Sicilian's Baby of Shame

by Carol Marinelli

  Bastiano heard her soft moans, and he wanted to hear more of them so his fingers explored and pushed inside her.

  She felt as if every nerve in her body was on fire with the source at her centre, as if she might fold over if he did not stop or that she would surely die if he did not go on. His mouth came back to hers and now his kiss was fierce as he teased and stroked her below.

  She arched to his palm, her mouth opening wide, her jaw tensing as Sophie lost contact with the earth.

  Bastiano wanted to kiss her all over and savour slowly each inch of skin, but feeling her beneath his fingers, slick and pouting, he felt himself driving closer to the point where he would be neither slow nor tender.

  He reached for a condom, as he had before, but her words halted him. ‘I’m still on the Pill.’

  Bastiano would lecture her later, he decided. He knew he was safe, for he always wore protection—he trusted no one.

  It was a first for them both, for he had never made love without one.

  Not once.

  There was slight trepidation in Sophie as his weight came over her, but it was quickly overridden by yearning.

  ‘Nervous?’ he checked.

  ‘Never.’

  Bastiano was.

  The emotion caught him by surprise as he looked down into amber eyes, for she was so willing and wanting and he was so loath to hurt her.

  For some reason he could not readily define, there was rare caution in him as he entered her a little way, and though he met resistance there was a warm willingness swallowing him in.

  No, Bastiano did not rob Sophie of her innocence; she gladly relinquished it as she embraced the sensation of pain edged with bliss.

  He moved up on his elbows and kissed her tense lips, fighting his own need.

  Sophie squeezed her eyes closed for each slow movement from Bastiano delivered fresh trauma and her hand moved to his chest. It was a silent plea to take his time, but as he drew back the ache turned to need and her hips rose to him as he filled her again.

  ‘Slowly,’ she whispered, and she watched the tension in his features as he did his level best to honour that request.

  She could feel him fight to keep the delicious, unhurried paced she demanded. And when the pain had left, when each stroke had her frenzied and thick desire filled her loins, Sophie removed her hands from his chest, ready to meet his fierce need to possess.

  Their rhythm was intense, and he looked her right in the eyes. Her hands moved down his back to his taut buttocks as Bastiano dictated the pace.

  He took her leg and wrapped it around him, positioning himself carefully with a patience her body could not return.

  ‘Bastiano...’ Sophie was suddenly frantic, her head slipping between huge pillows, but Bastiano flicked them away and rescued her head with his hand; he held her taut body, and only as she started to come did he cease his restraint and give her a glimpse.

  Just a glimpse of Bastiano unleashed, but it was enough to harness the energy that built within; the ripple of her orgasm deepened and she shuddered as it swept fast through her.

  In the throes of her cry, he knelt and thrust in deeper, his muscled arm scooping behind her back and lifting her body. Taking her hard, she was utterly open to him.

  Sophie did not know where it ended, but she knew she came again to the final bucks of his desire.

  He was looking down at the point of their joining, delivering those last precious drops deep within as she pulsed to him.

  And it faded, for it had to.

  As he released her, as he withdrew, Sophie knew that Bastiano had given her everything she could have wanted for her first time. He had taken care and brought her pleasure, he had opened her mind to her body, and it was in those dying seconds that she felt robbed.

  Not of her virginity—she had been more than willing in that.

  But of time.

  There was so much more to Bastiano that she now ached to see.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOPHIE AWOKE MIDAFTERNOON, wrapped in Bastiano’s arms.

  If bliss was a place, then she had found it.

  She lay there examining her needs and wants, only to find she was entirely content.

  Oh, she needed the loo, but apart from that there was nothing, not a single thing she required. Sophie did not want to get up because she did not want to wake him, and because she did not want reality to impinge just yet.

  Today, she decided, was her day and she intended to make it last!

  She wriggled out of his arms, picked up her uniform and underwear and headed into the bathroom. It was sumptuous indeed, themed like a Roman bath with stone walls and a deep alabaster soaking tub that took centre stage. The windows were designed so that the guests could lie in splendour and gaze out on Rome with their privacy assured.

  Only Sophie wasn’t here for that—lazy days spent lying in an alabaster bath were not for the likes of her.

  Turning on the tap and with a somewhat mischievous smile she threw her clothes in the sink. Not just to be sure that her uniform would be fresh for tonight but to make certain she would not be leaving any time soon!

  Then she looked again at the bath that seemed to beckon and asked herself, Why not?

  At her flat there was a small shower, and more often than not a flatmate waiting their turn.

  Sophie knew she would never get a chance like this again.

  And so, once she had hung her clothes over the towel warmers, rather than clean the bath, as Sophie so often did when she serviced a suite, instead she ran the deepest one and added everything that she possibly could to it—oils, salts, bubbles. All the lovely bottles that she usually replaced each day were now tipped into the steaming, fragrant water and then she climbed in herself.

  This, she decided as the warm water engulfed her, was indulgence at its finest. As she lay there feeling utterly pampered, and with a body sated by his touch, Sophie knew that she would never look at this view again and not think of this wonderful day.

  And that was how he had made her feel—simply wonderful.

  There was no guilt about this morning’s events, though perhaps that would come.

  Had she done the right thing by her family’s standard, her first time would have been a year ago and it would have been something to forget rather than remember. This was how it was supposed to feel, she knew that now.

  She lay there and smiled, and closed her eyes to picture Bastiano better.

  And that was how he found her when he came in, up to her neck in bubbles and half dozing.

  ‘Why are there clothes hanging everywhere?’ he asked. ‘It looks as if the gypsies have arrived.’

  Sophie opened her eyes and smiled, for he stood there gorgeous and naked, frowning at her dripping uniform and underwear.

  ‘If you must know, I washed them because you are a gentleman and I know that you would not send me out in wet clothes.’

  ‘I admire your cunning,’ Bastiano said. ‘However, I am not a gentleman and if I wanted you gone then, wet clothes or not, you would be.’

  ‘Nope.’ She did not believe it of him, for in Sophie’s eyes he was perfect.

  She held out her hand for him to join her, but he hesitated because he generally didn’t really care for such tender intimacies. He told himself that it was the fragrant, foaming water that seemed so inviting before climbing in at the opposite end, with his back to the view. Sophie rested her feet on his chest.

  Certainly, Bastiano thought, if he did get into the bath with a woman then it was not to lie there half dozing, but that’s exactly what he found himself doing.

  For a while, at least.

  But then her heels pressed into the wall of his chest.

  He ignored her.

  ‘What?’ he asked, when her heels n
udged him again.

  ‘Rub them.’

  He was too relaxed to decline, and so he got right into the soles with his thumbs, enjoying her moans of pleasure.

  ‘Your posh English girl does not know what she’s missing,’ Sophie said.

  She assumed him the kindest, most thoughtful person, Bastiano realised, and he chose not to enlighten her.

  ‘Are you sore?’ he asked, not meaning her feet.

  ‘A little bit,’ Sophie admitted, and then her lips twitched provocatively as she met his eyes. ‘Though not sore enough not to do it all again.’

  Yes, Sophie decided, Lydia really did not know what she was missing because Bastiano massaged her calves as if he knew how they ached, and he made her feel as if there was nowhere else he wished to be.

  ‘For skinny legs,’ Bastiano said, ‘you have a lot of muscle.’

  ‘Because I am on my feet all day, climbing stairs.’

  Not today, though.

  Sophie accepted that they only had this day, but for the times ahead when she thought about these precious moments and her mind drifted to this intriguing man, there were things she would want to know.

  And she was curious enough to ask.

  ‘What happened to your cheek?’

  It was rare that he was relaxed enough with anyone to answer.

  ‘I got into a fight.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Was the fight with your uncle?’ she asked, because he had told her it was at that age he had been kicked out.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Seventeen was a busy year for you, then!’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Who was the fight with?’ Sophie asked, and she ignored the warning in his eyes to leave it because she was too immersed in the sensual feel of his hands, though they stopped working her calves as he answered her.

  ‘A man I hate to this day.’

  Sophie looked over at the change to his tone. It did not unnerve her in the least; she just waited for him to go on, yet Bastiano revealed no more.

  Always that type of conversation was marked out of bounds, yet he had opened up a touch and he found himself curious about her.

  ‘What were you doing at seventeen?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, I was working at the bakery...’ And then she thought back to that time and she let out a small laugh. ‘I was in love. Or at least I thought I was.’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘A man who used to stop in on his way to work.’

  ‘Did he stop by to see you?’ Bastiano asked, assuming that to be the obvious case. ‘I’d have been stopping by morning and night and again for cake at lunchtime.’

  ‘Ah, but then you’d have become as fat as the baker.’

  ‘I’d have worked it off,’ Bastiano said, taking her legs and pulling her closer so that they both sat up and her legs wrapped around him. Together, they made an alternative reality where it had been Bastiano who’d stopped by in the mornings, and between teasing kisses she told him how it had been.

  ‘It was nothing like that. He was married! I just had a crush and he very politely ignored it.’

  And Bastiano wondered what her reaction would be if he told her his sins. Not that he had any intention of doing so.

  She lay back down and closed her eyes, looking utterly at ease, as if she had not a care in the world.

  Sophie didn’t.

  Not a single care.

  ‘Usually I am cleaning this bath,’ she sighed. ‘Once I had to bring into this very bathroom a bucket of ice and its stand along with a bottle of champagne. That in itself is not uncommon, but on this occasion the couple were sitting in the bath.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ Bastiano said, his response dry.

  ‘Of course not, you are too polite for that.’

  He was about to correct her and say he really didn’t give a lot of thought to sparing the maids’ blushes—more that he tended not to indulge in romantic baths.

  Yet here he was.

  ‘What else have you seen?’ he asked.

  ‘So much.’ Sophie smiled and leant back on the headrest, closing her eyes as she recounted. ‘There are lots of weddings here and I enjoy them the most. There is always something wonderful going on. I don’t often deliver the breakfasts, but some mornings I do, and some couples have champagne at seven a.m....’ She had questioned it the first time, but now she smiled at the romance of it. ‘I’ve seen so many different sides to life, working here. I’ve never even tried champagne, let alone first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Would you like me to call for some?’ he offered.

  ‘No,’ Sophie said with her eyes still closed but then, as she had done when waking in his arms, she examined her wants. There were no needs—they had been more than taken care of—but there was a tiny want. ‘I thought I wasn’t hungry,’ she said.

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Not really,’ Sophie admitted, but she was determined to make use of the good life while she had it. ‘But I could just manage a gelato with a shot of hot espresso...’

  He groaned as another of life’s simple pleasures now became a necessity and Bastiano reached out for the bath-side phone. He gave his order, telling them they could override the Do Not Disturb sign on this occasion and leave the dish in the entrance to the suite.

  Ten minutes later, Sophie lay in the bath with her hand clapped over her mouth, trying not to laugh as Inga wheeled their treats through to the lounge.

  Bastiano was in a towelling robe and he didn’t even close the doors so his conversation with Inga drifted through from the lounge and Sophie could hear every word that was said.

  ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Signor Conti?’ Inga asked, and Sophie knew that she was not speaking out of turn because the suite looked as if they had visiting rock stars in situ and was in serious need of a full service.

  ‘That is all,’ Bastiano responded.

  He came back into the bathroom and Sophie screwed up her nose. ‘I cannot stand her,’ she admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just...’ Sophie shrugged, suddenly a little awkward, for after all, wasn’t she doing the same as Inga?

  No, she decided, for this had nothing to do with money or designer bags. Instead, it was a promise that she had made to herself long ago—that her first time would be because she wanted it and was ready for it—and that promise to herself had been fulfilled. Still, Inga and thoughts of home were soon forgotten when she realised that he had come into the bathroom empty handed. ‘Where’s my gelato?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, Bastiano came over and lifted her out of the bath, carrying her dripping wet back to the bed. She laughed and protested and he found himself smiling as he dropped her onto the bed.

  ‘Here.’ He propped her up on the pillows and poured a shot of hot coffee over the gelato and then handed her the dish. Sophie had a taste and gave a purr of pleasure. It was deliciously cold after the warm bath and the flavour, both sweet and bitter, was perfection.

  She looked over as Bastiano took off his robe and then picked up his own dish but he did not add the espresso.

  ‘Where’s your coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think you’d like it,’ Bastiano said, and then took a large scoop of ice cream and held it in his mouth, so that his tongue and lips were almost blue with cold.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sophie asked as he knelt on the bed and parted her legs.

  ‘Kissing it better.’

  Yes, she had found bliss.

  * * *

  It was a day in bed spent hidden from the world.

  A day spent making love, dozing, laughing and talking, and Sophie never wanted it to end, though of course she knew th
at it must.

  Wrapped in his arms, Sophie woke and did not want to look at the bedside clock.

  The drapes and shutters were heavy enough to block out every chink of light, but there was a certain stillness to the air and she knew that it was night.

  Sure enough, when she lifted her head from Bastiano’s chest and read the time, she saw that in less than an hour her shift would commence.

  And they would end.

  She slid out of his arms and went back to the gorgeous bathroom. This time she had a shower and then did up her hair and dressed in her dry clothes.

  She walked back into the master bedroom and there lay Bastiano, asleep.

  No, she would never regret it.

  She had heard her friends speak of their first time and some of them had sounded dismal, some had been described as good at best.

  This had been perfection. He had taken such care of her, both in and out of bed.

  For the first time in her life she had been spoiled and adored but she knew that the world they had built this day had not been one designed to last.

  Sophie ached to wake him, but she did not know how to say goodbye without tears and that certainly wasn’t a part of the deal they had made.

  And so, instead of waking him, instead of fumbling through a goodbye that she did not want, Sophie went to the bureau in the lounge, took out a piece of paper and wrote him a little note.

  Mai ti dimentichero’ mai.

  I will never forget you.

  And if it was too sentimental for Bastiano, she didn’t care, for she never would forget, Sophie thought as she quietly let herself out of the suite. Though sad to leave, as she headed to the elevator and awaited its arrival, there was the complete absence of guilt.

  Her mother, if she knew, would never forgive her and that was no idle thought—it was fact. And neither would Benita, the head of housekeeping, if she were ever to find out.

  Yes, to others it might seem wrong, but to Sophie everything felt right with the world and she hugged the memory of them close to her chest.

  It had been the best day of her life without a doubt, and if it were possible to float in an elevator, then that was just what Sophie would have done as she made her way down to the foyer.