, unsure if she should shut up or keep going at this point. She had taken sculpting classes before she had to give them up due to the high cost. Those classes had been more of a stress relief when her father began to get sick.

  “You don’t say. That’s terrific,” Arietta said, tucking her arm into Lily’s as if they were old friends strolling down memory lane. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you around. You’re such a treasure, I wouldn’t dare keep you to myself.”

  “I—I should go find Marco.” Lily was desperate to regain a shred of control. Was the woman being condescending, or did she genuinely like her and want to share the novelty of Marco’s engagement with others?

  “Nonsense. He’ll find us. Have you met his father yet?”

  Lily cleared her throat. Things were getting out of control fast. “Father? No, I haven’t met his parents.”

  “Parents?” Arietta frowned. “You don’t know?”

  “What?” The third faux pas in five minutes? Cold sweat broke on her palms, and she used her free hand to smooth it on her dress. “What is it?”

  Arietta’s face softened. “His mother died when he was a child.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks burned. In reality, as a fiancée she should have known such basic information about his parents. If only the man weren’t so freaking mysterious. “That’s right. He…could have mentioned it before. How did it happen? I don’t think I recall.”

  “She killed herself,” Arietta said.

  Lily’s stomach sank to the floor. Her mouth fell open, and she touched her lips, but no sound came out. A wave of shock washed over, and slowly she managed to straighten her shoulders and recompose herself. She’d need a much stiffer drink than champagne to get through the rest of the evening.

  …

  Where in the hell was she? Marco strode through the crowd, but at each step a family member spotted him, slowing him down.

  He didn’t want to be a jerk, but the evening couldn’t have been more complicated. He had gone to talk to his grandmother to deliver the news himself, before everyone noticing Lily’s ring at the party.

  Then, once he returned to the room, resolute to show off his tempting fake fiancée, she’d disappeared. When he went downstairs, he surveyed the interior, and a swish of pink caught his attention. Lily stood amongst a lively group made up of his gossip-extraordinaire cousin Arietta and a couple of other people he didn’t recognize, other than… His heart skipped a beat. His father.

  Why had they invited Calogero for a weeklong celebration? His blood thrummed so hard in his veins, everyone’s voices fell into the background for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he was more pissed off at seeing Calogero after so many years, or finding him next to Lily, who seemed so comfortable.

  “Patricia,” he called to her.

  She didn’t answer, instead listening to what Arietta was telling her.

  Of course. She wasn’t used to being called that way. He walked around and slid behind her, nudging her elbow with the intimacy of a longtime lover. “Tesoro,” he whispered.

  She shivered and turned her head to him. “Marco.”

  “Marco. We’ve been talking about you,” Arietta said, with her trademark half smile. “It’s been so long.” She kissed him on both cheeks, Italian style.

  “Time has been good to you, Arietta,” he said. He nodded to the other two men in the group, assuming they were friends of his younger cousins.

  “Marco,” his father finally said. One of the reasons Marco despised seeing his father, besides the reason he’d shoved into a vault long ago, was that the man looked like a sixty-something v
ersion of himself. This time, a more generous amount of gray blended with what was left of Calogero’s brown hair. More creases gathered around his expressive dark eyes, a testimony of time. “We’ve been talking to this charming young woman who claims to be your fiancée.”

  “That’s correct,” he said, and held Lily from behind. His hands pressed her waist. Inwardly, he was grateful it gave his fidgety fingers something to do.

  “Well, congratulations are in order,” his father said, and Arietta nodded. “Have you seen your grandmother yet?”

  “I just did. She can’t wait to meet Patricia.”

  Lily smiled. “The feeling is mutual.”

  “Now, if you all excuse me, I need a few minutes alone with my fiancée,” he said.

  Before anyone could respond, he took her hand in his and guided her to the terrace. The view was arresting, but there were still a few couples talking and gathering. He needed more privacy.

  “What’s going on?” she asked him.

  He squeezed her hand and picked up the pace, leading her down the stairs to a tree-filled garden. When he’d been little, he played with his cousins in the yard, running and laughing, hiding and seeking. The few happy memories he had of his childhood popped into his mind, but he shook his head. He needed to think clearly, not to reminisce.

  He guided her through the bushes until the buzz and music from the party decreased. The full moon illuminated Lily enough for him to see the outline of her face and lips. “What were you thinking?”

  She threw her shoulders back, hands perched at her waist. “Excuse me?” The attitude in her voice annoyed him.

  He gritted his teeth. “I asked you to wait for me.”

  “I’m sorry, but you were taking forever, and the party had already started an hour before I joined,” she said. “I imagined you were busy with your grandmother. You told me you’d say hello to her, and when I left our room, you’d been gone for an hour. I came here to act as your fiancée, not to be treated like a Christmas ornament you only look at when you have to use it.”