She drew back the comforter and slid beneath its welcoming billow, groaning at how perfect it felt. Her mind began replaying the past couple of hours in her head, and like a record with a scratch on it, her thoughts kept getting stuck on that moment when Lorenzo lifted his helmet over his head, his biceps flexing through his thin, black cashmere sweater, his powerful thighs highlighted by the soaking wet jeans clinging to them. And doing little to conceal what he was packing in those pants. She moaned. What a shame circumstances weren’t different—otherwise she’d have loved to try to tempt him into a little game of one and done. She wasn’t looking for commitment either, and he looked like he might be a lot of fun to spend an hour or two with. As long as he kept his mouth shut. Except to use his tongue as needed.
Argh. That tongue. So far, she’d only been on the receiving end of its worst. She wondered how amazing it could be when he was using it for good. His brother suggested he was a bit of a player. Which meant he was probably quite gifted at servicing a woman’s needs. And with lots of experience. Women who migrated toward his type usually made sure to teach men what worked best. It was probably the only good thing about a man with a history of many previous lovers.
She thought about that pocket rocket, mulling whether that might be the perfect thing to cut the edge off, to enable her to deal with him at dinner without her mind going down that wayward path. The more she contemplated it, the more it seemed to be the smartest option when it came down to it. Finally she went to the dresser, pulled her toy from the drawer, and returned to that heavenly bed, briefly admiring the hand-carved mahogany headboard and noticing the enormous chandelier that hung suspended over part of the bed. She hoped that thing was securely installed so as to not impale her in the middle of the night. It would be a bad headline: Sleeping Woman Crushed by Light Fixture. If she was going to die in bed, it damn well better be beneath the weight of a strong, handsome man, not a decorative crystal chandelier.
Sophie snuggled back down again, this time not even bothering to cover herself with the duvet; it would only be in the way. She pulled out the toy, flicked the switch, and heard it come to life. She loved the power of this thing but damn, it could be a bit loud. Good thing she was far away from everyone, alone in this wing of the house. She placed the vibrating head on her nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak, then switched to the other.
Closing her eyes, she fantasized that it was hotheaded Lorenzo Romeo’s tongue flicking over the hard tip. She moaned, guiding the toy down her body and slowly pressing it over her panties. As it hit the sweet spot, she moaned again and spread her legs wider, wishful that a man was the one busy pleasuring her and had spread her legs because he needed more room to maneuver.
She continued to pinch her nipples with one hand while she slid the vibrator beneath the edge of her panties, moving it along her already-slick center, pretending it was Lorenzo’s hand slipping beneath her panties. She imagined him pressing his fingers inside of her, pushing deep, and pulling out, learning the rhythm that her body craved. Mimicking the motion he would use, she urged the vibrator deeper as she moved closer to orgasm. The explosion of sensations rapidly diffused as she suppressed a loud moan, imagining that the vibrator buried deep was Lorenzo’s hot, hard cock about to release inside her. She came hard, her body trembling as she held the vibrator deep to make the climax last as long as possible.
As she shuddered once more, her body eventually settling down, she almost felt like she could come again as she fantasized about that rogue Romeo—something she’d done only once before on the heels of one orgasm. She decided to keep the pocket rocket inside for another minute to see what would happen, but within seconds, her jet lag caught up with her, and she fell fast asleep.
Chapter Eight
Lorenzo wondered if the coast was clear. After showering and changing into dry clothes, he’d resolved that his best strategy was going to be avoidance at all costs. He wondered: was it bad that at the same time he wanted to send that Sophie woman packing, he also wanted to lift her up, wrap her long legs around his hips, and fuck the daylights out of her? Surely that was simply his overactive dick talking. After all, she was a stunningly beautiful woman. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to take her up against the wall? Or have her on her knees, her soft, black hair coiled around his fists as he watched, mesmerized, while her mouth hungrily enveloped his swollen cock.
He was going to have to get into town tonight, where he’d have his pick from a ready stable of women who would gladly satisfy his needs and help erase Sophie whatever-her-name-was from his mind.
He stepped from his room into the hallway but stopped suddenly upon hearing an unfamiliar noise coming from the room across from his. Weird. That room wasn’t used by anyone. Maybe the housekeeper had left some sort of cleaning device on.
At the door, he turned the knob and entered. Whatever it was, he needed to be sure it was shut off. Who knows? It could be a fire hazard or something.
The bigger fire hazard, though, was what he was treated to the minute he opened the door: his cock sprang to life so fast he was going to need a fire extinguisher to put it out. Spread out on the bed, either sound asleep or dead, was none other than that troublemaking American, Sophie, with the most gorgeous set of tits bared for his viewing pleasure.
He was so captivated, he could barely think for a minute, but then he again noticed that buzzing sound and wondered what the hell it was. His eyes scanned her rockin’ body, hating to leave those hot tits, yet slowly moving down her narrowed waist to that sheer pair of white panties. She clearly had a talented aesthetician, who’d executed a masterful Brazilian wax on that beautiful snatch of hers. Good Lord, he practically had to stuff his tongue back in his mouth. Hopefully he wasn’t drooling. Taking in her long, lusty legs, with those sexy-as-hell black thigh-highs that always made him crazy, he had to catch his breath.
Slowly he approached, still hearing that nagging noise humming. When he moved closer to her body, he could tell it was coming from there. As in there. His favorite place in the world: that warm, wet, delectable place that seemed to be made just for his cock.
But crap. This one was so off-limits it was almost unfortunate. Because he suddenly knew precisely what that buzzing sound was—a vibrator. The woman had fallen asleep with a vibrator up her figa.
I’ll be damned if that’s not the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen.
He tried to clear his hormone-addled brain for a minute, to move his thought center back up from his dick to his other head, trying to figure out what the protocol would be under such circumstances. He couldn’t imagine it was good for somebody to have a vibrator buzzing up there for a long period of time. Though it wasn’t as though he could reach inside and pull it out. Could he? Damn, that was the stuff of fantasies: you happen upon a woman spread wide for you, sound asleep after an amazing orgasm, and you get to slide your fingers inside her slick body to pull out a vibrator. And maybe replace it with something more lifelike. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep without ever achieving one, and she was desperate to come. With his skillful assistance. He groaned, and pressed his hand against his crotch, trying to adjust his dick, which kept getting harder by the minute.
He paced while pondering this. Well, crap. What to do? This was almost an enviable problem to have, at least until said woman stirred.
There was a loud gasp.
“You!” she screamed, covering her breasts with her hands. Lorenzo momentarily turned his face away, about as guilty as if he’d been caught with his hand in her wallet. At least that was tamer than getting busted with his hand in her patata.
“You!” he said, pointing at her like an idiot. Perhaps he should cover up the evidence of his own arousal, he thought, considering she was suddenly hiding herself from him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she stammered, before obviously collecting her thoughts. “Oh, my God. What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, uh, uh”—he pointed to her crotch—“I heard a concerning
sound out in the hallway. This room is usually vacant. I heard a buzzing sound. I came in here to be sure there wasn’t something dangerous happening.”
Oh, but there was something seriously dangerous happening here.
If her face hadn’t already turned a few shades redder, it did when she glanced down toward her crotch as the buzzing continued.
The two seemed frozen in place. Lorenzo watched a look wash over her face, one of near pain and pleasure all rolled into one as she squeezed her eyes shut and her hips bucked. She let out a soft moan.
Holy fuck. She just came. In front of him. With nothing but a vibrator in her cooch.
This had to be the hottest thing he’d experienced with a woman ever. And he hadn’t even touched her.
“Uh, can I be of assistance?” He hoped against hope she’d say yes. Maybe even beg him to join in the fun.
She quickly regained her composure, pulled the comforter over her exposed body, and reached down, evidently removing the offending toy because the buzzing became louder. After she fumbled beneath the blanket a bit more, the sound stopped.
Count this as one of the rare moments in his life when he wanted desperately to cry, so bereft he was that this magical moment had ended. What loomed before him now was likely a massive freak-out from the naked woman in front of him.
Chapter Nine
Well, fuck. What the hell do you do when you fall asleep with a pocket rocket up the docket, only to have your host-enemy discover you in a state of self-pleasure-slash-passed-out-cold? Sophie tried to imagine if she could even pull up this question on her phone. Surely every question had at this point been asked of Google, but perhaps she would be the one to introduce this one to the world. She couldn’t imagine that any woman in the history of the planet had ever found herself quite in this situation.
She looked up at Lorenzo, whose eyes were glazed over with lust, and her eyes trailed down his body to see his cock pressing against his blue jeans in an undeniable outlined proof of sexual desire. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she a) fell asleep with a vibrator in her, and b) woke up with a hot but jerky guy hovering over her because of the loud vibrator stuck inside her, but then she c) orgasmed despite herself right there as he watched—the hat trick of sexual humiliation—well now he stood there obviously horny as hell, as she lay there, embarrassed to the nth degree, and it was like the world’s most awkward standoff.
Well, crap. What was she to do now?
First off, get him the hell out of here.
“I think you’ve seen quite enough, don’t you? I’ll thank you to leave.” She lay there like a cadaver awaiting an autopsy, only able to point toward the door as she remained hidden beneath the comforter, bashful after her unplanned exposure. What a mess. Here she was fantasizing about having sex with the man and whammo—he happens to appear at the most inopportune of times.
He held up his hands.
“Look, I was across the hall in my room. I only opened the door because I was worried there was something wrong in here that could catch fire. How would I have known that the only thing heating up was you?”
If this was some porn flick, no doubt he’d have jumped right in. And she’d have welcomed it with open arms. But shit, not like this was for real! How was she going to face him? That is after he left the room. Here she thought she’d tamp down the sexual energy that had threatened to make dinnertime more stressful, and now she wondered how she was going to be in this man’s presence ever again.
“Get. The. Hell. Out. Now.” Her voice was stern and unequivocal.
He turned and she watched him skulk out of the room, walking as if he had a two-by-four wedged in his crotch. Normally she’d gladly take credit for the hard-on that was inhibiting his gait, yet under the circumstances, uh, not so much.
Sophie stood, dragging the blanket with her, still covering her naked breasts, and bolted the door shut.
She took a deep breath and released it. There was no choice: she was simply going to have to put on her game face and pretend this never happened. And hope like hell he didn’t share with the world what he was privy to in a most unwelcome way.
She was going to have to get online and find a super-silent vibrator to replace this betrayer of a sex toy, dammit.
~*~
Lorenzo was in a state of shock. In a million years, never could he imagine the series of events that had unfolded this afternoon. First he was stuck in the driving rain with some idiot puttana driving like his hundred-year-old nonna, oblivious that he was being drenched to the bone. Even when he drove right up on her ass, still she ignored him. And she ended up being the very woman he had been racing back to meet, only because his mother would have strung him up if he’d refused.
He could barely stop himself from behaving so coarsely. It wasn’t like him to be such a rude person, but he was tired and cold and wet and annoyed and his mood had gotten the better of him. And then this, the most miraculous of things to ever transpire before his eyes. Turns out the bitch wasn’t a bitch at all but molto strafiga. Smoking hot. With perfect tits that were the perfect size to fit in his large hands. Mentre ditalino! While practically fingering herself! Mio Dio. He shook his head in amazement. My God, indeed.
Well, there was no way he was ready to show his face (and particularly his swollen cock) in the main part of the house quite yet. No longer could he wait to go into the village tonight to seek satisfaction. He was going to have to take care of this himself before he blew a gasket... or something.
He returned to his room and wasted no time stripping off his clothes. Grabbing the lube he kept in his nightstand, he squirted an ample amount into his palm, quickly grabbing his cock and moaning at the pleasurable feel of his fingers clasping around it at last.
It might as well have been her fingers wrapped delicately around it; that’s what he was telling himself, anyhow. He wished he was that guy who would have joined right in and assumed she’d be on board with the plans. Maybe bury his face in her figa, stroking his tongue along the slick center. He groaned at the idea, pulling harder on his cock, and reaching down to fondle his balls, too.
His preference then would be to flip her over onto her hands and knees and drive his cock into her slickness from behind, alla pecorina, sheep-style.
He was lost in his fantasies, balls deep in the woman of his dreams, pounding stroke after punishing stroke deep into her wet pussy as he clutched her shapely ass between his hands. He didn’t even hear the door creak open. Or notice the woman approach the bed, her jaw agape, eyes wide, hand quickly covering her mouth.
“Sophie!” Lorenzo said on a loud shout, his eyes squeezed shut, as semen shot from his swollen cock, coating his belly with proof of what she’d done to him.
Chapter Ten
Sophie? He called out her name while he jacked off? She assumed that meant he’d been fantasizing about her while doing so, which wasn’t actually at all offensive. Considering the compromising position she’d found herself in not fifteen minutes ago, she was at least relieved it had turned him on... and a bit disturbed that it was now turning her on even more. Did this mean she had some voyeur fetish she didn’t know about? She’d never had a strange man watch her climax before. Putting aside the mortification factor that came with this situation, well, in a dirty way it was kind of hot as hell.
After all, it’s not like he was a complete stranger. Well, okay, he had been a rude jerk to her. But Tomasso said Lorenzo could be brusque. And she did at least already know Tomasso. For that matter, she had even pretended she was going to have sex with Tomasso awhile back only to make Gisele jealous and force her to admit she had feelings for the man, in a deranged matchmaker sort of way. So it was almost like a reward for that good deed: here she’d gotten an even hotter version of Tomasso for her efforts. And what else did it get her? Dueling peep shows, evidently. Oy. The whole thing was weird, awkward, and uncomfortable, yet oddly a turn-on.
So did that mean she liked to watch, or be watched? And why, dammit, did she have thi
s unnerving compulsion right this minute to want to straddle his sticky wet belly and slide her rapidly dampening self all over it? Good Lord—was this the hot Italian in her, finally emerging, now that she’d stepped foot in the motherland?
She’d never considered herself to be a prude in bed by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, she’d even had a threesome once in college. She liked to think she dabbled, had a little adventurousness in her. There was something about this man, though, who’d given off the distinct vibe he hated her yet was obviously turned on by what he saw her do. And well, wow—now this.
“Merda,” Lorenzo said as his shrinking cock slipped from his fist. Shit. “Porco dio.”
Sophie knew from hearing Tomasso say this phrase that it was an expression their mother hated—something many Italians might use frequently, although it technically was disrespecting God. As a Catholic, Fabiana wouldn’t have any of it. Sophie had even picked up saying it, it was so catchy. Good thing his mother wasn’t around to hear it spring forth from his lips. Then again, it was an even better thing that she wasn’t around to have seen what happened with her a short while ago in her room. While her son watched. Oh God.
“Um, uh, er.” Sophie scrunched her face, lifted her hand, and cupped her fingers, wiggling them in a half-hearted hello.
“Is this some sort of revenge thing?” He wiped his damp hands across his chest and continued to lay there, naked and spread-eagled, looking downright edible, with his broad, smooth chest, cut abs, thick thighs, and oh, never mind. What was it about guys that they had absolutely no embarrassment about their bodies or about what their bodies did (usually) in the privacy of their own home? The man looked like women popped in on him in flagrante delicto every day. Caught red-handed. Or red-cocked. Sophie let out a giggle at that. At least her hands weren’t involved when he witnessed her. Obviously that vibrator didn’t get there by itself, but it seemed it would have been even more embarrassing if she had been in the midst of rubbing one out.
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