Rossellini's Revenge Affair

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Her gentle hands caressed the width of his forearms and slid upwards as she rose to her knees letting her clothing fall to her waist and beyond. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, the tips caressing her breasts, enticing him to do the same. He bent his head and buried his face between her breasts, cupping them with his hands as he inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of her skin. His tongue darted out to trace the line of one breast, to caress the underside. Her gasp of pleasure was his reward as he continued his journey, laving her skin with strokes of his tongue until he worked his way to the tight nub of her nipple. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he suckled at the tiny button of flesh, coaxing a moan of delight from deep within her throat. Then he afforded the same attention to its partner, taking every care to bestow the same concentration as he had before.

  His hands skimmed down the length of her body, to her slender waist, to the curve of her hips. She was so soft, so warm, so giving as her hands followed an identical path. He knelt on the bed with her, curving his arm around her waist and drawing her against his bare torso, against the straining flesh confined in his pyjama bottoms. The sensation of skin against skin was almost his undoing as they cleaved together. With his free hand he swept away the silken swathe of hair at her neck then bent to nip gently at the graceful curve of her throat and at the tender skin behind her ear.

  He felt her hands at the drawstring of his pants, felt the fabric give. It was too soon. She’d drive him over the edge with her touch he knew, and then—ah, si—it was too late to stop her as she gloved him with a firm stroke of her hand. A groan tore from his throat, her name on his lips. Her fingertips caressed the tip of him, spreading the moisture she found there before she stroked him again in a long caress that made everything inside him tighten and bunch with longing, craving release.

  “Protection,” he growled even as he strained against her hand, his hips already fighting to assume the rhythm that would bring swift release.

  “I’m safe, Raffaele. I won’t get pregnant.”

  “You are certain? Because I cannot wait. I want you now.”

  “Then take me now.” A secret smile curved her lips, in the semi-lit room she was beautiful. It was all he could do not to throw her against the covers and take her in one deep thrust.

  Instead, he watched as she swung one leg off the bed, then the other and stood slowly before him. The last scraps of her nightwear cascading off her hips and exposing the golden triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, her long slender legs. Legs he wanted wrapped around him this instant.

  He reached for her, taking her lips in a punishing kiss, parting them with a sweep of his tongue and probing deep inside the moist heat of her mouth with a promise his body cried out to deliver. He guided her back to the bed without breaking his kiss and spread her beneath him. A push of one hand dispensed with his pyjama bottoms, exposing his hungry flesh. Then, at last, he was nestled at her entrance. He could feel the welcoming heat that emanated from her body and could hold himself back no longer.

  Her eyes glistened in the near dark. He watched intently as her pupils all but consumed her irises as he guided the head of his penis inside her. Every muscle in his body locked rigidly in place as he forced himself to stop, to savour the sensation of her slick heat as it pulled gently against him. Enticing him further. He withdrew slightly then surged forward again and felt her inner muscles bunch and tighten along his length. He could control himself no longer, nor would he want to even if he was still capable of such control. A sheen of moisture broke out on his skin as he hesitated one precious second longer before giving in to the instinctive need that drove him to sink himself to the hilt, to lift her legs to his hips. She wrapped herself around him, tight. Barely allowing him any room to withdraw and sink himself within her again, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered as the rhythmic pull of her drew him ever deeper.

  Time disappeared, the world around them receded to a shadowed purgatory that could no longer touch him, could no longer hurt. He gave himself over to the moment, to the heat, to the passion. His climax built with overwhelming speed, taking him to a place where pain and suffering no longer existed, where only pleasure reigned. Lana’s legs tightened around him, he felt her thighs quiver, heard her cry of release and he hurtled over the edge and into the realms of pure unadulterated satiation.

  Lana lay, wrapped in the band of Raffaele’s arms, and listened carefully as his ragged breathing slowed to a steady pace once again. Her heart still hammered in her chest, her nerves still tingled with the aftermath of their lovemaking. She hadn’t believed her body was capable of such dizzying heights of pleasure. Lovemaking with Kyle had always been good, better than good. But this? This was off the scale.

  Her mind quickly sobered. What had she done? She’d been widowed only eleven days and she was already finding comfort in another man’s arms. And not just any man—Raffaele Rossellini, the person responsible for Kyle and Maria getting together all along. Raffaele’s arms tightened around her waist, one hand starting a lazy circle across her belly.

  “This is no time for second thoughts, Lana,” he whispered against her neck before pressing his lips at her nape then licking gently at her skin.

  “I’m not,” she protested, as a new enticing spiral of desire wound within her.

  “Do not lie. Not to me, not to yourself. It is only natural you should feel…uneasy.” His hand slid up to caress her breast, his palm lightly skimming across the surface.

  “It’s so soon. I shouldn’t have—” Her voice broke and his ministrations ceased, and she felt the mattress shift as he raised above her. His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him, eye to eye.

  “Lana, Kyle left you a long time ago. If not physically, then at least mentally. Take tonight. You deserve it. We both do. You enjoyed what we have shared together, yes?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. She couldn’t deny it.

  “We have the rest of tonight. Let’s not waste it.”

  She could feel his growing arousal against her hip and her insides clenched in feminine anticipation. He wanted her again so soon? This was the salve she needed, this was the dressing to her wounded heart, her self-esteem.

  “No, let’s not.”

  She pulled his head down to her and kissed him with all the invitation she was capable of and felt the shudder run through his body, felt his arousal firm and harden, felt the hammering of his heart beat as she stroked her fingertips across his chest. He was addictive. Already she craved more of him, his touch, his taste. The pleasure she knew he could bring her. The escape from the reality of her world.

  She traced the outline of his lips with her tongue, then delved inside the dark velvet of his mouth, relishing the taste and texture of him. He returned the pleasure, stroking his hands over her body, leaving incendiary traces in his wake. She moaned as he stroked the indentation at the top of her thighs with a feather light touch. His gentleness drove her crazy. She tilted her pelvis, pushing her hips against his hands, silently begging for more. She felt his smile against her lips, felt the pressure of his fingers increase as they stroked ever closer to the bundle of nerve endings that craved his touch.

  She bucked as he grazed across the hooded nub, once, twice, a third time, before circling the tiny bead of flesh with increasing pressure. Her orgasm burst out of nowhere. One second she was relishing the sensation of his lips against hers, his touch at her most private parts, the next she was catapulted into paroxysms of pleasure that left her gasping and trembling in their wake.

  Before she could gather her scattered thoughts he was inside her again, filling and stretching her, rocking her with an ever increasing beat that satisfied every primitive instinct known to man. She felt his body stiffen, his back arch. Felt the hot spurt of his seed as he came apart inside her body.

  He collapsed against her, his body slick with perspiration.

  “I am glad you are on the Pill, for I think it will take all night for me to finish with you,” he whispered i
n the shell of her ear.

  Lana stiffened. On the Pill? Where did he get that idea? She forced her mind back to when she’d told him that she was safe. Clearly he’d misunderstood. She stroked her hand down the length of his spine, then back up again.

  “I’m not on the Pill, Raffaele, but I am safe.”

  He pulled away from her slightly, his eyes dark and full of questions. “You are on some other form of contraception?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He started to withdraw, a look of shock on his face. She gripped him and held him to her.

  “Don’t. Don’t worry. It isn’t a problem. Truly. I told you I’m safe.”

  “How can you be safe when you take no contraception?” The shock in his voice illustrated his growing fear and alienation from her.

  Lana hesitated, she needed to tell him the truth but she could barely enunciate the words. She wanted to be feminine in his arms, not a failure. If she told him, would he think any less of her, as Kyle so obviously had? Even if this was only for tonight, she deserved the whole night, surely.

  “Why do you not answer? Have you lied to me?” His voice grew hard. “I will not be tricked.”

  “There is no trick. I can’t have a baby. I’m infertile. It’s why Kyle—”

  Raffaele placed a finger across her lips. “Shh, do not bring him into the bed with us again tonight. Say no more of this. I’m sorry I grew so angry. I did not understand. Now I do. Tonight we forget everything, everyone. Tonight we are alone.”

  Lana nodded, her eyes bright with tears. She could hold on to tonight. There was no need for why; no need to make it harder than it had to be. After a lifetime of planning and shattered dreams she knew better than anyone else now how important it was to take the moment. So she did.

  Ten

  Lana woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets and masculine limbs. Gently she eased herself from Raffaele’s sleeping clasp and stood at the edge of the bed looking down at him. What now, she wondered. Would they go back to how they’d been before? Polite strangers?

  A strong dark arm snaked out and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her off balance and back onto the rumpled bed and into his arms, against the heat of his chest.

  “Buon giorno.” He didn’t smile, but the flame in his eyes left her in no doubt that ‘polite strangers’ was the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I want you again, Lana, but first, we shower.”

  He rose from the bed and scooped her in his arms. She felt deliciously fragile in his grasp. She reached up to kiss him and they didn’t so much as break apart as he strode into the bathroom and set her feet on the floor. His erection pressed against her belly as he reached beyond her to switch on the dual shower jets in the stall.

  Lana took the lead, and stepped inside the shower, relishing the cascade of warm water down her back. She reached for the soap and lathered her hands.

  “Let me wash you,” she said, almost shyly as Raffaele stepped inside with her. It was different being with him like this in the cold light of morning. Under the cloak of last night’s darkness, they had been anonymous to each other. Now, she felt as if she was bare to the world.

  “Do with me what you will,” he rumbled in reply.

  Lana took him at his word, and turned him around to lather soap across the back of his shoulders and down his back to his buttocks and further down his legs. Then, slowly, she worked her way back up his legs, until she reached his inner thighs. Gently she reached between and massaged his balls. They were tight and firm and she smiled as she withdrew only to hear Raffaele’s groan at her abandonment of her attention to that part of his anatomy.

  “Turn around again,” she commanded softly.

  He did as he was bade and Lana’s mouth dried as he faced her and stared at her with a hunger in his eyes that built her confidence to a higher threshold than she’d believed she could possess. She reached for the soap, without breaking eye contact, and slowly lathered her hands up again, letting her fingers entangle with one another in enticing promise. His breathing quickened as she reached forward and began anew at his shoulders, tracing tiny whorls in the soap as she caressed his chest, and grazed her nails across his dark flat nipples. This time her path down his body was punctuated with tiny suckling kisses as the water sluiced away the suds.

  She worked her way lower, and lower still, until she knelt before him and carefully washed his straining erection, stroking the velvet length of him, allowing the water to rinse away the remainder of the foam. She held him firmly at his base, then gently closed her lips around his swollen head, swirling her tongue around and around before taking him deeper into her mouth. Again and again, she repeated the motion, reaching with her other hand to cup his balls and gently squeeze them as she suckled his tip.

  “Stop!” His voice was rough as gravel.

  “Am I hurting you?” Lana looked up at him.

  “No. I just can’t take anymore. I want to be inside you. Let me be inside you.”

  His plea spoke to her on a level she’d never known before. She let him help her to her feet.

  “But first,” he continued, “let me wash you. Let me torment you as you torment me.”

  He wasted no time spreading soap over her body, circling her breasts until she was nearly screaming at him to touch her nipples, to pull at them, kiss them, anything to release the tension that wound ever tighter within her. He directed the shower spray to rinse away the bubbles and closed his mouth over one distended nipple, his teeth pulling gently at the tender flesh while his tongue flicked against its surface. With one hand his fingers reached to roll its twin, squeezing firmly but gently so that her knees threatened to buckle as sensation poured through her. With his other hand he gently washed between her legs until she lost perception of where the powerful electric arcs radiating through her body came from.

  He straightened, and kissed her, their heads under the cascading jets of the shower, the freshness of the water mingling with their own flavour. He cupped her buttocks with strong hands, kneading her flesh before lifting her to him.

  Instinctively Lana wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms about his shoulders as he lowered her onto his erection, sliding within her with deliberate control. He leaned her against the shower wall, directing the shower spray between them at the apex where they joined, and thrust deeper, his hips pumping faster and faster until she screamed in release. With one final thrust he reached his climax and through her own haze of pleasure, Lana watched as he gave himself over to fulfilment.

  Raffaele rested his forehead against her, his body still trembling from the force of his climax. He pulled himself from within her and supported her as she released her legs from around his waist and slid them to the base of the shower. Making love with Lana had brought him to greater heights of pleasure than he thought his body could sustain and still remain conscious. In a desperate attempt to soothe his mind of the worry and responsibility that beset him he’d made a plea to her. He’d asked for the night, she’d given him so much more than that with her generous body.

  Now, the night was well and truly over. They had to face the day. He reached out to switch off the shower and then grabbed a heated towel from the rail to dry her thoroughly. She seemed incapable of speech. He felt much the same. As he painstakingly stroked every inch of her body dry he saw the flush of heat that infused a rosy glow on her skin, saw her nipples tighten, felt the heat and moisture that gathered again at her centre. His own body began to tighten in anticipation, but Raffaele drew a tight rein on his instincts. All he’d wanted was the night. A few hours of mindless surcease. He’d had that and now he needed to move on.

  In his bedroom, the phone started to ring.

  “I’ll get that, you go and get ready for the move out to the house.” He wrapped the towel around Lana’s body tight, more to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her one more time than to provide her with privacy. After what they’d shared there was no room for embarrassment between them. Even though he knew he
could not repeat their actions again. Last night had been an aberration for him. It would not happen again.

  “Okay, I’ll order breakfast when I’m dressed, then we’d best be on our way,” Lana agreed.

  The call was the transport company confirming the delivery time of the new items Lana had ordered. Between them they were ready, finished packing, checked out of the hotel and on the road back out to Whitford within the hour.

  By evening, Raffaele was surprised to find how much like a home it already felt. Lana had organised a cleaning crew to spring clean the property the day before and she put fresh cut flowers in many of the rooms. It was time for a celebratory drink. He uncorked a bottle of Australian red wine, poured two glasses and went in search of Lana. He hadn’t seen her now for about an hour, although he knew that while he’d unpacked his cases and hung his clothes in one of the large dressing rooms in the master suite she supervised the setting up of the baby’s nursery. He’d stepped in to look at one point and was surprised to see her ordering the delivery crew about with the precision of a drill sergeant on parade.

  He ascended the stairs a glass in each hand and covered the distance to the nursery with a silent tread on the thick woollen carpet. A noise from the nursery alerted him to her presence, a noise he couldn’t quite identify. Not quite knowing what to expect, he pushed open the door. At one glance he could see she’d transformed the room from a guest bedroom into a fully equipped nursery. Each item from one of those lists of hers had a place here in the room, but what stopped him in his tracks was the sight of her seated in the rocking chair, an oversized brown bear with a pink ribbon at its neck clutched tightly to her chest and a look of grief on her face so raw, so deep, it cut him to the quick.