by C. L. Donley
“Please don’t say that,” he said almost in a whisper. “Now you are putting knives in my heart.” He held her until she quieted down completely, swaying ever so slightly once their foreheads touched.
When he was confident she would keep still, he moved his hands from her arms to the sides of her face, grabbing it intently. They locked eyes, hesitating before he went in for a kiss.
“You really don’t know how I feel about you? After all this?”
He engulfed her mouth in a kiss, their breath becoming frantic before they broke apart again, panting. His hands went to her waist, her backside.
“You are not like the others, cara mia. Sei il primo vero bibita che ho avuto in tanti anni. Tanti anni.”
“You are the first real drink I have had in many years. Many years,” he confessed in Italian as he undid the zipper on her boring pencil skirt. It fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and he sat on the bed in front of her, his bare chest facing her bare legs, his bath towel still dutifully in place.
He gulped when he saw her black lace underwear peeking behind the curtain of her white dress shirt, wet from his body against hers. His pleading eyes looked into her face as a tear dripped off her reddening nose. She raked her hands through his cold wet hair, looking down at him.
“Non posso… essere la tua acqua, signore.” I cannot… be your ‘water,’ sir, she sniffled.
His hands were delicate across her hips.
“Perchè no?” Why not, he whispered. He leaned his head against her middle.
“Perché lo voglio,” Because… I want that,” she winced as his mouth seared her belly button with moist hot kisses, “più di ogni altra cosa. Troppo.” More than anything. Too much,” she breathed.
He raised from his sitting position and stood in front of her.
“Hai paura che annegherò?” You are afraid I will drown? he asked, slowly removing his towel to reveal the whole of his tanned body.
She stood mesmerized, gawking at his broad, naked shoulders, of all things. She wanted to lick them. He finished undressing her, unbuttoning her blouse and revealing her matching lace bra.
“No, signore. Ho paura che tu berrai e ti sazi.” I’m afraid that you will drink and have your fill, she replied, her eyes and nose red and raw.
He didn’t dare tell her that’s precisely what he intended to do. She wouldn’t understand. She seemed to view herself as a commodity in the eyes of others, of other men. But he knew different. And he could be the one to show her different.
He peeled her last remaining undergarments from her body, until they were both as naked as the day they were born. He lifted her off her feet and carried her the short distance to the head of the bed, gently laying her down. He loomed over her, nuzzling her nose, her jawline, and finally her long neck. She let out a long pleading moan that made him shudder.
“Let me drink you in now, cara mia,” he breathed, “Let me taste you on my tongue.”
Tears had fallen from her eyes, into her ears and dried there.
“Just for tonight…” Lark tried to resist in a whisper.
“One night? You would let a thirsting man die?” he guilted her, in typical Italian male fashion. She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Tonight and tomorrow,” she insisted.
“Tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day. And all the days,” he demanded with a flurry of kisses along her face.
Lark closed her eyes, disbelieving her ears. She felt herself diving off a cliff.
“Va bene,” was all she said before he met her lips.
Twelve
Chapter 12
When Dario put his legs between hers, his large hand gently cupping her inner thigh, the moment was so sweet she nearly died right there.
Her body completely open to his, all talking ceased. No language could compete with the feel of his body against hers once again, this time naked, this time feeling the brunt of his weight as he entered her gently, easily.
He felt much more invasive in this position, and she welcomed every inch of him. Her mouth was agape but no sound would come out. He took his time filling her up to the hilt with his length, trying to convey love but also betraying his need that felt so desperate it only rendered her further speechless. She felt another warm batch of tears across her temples and she was sure she’d never cried so much in her life.
Dario filled the silence with his own eager moanings while Lark’s eyes melted closed. Her body was racked with sensation and she finally took in a desperate gasp of air, unaware that she hadn’t been breathing.
He thrust her over and over until she couldn’t deny that he was telling her the truth. She was the woman.
Her body relaxed. She stretched her legs at the center, trying to accept as much of him as she could. Eagerly he took her, raising her arms along the pillows above her head and adjusting his position as she hooked her leg across his buttocks.
This time, he was the one that needed to fuck. She was starting to wonder if he’d even had sex with any of those women, he seemed so starved. She supposed it was possible that he hadn’t. He fucked as though he’d been waiting a hundred years to have her again.
Soon his mouth was open as if to engulf her once he found a rhythm that he couldn’t resist any longer. His brow furrowed, he began groaning, the eve of orgasm drawing closer.
She didn’t want to miss a second of it. She wanted to witness every moment of pleasure she was giving him. She studied his morphing expression, from the man she knew as her boss to that of her lover, the expression of a man no longer in control. Damn, Teresa was right. It was damned hot.
Suddenly she could feel a tingling sensation that wouldn’t go away and was getting stronger.
It was an orgasm that she hadn’t earned, that she hadn’t fought for. It would barely be the size of a kiddie wave pool but she welcomed it, focusing on the pleasure of her boss as the feeling waxed and waned with every inconsistent thrust.
“Lark,” his gentle come voice called to her. Pleasure wrapped around her like a perfume cloud until it disappeared. She wanted it again.
“Dario,” she said in a whisper. It was just the motivation he wanted.
“Oh, Lark…” was the last thing he said before his pace went to double time for as long as he could manage. He was trying to make her come. He was succeeding.
She was so close to the edge already that she made no effort, she simply focused on his pace and his breath until the wave rose higher and higher and was fully grown by the time she felt it up her spine. Her eyes swam round and round, her brow furrowed, and her gentle moans of gratitude became forceful cries of relentless pleasure. Her pelvis jutted out towards his and he couldn’t hold on any longer.
His body convulsed and pinned itself to hers as pleasure had its way with him. He hunched over her and gave her a few long, dramatic thrusts as he held her, before the pleasure finally died down and let him go.
For a long moment, they didn’t speak. They simply kissed and caressed and looked at each other as their panting breath returned to normal. Dario rolled over on his back. Lark snuggled up against him.
“Let’s go again,” she whispered.
“You read my mind,” he whispered back.
Words between them were few as they spent the evening getting re-aquainted and making up for lost time, even learning a few new things about each other. They made love until evening, until Lark didn’t care that she ached. The next morning Lark woke up in bed alone. Just as she’d done their first night together, only this time, there was a note:
“I’ll be back by noon to pick you up. Wear the blue dress.”
Lark got up, showered, blow-dried her hair until it was shiny and smooth, and obsessed over wearing it up or down, or parting it on this side or the other. She decided to wear it in a high ponytail, her long bangs swooped to one side.
Could you try any harder? she chided herself. It was true she was starting to think of her appearance in terms of what she perceived would make Dario the ha
ppiest. In the flirty blue blazer dress well above the knee, with the deep v-neck and long flared sleeve, she didn’t know if she wanted to go full vixen or keep her hairdo demure to balance it out. But she was always demure. Why was she determined to bore him to death?
She began fashioning her ponytail into some kind of bun, to make her train of thought not seem so obvious. But when she heard Dario entering the room, she quickly pulled it all down, combing a part into her medium length hair with her hand.
She wanted to call out to him, but hesitated, not knowing how to refer to him. Dario, sir, “baby”— none of them seemed right.
She didn’t want to make it seem like she was making an entrance, so she stayed put, looking in the bathroom mirror until he came around the corner and peeked through the doorway.
If his face was any indication, she’d made the right choice.
She could see him soaking up the sight of her with his eyes as he slowly made his way towards her, looking at her intensely. He grabbed her forcefully by the hips and pulled her close to him, making her squeal with laughter. She linked her arms around his neck grinning as he nuzzled her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I think I want to stay in now.”
“Sciochezza, take me out, Dario,” she insisted like a spoiled mistress. He grinned.
“Call me Roberto.”
“You said only family calls you that,” she smiled.
Dario stared at her, leaving it at that for the moment.
“Va bene. Andiamo.”
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“A surprise.”
“What kind of a surprise?”
He gave her an amused look as grabbed her hand and they headed out of the hotel and into the lobby. Lark noticed they were garnering looks this way and that. A few of the hotel personnel greeted them as they exited.
“You’re quite the VIP, I see.”
“Certo. Let’s just say I have thrown them a lot of business over the years.”
“Figlio di puttana,” Lark rolled her eyes.
“Italian swear words were a part of your schooling as well?”
“It was immersive.”
“Ah,” he chuckled.
There was a red sports convertible out front with the top down, the tan leather interior exposed. It looked like a BMW, but with an emblem she didn’t recognize— a trident on the front.
“What kind of car is this?”
“A Maserati.”
“For some reason I never pictured you owning a car.”
“I own many cars.”
“Certo,” she said as he opened the passenger side door for her. “You seem so down to Earth,” she said as if complimenting him.
“I’m not,” he replied as he got in on the driver side.
“So, now can you tell me where we’re going?”
“We are taking a road trip.”
“To where? Naples?”
“Wrong direction.”
“Hm… Rome?”
“Guess again.”
“Bologna?”
“Very good.”
“And Venice?”
“…We’ll see.”
“It’s only two hours.”
“Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“Allodola, what kind of American visits Italy without going to Venice?”
“The kind that doesn’t want to get stuck in a city made of boat transport with wasted white girls.”
“White girls?”
“American girls.”
“White girls love to drink where their parents cannot see them,” he replied. His casual observation made Lark laugh out loud, which of course made him smile.
In twenty minutes they were out of the city and following a winding road that cut through gorgeous vineyards and countryside. Lark’s attention was glued to the landscape while Dario drove with a hand on Lark’s leg that was behaving, for now.
“I may have made a mistake, requesting the blue dress,” he said. Lark re-crossed her legs flirtatiously. She seemed much more comfortable in her bold, expensive wardrobe. She wore it like a second skin.
“Have you ever made love in a vineyard?”
“No, but I suppose you have?” she ribbed him.
“Certo,” he replied. She giggled.
“So, shall we address the elephant in the room?”
“What elephant?”
“About these other women…”
“Ah. That elephant,” he smiled hearing Lark’s concerns for the first time. “Ask me whatever you like,” he said as he kept his eyes firmly on the road.
“Did you have… regulars? Or were they all different?”
“I never call escorts unless I’m out of the country.”
“I see. No wonder you were so… busy the last three weeks.”
“The night that we first met I had just ended a relationship. Angelica. Or rather, an arrangement. We’d been sleeping together for some time. She was a married woman. I could count on her discretion and she mine. She was a flight attendant. From Barcelona. An Olympian in her youth. A swimmer. I told her we had to end it.”
“Why?”
“She was getting attached. So was I.”
“And your solution was to break up?”
“Like I said, she was married. It wasn’t true love. Merely… dysfunction.”
“How did she take it?”
“Better than I expected.”
“Your father and I talked about you the evening before we left for Milan, did he tell you?”
“He did.”
“The way he described you, I started to fear that perhaps I had been the first person you were with since your wife.”
“Five years ago you would have been.”
“Five years, Dario?”
“Si. I mourned very hard. I had no interest in love. I was working even more then. The finances were a tangled mess. Gino was becoming a teenager. Sex was the last thing on my mind.”
“And then?”
“And then I met Mona. She was a client of ours. A widow. Her marriage was not so happy. But still, she had a hard time living life without her husband. We… bonded. She was very passionate. Like you.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing. She ended it.”
“Why?”
“Her own personal reasons.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“I could have been.”
“And thus began your sexual rebirth.”
“Si. Many widows. For much the same reason as escorts. Especially if we were both still in love with who we lost. We just wanted connection. The relationships never lasted.”
“Surely some of them must’ve fallen in love.”
“Perhaps. But they also knew that nothing would come of it. Death is the ultimate rejection. No one wishes to experience it again. Nor do I want to be the source of it.”
“And so you graduated to escorts.”
“Indeed.”
“You’ve done a good job of keeping your private life private.”
“Until you, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a way of… popping up. At the strangest times.”
“I ‘popped up’?” she smiled.
“Si. More than once.”
“I am not a widow. Or an escort.”
“No, Allodola, you are none of those things.”
“So what’s changed?”
“Nothing’s changed. I worked, I lived my life. And then… one day I found you.”
Lark smiled. “And I you.”
They got to Bologna and walked the streets a bit, sampling meats and wine, and made out in one of the alleys that tunneled through the hillside town. Lark convinced him to go further to Venice, where they again made out whenever they passed underneath bridges. They stayed the evening and rode boats under the stars.
* * *
Lark stayed at the hotel during the afternoons.
She was either waiting for Dario to come over after work, sometimes in the middle of work. After two weeks he proposed that she stay at his house.
“This penthouse is costing me a fortune,” he said as they lay in bed. She stiffened.
“Shall I pitch in?” she suggested, he giggled. “The agency offered me another job. In Berlin. Only two weeks. I could get out of your hair for awhile.”
“You are not in my hair.”
“I would get another apartment,” she began, “but I would have to sign a lease and—”
“Nonsense, you will stay at my house.”
“Dario…”
She’d begun calling him Dario in her American accent which melted his insides well enough. But he had not yet been able to refer to him again as Robert, though he requested it endlessly.
“What now?”
“You know ‘what now.’ Your son is there. You can’t keep me hidden away and then suddenly bring me home.”
“Va bene, we will have a party.”
“Che due palle!”
“What did I say now!”
“You want to introduce me as the woman you’re fucking?” she exclaimed in Italian as she sprung up out of his arms in bed. “Your mother remembers me as the whore from her party, I cannot bear the thought of facing your father again!” she went on dramatically, complete with hand gestures.
He was horribly amused. She was becoming more and more Italian every day.
“Ridiculo. My father will be nothing but thrilled, and so will my family— as soon as they pick up their jaws from the floor.”
“This is all too much, Dario. Bring me to your house? For what? All we do is fuck.”
“Cara mia, stop wounding me. You know how I feel about you. But we are in limbo. And as much as I have enjoyed it, we have to be realistic.”
She sat up in bed with her knees hiked up under her chin, wearing his discarded dress shirt, thinking. She looked over at him.
“You want me to be your fidanzata?”
“You already are that. I want you to move in with me.”
“Dario, I like limbo.”
“So I’ve noticed. But you cannot stay here either. Come and live with me. You have to at least try it. You may find that you do not want to leave.”