by Alexa Hart
He sat also, choosing the same couch and disregarding the six or so armchairs placed neatly about the room. Again, I felt the short distance between us was smaller than customary and again, neither of us moved away. I forced myself to look anywhere – anywhere – but into those charcoal black holes that kept trying to swallow me into their abyss.
“You look very nice this evening, Miss Greene. May I call you Abigail?”
I was certain my heart had stopped completely, and I mentally ran over the clothing I had chosen for this venture. I had made sure that the last thing I looked like was a schoolteacher. He’d seen enough of that Abby last time. Tonight, I wore a simple cream sweater, soft and thin, with flattering black pants and sleek nude heels. I had made sure my hair was smooth and fresh and down. The librarian bun was gone, and instead soft locks hung to just below my breast line.
Very nice. I look very nice this evening.
“Abby. Everyone calls me Abby. Well not everyone but you know most people, not my students of course but –”
“Abby it is,” Marcello agreed, putting me out of my own rambling misery and smiling widely now. “Are you nervous, Abby? You seem nervous.”
I felt like my entire body was going to vibrate right off of his leather couch, but I would admit that when I was six feet underground. “I’m fine, Mr. Morano. I really – I did have something I would like to say to you.”
He was looking into me so deeply, so earnestly, that it was becoming difficult to even care why I was here. Those eyes were dark and hard but soft and inviting. They showed pain and passion and I suddenly wanted to put a hand to his cheek just to see if he was real. I felt hypnotized. Everything around me was becoming a surreal version of itself and he – he was all I could see.
“Abby?” Marcello placed a hand on my own and it nearly made me faint. “Are you alright? Do you need some water?”
I am being ridiculous. I am being ridiculous and I almost don’t even care at all.
But I did care. I shook my head a bit, pulling my hand back gently, and putting on a purposeful, friendly smile. “I needed to tell you – I just – there were things I shouldn’t have said and assumptions I shouldn’t have made. I was very, very rude the last time we spoke, Mr. Morano – I"
“You will call me Marcello, Abby,” he spoke suddenly and put his hands to my face, cupping it sweetly for a split second as he pulled me to him and pushed his lips against mine. My arms automatically locked around his neck and tugged him violently closer. I returned his kiss with a ferocity I hadn’t known existed in little Abigail Greene. His lips were tender and simultaneously unyielding – devouring my own and demanding surrender as his tongue gently forced itself to mine. His hands were in my hair, greedily twisting and pulling. I had naturally let go under the weight of his relentless, hungry approach, and we were almost instantly lying down. Marcello was over me – surrounding me – engulfing me, moving steadily between my eagerly spread legs with the unmistakable firmness that confirmed his desire for me was equally overpowering his own body. One hand had slid up my front and was caressing then squeezing my breast with growing fervor and the other continued to curl tighter into my hair, tugging with increasing force and still never leaving my mouth with his own.
My hands went to undo his pants. I couldn’t remember the last time – if there ever had been a time, when I needed someone in me so very, very badly. I didn’t know who I was or where I was, but I knew Marcello was here and I needed Marcello to fuck me and the rest of the entire world could be goddamned.
I had just reached one eager hand around the powerful width of his stiffness when he pulled back suddenly and with great force. He was breathing heavily, and I gasped for the air I felt he had taken with him.
“I’m... so... sorry... Just give me... give me a minute... I have to... I’ll have Marta tell them... I’ll be right back... Abby, I’m sorry... Just a minute,” he had stood as he was attempting to speak and was looking at me now with some mixture of lust and insanity that nearly drove me to spring myself on him and refuse to let him leave at all.
I nodded, still struggling to calm my ragged breath. He gave me one last penetrating stare and then swiftly exited the room.
I was alone. I was alone in Marcello Morano’s house, hair a tangled mess, clothes half off, still writhing with wetness and expectation, lying on a leather couch in a room I had never laid eyes on before; and thinking that I had never really known what it was to be alive until this very moment.
It was more than a minute. I had known it would be, considering there was an entire gathering of people somewhere in the depths of this house. I wasn’t quite sure how Marcello intended to escape that level of obligation on such short notice, but I didn’t doubt that he would. I still had questions about him, but not one ounce of doubt about the words that came out of his mouth.
Whomever he was, he was not a liar.
Unsure as to what I should do, I straightened out my sweater and pants, smoothed my hair as best I knew how without access to a mirror’s approval, folded my hands and sat. I remembered thinking there were a multitude of books in the sitting room that first night, but now, in what must be the house library, I was astounded by the shelves upon shelves full. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling, and a few aisles – exactly like a public library – took up the northern half of the room. The rest was dotted with armchairs and side tables – some large, some small. Apparently, we had sat on the only couch in the room, and I ran my hand over its smooth surface feeling impatient and wild.
I had known exactly who Abigail Greene was before I came here this evening. Presently, I was delighted to be at a loss as to who this heated, hungry creature was inhabiting my body.
When Marcello did return a good fifteen minutes later, he had a sheepish grin on his lips and what I could only assume was a mild blush on his cheeks. He came and sat beside me – not bothering to leave any space between us this time.
“I would have been quicker,” he began, turning to me and grabbing one of my hands gently with his own, “but I had to... I had to calm down first.” He chuckled openly and I let a small giggle out myself, feeling the electric current shooting up my arm at his touch. “Marta was my nanny as well. She’s somewhat of a mother figure to me – even at this age – and I attempt to be the perfect gentleman whenever she’s around. Which is always.” He laughed again, and he really did seem like a boy who just got caught missing curfew.
It was endearing, and it was hot. His wavy hair was a bit more unkempt than usual, and his eyes were so incredibly open and warm that more than ever I realized I had deeply mistaken this beautiful man.
“You have to know I’m sorry. I need you to really know that,” I spoke without meaning to. Looking at him this closely he seemed much more scarred, much more vulnerable. His charisma and confidence were intoxicating, but this raw man in front of me also radiated with the suffering of untold ghosts.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Abby. I appreciate the sentiment, but you weren’t entirely off base.” His eyes had hardened considerably with just those few words, and he looked at the floor now, not meeting my gaze. “Gia - Gia will always be safe. Gia will always be safe.” He turned back to me, and the stern expression on his face caused me to stiffen.
This Marcello – this was the Marcello I did not know. This was the Marcello that worried me.
He shook his head and laced his fingers through my own. “We can talk about whatever you want, Abby. But not right now.” The air was thickening with that insane electricity again and Marcello pulled me to my feet. “We have some unfinished business, yes?” He grinned, and even with the support of both his hands I felt dangerously close to collapsing to the floor in delirium.
“Yes,” I murmured, sure that I would be dead from sheer anticipation long before we “finished our business”.
“Okay then,” he purred, and began leading me out of the library to some other sector of his colossal residence. “There are bet
ter places to do this, I think.” He looked back at me over his shoulder as he spoke and gave an impish wink.
I realized at that moment that Marcello could lead me straight into the depths of hell and I would happily follow.
Chapter 5
The Morano household was a maze of hallways and staircases. By the time Marcello had led me to our point of destination I knew that under no circumstance would I be able to find my way back out alone. We were deep in the labyrinth of the third floor, and Marcello flicked on a lamp near the doorway to the chosen room.
A mammoth four poster bed – antique and proud in its own grandeur – was the centerpiece of the room. There were multiple other lamps, decorative chairs, dressers, a few larger-than-life mirrors; and at a different time, I might be slowly fascinated by each of them in turn.
Presently, I was already fascinated by something – someone else.
The walk had given me just enough time to work up a tight ball of anxiety in my stomach. I looked awkwardly at Marcello, wishing we were back in the library where things had happened too fast to allow time for nervousness. I was starting to worry now that I’d completely lost my mind.
He smiled (always that smile – I could live and die in that smile) and pulled me to him. He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips delicately. “When you are with me, Abby...” he spoke, gently using both hands to pull my sweater up and over my head swiftly, “...you are safe.” He then knelt down and put his hands on my waist, kissing my stomach so tenderly that my body visibly trembled. “Never be scared.” Now he patiently undid the button and zipper to let loose my pants. “And never feel that you have to hide anything from me.” My pants were being slowly pulled down until they met the floor. Marcello gingerly took one of my feet in his hands, removed the heel, and placed it back on the lush carpet. I knew I was utterly shaking now but had absolutely no way to stop it. His touch and his words coupled with the tender motions of undressing me like I was made of crystal, combined into a sensual stimulator that far outdid any of the sexiest images I had previously conjured up of this moment. I was putty in his hands, plain and simple.
The other heel removed, he looked up at me with those eyes and now I saw a new level of animalistic desire in them that made me feel slightly insane and utterly weak. I had chosen a very flattering set of nude bra and panties – trying to convince myself it was because my sweater required a nude bra, but knowing it really to be because the set I chose shimmered and glittered on my otherwise bare body, creating the illusion that I was already completely naked and sparkling like a star. Seeing the hunger grow in his demeanor, I knew I had chosen well.
He slid back up to standing position, pressing against me as he rose. Steady hands reached around my back and undid the hooks with confidence. My bra dropped to the floor and Marcello stood back slightly, as though wanting to fully take in the picture before he destroyed it. He met my gaze once more and spoke with great conviction, “Abby. You are safe here. You are safe with me.”
I nodded, wild and impatient, and he brought my breasts to his mouth forcefully, greedily circling them with his tongue and using his hands to massage both in turn. Tingling – sweet, sanity-stealing tingling – was shooting through my body like electric fire from the tip of both breasts. His tongue was tireless, exploring every last piece of flesh on them as though he had to taste it all – mark it all.
And then he was lifting me up, carrying me to the bed, lowering me gently with impressive strength that I knew he could just as easily use to crush me. He kissed down my stomach to my panties, and slowly began pulling them down, patiently removing them from each leg. He then worked his way back up, kissing one calf, then the other, then my thighs – up one side and down, up the other, down – until I thought I might scream from the torture. By the time his mouth actually caressed my quivering slit, I knew I was already dripping with the beginnings of an explosion I could hardly hold for a second longer. His tongue curled sweetly into my depths, licking, sucking, tasting, and driving me to absolute madness. I was coming – so close to coming – vibrating with pleasure and raising my hips to meet his mouth with eager, pulsating need, when he suddenly pulled his head back, just barely grazing my soaked, aching skin which spread wide like a rose in bloom.
“Say my name, Abby.”
My shock at his sudden withdrawal had turned me somewhat savage. I moaned, rising angrily and trying to reach those lips again with my body, but he stayed still and held me down.
“Say it, Abby.”
“Marcello,” I breathed, writhing and steaming as his tongue immediately returned heatedly to the throbbing mess before it. And there. It was coming, coming, I was coming - and arching, aching, moaning into the ecstasy over and over “Marcello... Marcello...”
A certain delirium had set in as I climaxed, and my body started to feel limp as the waves of pleasure subsided. I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me, watching me orgasm, looking like a rabid wolf ready to take down its prey. Eyes blazing fire, Marcello pulled off his own sweater with measured calmness. He seemed to be pacing himself, holding back what I knew would be an inner beast being unleashed. Those still-steady hands undid his belt, pushed down his pant legs, and all the while he never broke eye contact with me.
I was in silent awe. He was a god – I was in the presence of a god. Every muscle, every curve, every edge defined like a mountain range of fleshly perfection... The tattoo I had previously spied stretched sexily all the way up his bicep, over his shoulder, and covered the majority of his back. The stars – three distinct black outlines led to a phrase that I recognized as Italian but could not translate. “Sangue, fuoco e morte prima del tradimento.”
His back, rippling with tensed, aggressive muscles, seemed intricately decorated with a coat of arms or family crest... I couldn’t tell for sure and I lost sight of them as he came to me, pushing down the last of his clothing and revealing Marcello Morano in his full, divinely endowed glory.
And then he was over me – face to face – and time froze. Such a picture we must have made, his olive skin and panther-like body holding still over my creamy white frame, still shaking from its recent exhilaration. I thought for a moment that this – this was what everyone wanted and struggled their entire lives to find – if they ever did find it. This right here.
We were both simmering – so ready, and Marcello closed his eyes suddenly. “Dammit. Condom.” He started to rise and I pulled him back to me aggressively, shaking my head.
“Birth control.” I had never been more thankful that in spite of my somewhat spotty dating life, I had faithfully taken those fucking pills every single damn day.
“Oh - thank Christ,” he breathed out.
And then there was no more waiting. Marcello entered me slowly, as though he wanted me to experience every last inch of himself. His skin deliciously massaged my already crazily alive insides as he went deeper and deeper until I let out an unhindered moan. He kissed my lips passionately, put a hand to my cheek, then let it slide to my neck and tighten in a heated grip as he let loose that wild creature that had been so carefully contained up until this very moment. I closed my eyes and clenched my body tightly – greedily – around his intrusion inside of me, never wanting to let go of this sensation of untamed lust – never wanting to let go of him. Every thrust fueled the fire of whatever insatiable, carnal demon had possessed me, and I held onto Marcello vigorously, embedding my nails in his muscular back and biting, kissing, attacking his skin.
Marcello steadily lunged... deeper... harder... faster... until I felt him growing and throbbing inside of me on the edge of his own oblivion. He released and a growl-like sound came from somewhere deep inside of him – turning his remaining plunges into barbaric, delicious jolts and making me scream freely as I coaxed every last drop out of his body and into my own.
It had never been like this. Not with anyone. Marcello collapsed on me, resting his head on my breasts, and I softly caressed his face while wondering hungrily how long unti
l we could go again.
We were both lying on our backs, breathing heavily. Marcello grabbed my hand and we stayed like that for what felt like a very long time. I felt the air coming back into my lungs little by little; and the happy, exhausted soreness of ecstasy-provoking exertion made the world seem dreamlike.
“You,” he finally spoke, sounding tired yet pleased. “Where did you even come from?” He let out a soft chuckle and rolled towards me. I grinned and met his gaze, almost wishing I hadn’t.
This is bad. This is so bad.
He lay on his side like a Greek deity in all his glory, giving me that smile and glowing with something new – as if he hadn’t glowed enough before. He was happy. I saw a satisfaction and warmth that immediately made my insides clench, and a new panic started rising within my belly.
I need him. I have to have him. I can’t not have him after this. I will never want anything else. No one else will ever be good enough. No one else can ever be this to me.
The adrenaline and pleasure overload had exhausted me physically and mentally to the point where I couldn’t quite guard my heart with my usual rigor. I felt like someone had removed a safety net from me when I wasn’t looking. I had not given him permission to make me feel this way – bare and starving and taken. I hadn’t been prepared to lose years of sound, solid footing in under an hour to this man – this mysterious creature who had stolen my soul effortlessly.
“What’s wrong?” He put a hand to my cheek, and I realized my face must have given away my newly creeping anxiety.
I tried to compose myself, and felt an inexplicable lump forming in my throat. Oh my god, Abby. Do not be that psychopath girl that cries after sex. Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake. I forced a tepid smile. “This. This was just...” I faltered, and Marcello raised an eyebrow. “This was just really good,” I finished lamely.