Sicilian's Baby of Shame

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I have to go,’ she said as she fought for control.

  ‘Of course.’

  Yet still she stood there and instead of turning away she put the plate down on the bedside table. She was not so much uncertain, more nervous of her own curiosity.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

  Bastiano could not read her, for he could feel her desire and yet sense her reticence so he moved things along a fraction. His index finger came up and he tapped it twice on the cheek nearest to her, the one that was not scarred.

  A kiss to the cheek was still okay, Sophie thought, for she would kiss her friend Gabi on the cheek when they said farewell after sharing a meal. But even as she tried to convince herself, Sophie knew that this situation was nowhere near as innocent as that.

  It wasn’t even a conscious decision. It was more that she might as well have been standing on a conveyer belt, for it was as if she glided towards him.

  She bent forward and moved her mouth to where his finger had tapped, the place where his rough morning shadow transitioned into smooth skin. The contrast sent shivers down her spine. The warmth of him on her lips was enticing and her tongue fought not to taste as her lips lingered.

  Sophie sensed him holding his breath and hers now came a little too fast in response. She pulled her head back and moved to kiss the other cheek.

  Bastiano jerked his head a little, for he did not like anyone touching his scar. He would by far prefer her mouth to meet his and usually he got what he wanted.

  Not this time.

  She misread the small signal and her mouth moved to his other cheek. Once on his scar, her lips lingered there, kissing him softly as if she didn’t care about the damage beneath.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THERE WAS A gap between their chests, but so in tune was Sophie with his every move that she felt as if their bodies touched.

  It was time to stay or go, Sophie knew. Even at this stage she could smooth it over and make her farewells.

  Or she could meet those lips and discover bliss.

  With Luigi, she had dreaded a kiss, let alone sex.

  Not now.

  When she had left home at twenty-three, Sophie had been considered a disgrace for her failure to commit.

  She was twenty-four now and there was no disgrace to be had here.

  It was better than her dreams. And so much better than the reality she had run from.

  ‘Come here,’ he moaned, and his hand came up and pulled her head down onto his.

  Always she had avoided such contact, yet now she craved it.

  His mouth was soft, and the dark shadow of his skin did not make her skin crawl with its tickle; instead, it was rough and delicious and matched the building desire in her.

  Now, instead of resisting, she opened her lips, wanting and willing.

  His tongue felt like a reward as it coiled around hers, and then he slowly suckled the tip. They tasted each other, and they inflamed each other and not just with their mouths. He was stroking her breast through the fabric of her dress. His thumb was teasing her nipple and Sophie ached for bed.

  His bed.

  She pulled back, and knew that even now she could walk out having shared no more than a kiss.

  ‘You taste spicy,’ Bastiano said.

  ‘And you taste sweet.’

  ‘But I’m not,’ he warned her.

  ‘I’m working,’ she told him, for she would get into the most terrible trouble if anyone found out.

  ‘You finished an hour ago,’ he reminded her, and then he stretched out an arm and she heard the click of a button that would turn on the Do Not Disturb sign outside.

  ‘I’m in my uniform...’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  He thought her experienced, Sophie suspected.

  Perhaps now would be the time to tell him she was not. That this morning was, in fact, a most irregular occurrence for her.

  But Sophie knew that would change things. And there was nothing about this man and this morning she would change, even if she could.

  Sophie wondered if she was on that conveyer belt again, for she moved so easily to be closer to him and when he guided her so that she sat on his stomach, she went readily.

  Bastiano looked up as his fingers undid the buttons to her uniform and revealed a threadbare bra so sheer that her nipples could almost part the fabric and he could see the dark of her areolae. His hands cupped her breasts and he wanted her to shrug off the dress, to discard the bra and to lower her head, yet she closed her eyes in bliss as he toyed with her breasts.

  ‘Take down your hair,’ he told her, for he wanted the curtain between them when she took him in her mouth; he guided her back so that she sat on his thighs and the sheet moved with her.

  She saw him erect, and since it was the first time she had seen, let alone touched, such a thing she held him in her hands.

  ‘Sophie,’ he said, for he did not want hands and tentative fingers even as he grew to them.

  He was mesmerised, though, watching as she stroked.

  Simply touching him was compelling. The feel of soft skin was a contrast to the strength in her palm and there was a coil of want that seemed to tighten within him as she gripped him more firmly.

  ‘Take down your hair,’ he said again, yet Sophie did not care for his orders, for the pleasure that grew was not just his. Her knickers were damp and she ached to feel him there. She wanted to stand and remove them, yet her legs felt clamped to his thighs.

  She ran a finger over the tip and teased out a silver drop; the moan he gave had her rise to her knees.

  He lifted the skirt of her dress, taking his own thick length and running it over her covered mound.

  Sophie knelt up with her hands on his chest, biting on her lip at the exquisite pleasure he delivered. Oh, it was wrong! If she examined it, then she knew that was the only conclusion that could be drawn.

  Yet there was so much that she had not even known was missing and she felt like a colourblind person able to see a rainbow for the first time.

  She had for a long time dreaded sex and that dread had now completely gone. Sophie was turned on like she had never been in her life. Even in her imaginings there had never been desire such as this.

  Despite the barrier of fabric he pushed in just a little way, enough to incite and make her ache for more.

  He reached into the bedside drawer for condoms while she hovered and teased, and then he held a condom out for her once she had peeled off her knickers.

  ‘Put it on,’ he said, his voice ragged as his fingers met the pink lips that would soon enclose his length. ‘Sophie...’ His impatience was building for he had to be inside her. ‘Put it on.’

  And then she spoke and the words that she said stilled him.

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  Bastiano’s conscience had left him a long time ago.

  He had thought it buried alongside Maria, for he cared nothing for anyone, but when it hit that he would be her first, his conscience made itself known once more.

  Bastiano knew very well how things worked, especially in hotels, and often he didn’t need to go out or even pick up the phone for sex to drop into his lap.

  Sophie wasn’t his usual style—an innocent conversation and a breakfast.

  Sophie really was sweet.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, then?’ he asked.

  ‘The same as you,’ she told him, and his lips pressed together as he got first hand a taste of her defiant streak.

  ‘I think you should go.’ His conscience seemed to stand in the wings and, like a prompter, told him the words he should say. ‘I’m not looking to get involved with anyone. I’m back to the single life, Sophie.’

  ‘You already told me that,’ she
said.

  ‘You’ve been saving yourself, and a one-night stand in a hotel room—’

  ‘It’s morning,’ Sophie interrupted, but Bastiano was having none of it and he tipped her from his lap and pulled up the sheet.

  ‘Go.’

  There was no air of negotiation to his tone but still she sat there.

  ‘Out,’ he told her, and Sophie climbed from the bed.

  Humiliated, she stuffed her knickers into her uniform pocket as Bastiano looked at the ceiling, or rather anywhere than at Sophie.

  And again she could see her life spreading out before her.

  Regret.

  Utter regret that her first time had not been with someone as beautiful and sensual as him.

  She was twenty-four and she ached to know such intimacies.

  Bastiano was exquisite.

  He was male beauty personified, expensive yet raw too, with a visceral undercurrent that finally matched hers.

  That was why she had waited—to find someone who was her match.

  Maybe later she would finally give in to her parents’ silent demands and return home. Perhaps someday she would settle and marry and pretend that it was her first time, while holding the secret that it had been him all along.

  Almost.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, and went to do up some of the buttons on her uniform. ‘I have been saving myself—for a time and a person of my choosing.’

  ‘You can do better.’

  ‘Please...’ she scoffed.

  Now he looked from the ceiling and at her as Sophie spoke.

  ‘This time last year I was told I could do no better than the man they had lined up to take my virginity.’

  ‘But he would have been your husband.’

  ‘Do you think it helped to know that?’ she asked, and her question was both important and urgent.

  ‘No,’ Bastiano admitted, and there was a flicker of guilt that flared because of his own quest for a trophy wife. He looked at Sophie, still doing up her uniform; in the bedroom he usually didn’t need to think, yet she was clever and strong and knew her own desires.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sophie said. She was starting to think of all the professional consequences of this current humiliation. He was, after all, a guest, and she was desperately trying to get back to being a maid. ‘I am sorry for any misunderstanding...’

  Bastiano loathed her apology.

  There had been no misunderstanding.

  ‘Sophie.’

  She ignored him and headed for the bedroom door. This time she would not be returning. Her cheeks were on fire and, rarely for Sophie, she felt on the edge of tears.

  He was doing her a favour, Bastiano told himself.

  Yet it was a favour that neither of them wanted.

  ‘Sophie.’ This time he said it as he got out of bed.

  Bastiano had never run after anyone but he called her name again just as she walked through the door. Sophie paused and turned around.

  He was entirely naked; he hadn’t even attempted to bring the sheet with him. The sight of him standing naked caused her to breathe as if she had taken the stairs all the way up to his suite.

  He was tall, so tall that as he stood right in front of her she was at eye level between his clavicle and one dark mahogany nipple.

  ‘You forgot your jacket.’

  She didn’t look up and neither did she look down; the chair near the window seemed like a very long way away. ‘Could you fetch it for me, please?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ His hand came to her chin and gently but firmly he forced her head up so that she looked at him.

  ‘I don’t understand the question.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ For his words had nothing to do with the jacket that lay over the chair, and they both knew it. Still, he clarified. ‘Sophie, I leave tomorrow morning. Maybe we could have dinner tonight...?’

  And that in itself was a concession by his standards, for it was usually dinner and then bed, rather than the other way around.

  Yet with his hands holding her chin she shook her head and surprised herself when she did, in fact, turn down dinner with this stunning man. ‘I’m working tonight.’

  And so he asked her again. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

  Not once in her lifetime had she been so certain. She wanted this man.

  Decisions had all too often been made by others on her behalf.

  From the friends she kept to the clothes she wore.

  On her thirteenth birthday she had said that she would like to go shopping for clothes. There was a skirt she had seen and a top too, and instead she had come home from school to be told there was a surprise for her in the bedroom.

  On her bed lay a new dress and sandals.

  They were pretty enough, though best suited to a ten-year-old and not what she would have chosen. Even Sophie had not fully understood the disappointment and even anger that had welled inside her as she had thanked her smiling parents.

  And she could well remember being told that it was time to leave school as her father had found her a job at the baker’s.

  And though she had smiled and worked hard and been proud to bring home a wage to help take the pressure from her family, she had always felt as if she were somehow not living her own life.

  Being told that it was time to marry had proved to be the final straw for Sophie.

  “He’s twenty years older than me,” she had said when they had told her whom she would marry.

  “Then he’s steady,” her mother had replied. “Reliable.”

  The man Sophie looked at now was none of those things, yet Bastiano had not only asked if she was sure this was what she wanted, he had paused to have her confirm it.

  It was indeed potent to be asked.

  For once the choice was hers.

  And so she made it. She would have him.

  ‘Very.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS BASTIANO who closed the shutters and then the drapes and turned on the bedside lights.

  The breakfast trolley he pushed out of the bedroom then he closed the door.

  She had expected a fierce kiss, and to resume where they had left off, but Bastiano had decided that this should not be rushed.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ he asked, walking over to her.

  ‘No,’ Sophie said.

  Her response was unexpected but, then, so was everything about this morning, Bastiano thought.

  ‘Not at all?’ he checked, for he could see the pulse leap in her throat as he stood in front of her and, more slowly this time, started to undo the buttons.

  ‘I get nervous when I call my parents.’ She smiled at his serious face and moved her own closer to his. ‘And I get nervous when I go to pay for my groceries because I am not sure if I have enough money to cover...’

  He smiled and she moved in and stole a kiss from his cheek, a kiss that moved to his ear. ‘I don’t feel like that now.’

  He moved the dress down over her shoulders and watched it fall to the floor. Then he walked behind her and she felt his fingers unclasp her bra. Her knickers she had dispensed with earlier, and this was all that was left before they were naked together. His hands were warm over her arms as he moved the straps down slowly and then removed the flimsy garment.

  He made her feel dizzy, her eyes closing as he ran a finger the length of her naked spine.

  Now he turned her around and it felt as if every pore pleaded for his touch, for it was like being painted with fire as his eyes roamed her body.

  ‘I feel like I know you,’ she told him.

  It made no logical sense for they had never so much as met before, yet she was not even close to feeling shy, and when he lifted his eyes to hers he made
no promise with his reply.

  ‘No one could.’

  He led her to his bed and it was very different from before, for he gave no instructions. There was no point because Sophie would not follow them—that much he already knew.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to take down my hair?’ Sophie asked as she climbed between the sheets.

  ‘No,’ Bastiano said, for now he wanted no curtain between them.

  Still she did not get the fierce welcome of his kiss; instead, she sank into a mattress that felt like a cloud and sheets and a pillow that were still a little warm from his body.

  He lay on his side, propped up on one arm and looking down at her.

  ‘Nice?’ he asked as she closed her eyes in bliss.

  ‘So nice.’

  And so was the light touch of his hand on her breast. Less than a tickle and more than a brush, it made her breathe in sharply through her nostrils. His face came over hers and the kisses she had stolen as he had undressed her Bastiano now returned.

  Each time his mouth met hers it was like a teasing glimpse of summer: warmth on her skin and the bliss of more to come, then the cool tease of distance.

  The light touch of his fingers had her nipples harden like studs and he could read the need that spread through her. Each slip of his tongue coiled her tighter and the heat from his palm on her breast was a gentle torment. As his fingers squeezed her nipple hard she moaned, and was rewarded with a kiss.

  So focused was she on the bliss that his lips delivered, she had barely registered the downward movement of his hand until it slipped between her thighs; he adored that they did not tighten but instead parted softly.

  She tasted of all that was good, and he of all that was illicit.

  His mouth moved down to her neck and the kiss on her tender skin at first was gentle but as skilled lips moved down his kisses deepened.

  Sophie’s hand pressed into his shoulder, feeling his warm skin as his mouth sought her breast. There he toyed, slowly at first, licking and teasing her nipple with his tongue. The scratch of his jaw was sublime and Sophie found her fingers digging into his shoulder when he sucked deeply.