Blue Roses (8 page)

After dinner and dessert, we move over to the couch.

It’s a generous-sized couch, in an L shape. I could have fit a bed plus some smaller furniture inside my cottage, but I opted for the big sofa with a fold-out bed instead.

When I bought the thing, I imagined having parties, and friends perching all over my pricey new sectional. In my imagination, everyone wore fancy clothes and drank martinis.

In reality, my friends wear socks with holes in them, and would rather watch a movie than engage in small talk with people they don’t know. The couch works well for that, too.

After I finish telling Luca all about the sofa, and how we had to take the door off its hinges to get it inside, he lets out a low whistle.

I hold my fingers to my mouth. “I’m babbling.”

He gets up and moves over to the corner where I am. He sat down first, and I sat opposite him. But now he’s making a move. I’m nervous and excited.

Luca seems calm enough. He casually puts his arm around me, across the back of the couch.

“It’s a good couch,” he says. “Your kitchen is too small, but this couch was made for me.”

“It is custom made, but I didn’t know you back then.”

Nervously, I look around for my wine glass. It’s in the sink, because we finished the wine. I wish I had something for my hands.

“Would you like a coffee?” I ask.

“I don’t need any caffeine.”

He strokes the back of my head with his hand while gazing into my eyes. His fingers push into my curly hair, but he doesn’t try to comb through and get caught in the knots.

His shave looks really close to the skin. He seems brand new, like a clone in a sci-fi movie who’s just come out of an egg. And he smells like heaven.

“Thanks again for the flowers,” I tell him.

“I didn’t just bring you flowers.”

“Oh. Thanks for the wine. It was excellent. You have a good wine cellar.”

He chuckles, then leans back to pull something from his jeans pocket. He hands me a jewelry box. It’s bigger than a ring box, but smaller than a necklace box.

My hands tremble as I reach for the velvet case. Jewelry? On the fourth date?
Cosmopolitan
magazine did not prepare me for this scenario.

“Open it,” he says, sounding like an excited kid on Christmas day.

I snap open the box. Inside is a charm bracelet, with several charms already connected to it. I pull the bracelet out to examine the charms. One is a tiny little hammer. There’s also a motorbike, a flower pot, and a tea cup.

I wave one hand to fan my face.

My throat is tight, and I can just barely rasp, “This is too much.”

He taps the tea cup with the end of his square, flat fingernail. “This one is the cutest, and you know I’m not a man who uses the word
cutest
often.”

I gasp. “The tea cup is from when we had breakfast at Delilah’s.” My eyes are welling up, and I feel raw with emotion.

“Don’t cry again,” he says.

“These are happy tears.”

He takes the bracelet from my hand and very carefully undoes the clasp. I hold my left wrist out, and he fastens the bracelet around my wrist.

I admire the bracelet, turning my wrist back and forth.

“I wish I’d got you something,” I say.

“Tina, you made me dinner, plus you’ve already given me so much. This dark cloud of dread has been hanging over me since I got the keys to the garage. I thought I’d made the worst decision of my life. But then I met you, and now I feel like I’m on the right path.”

“I’m your good luck charm.”

He agrees with me by kissing me.

His lips are firm, pushing hard against mine. I suck his lower lip into mine and hold it captive to slow him down.

He moans into my lips, and the vibration of his deep voice travels through me with pleasure.

We kiss, and soon our hands are entwined in each other’s hair.

He leans over and reaches around me, like he’s going to hug me. He grabs me firmly by the waist and lifts me up and onto his lap, facing him. My legs straddle his, and my skirt rides up, exposing my underwear.

I quickly fix my skirt to conceal myself, but he already saw, and laughs like he’s gotten away with something very naughty. His chest rumbles when he laughs. I feel it through my whole body.

We kiss some more, and I note how perfect it is, sitting on his lap like this. Our mouths are at the same height, and the feeling of his legs between mine is more intoxicating than the wine I drank.

The longer we kiss, the more relaxed I get. I shift closer and closer, until I’m bumping against the business area of his lap. He moans as I tilt my hips and press against him.

The vibration of his voice sets off explosions of lust inside me. I reach down and grab his shirt to pull it off.

He raises his arms to help, and then I toss the shirt aside and take in his bare chest. First, I use my eyes. He’s got some chest hair, the same light brown color as his hair. He’s not super hairy, but he does look like a man. A very powerful, muscled man.

My hands join in the excitement. First, I run my fingertips across the broad, square muscles of his pectorals. He flexes under my touch.

I start over from the top, with my hands on either side of his face. He’s got such a nice, square jaw, and it’s only complemented by his bare chest. I smooth my way down his neck, and knead the thick muscles connecting to his shoulders. I think I have decent shoulder muscles, from moving heavy buckets of water around the shop, but there’s no comparison.

My hands glide over his chest again, and then below. His skin is smooth and hot, begging to be touched. I trace the contours of his abdominal muscles, and follow the line of curly hair down to the waistband of his jeans.

He’s been holding still, just watching me look at him, but now he reaches to my back, feeling around for a zipper.

I smile, because there is no zipper. This is a jersey-knit dress that lifts off like a T-shirt, but he doesn’t know that. My smile gets bigger as he keeps searching for a zipper or buttons, his forehead furrowing.

I glance around to make sure we have privacy. The blinds on the windows are closed, which is a relief. Even though the lights are dimmed, with all the big windows facing the lawn, at nighttime the cottage may as well be a brightly-lit display case.

Luca mutters something about tearing off my dress. I push his hands away and whip it off over my head in one smooth motion.

He gets quiet, staring at my chest. He looks up at my face, his blue eyes bright and shining. He smiles and holds his big hands up to my cheeks, then moves to my neck and kneads my shoulders, rocking me.

He’s exploring my upper body the same way I did his, with the notable exception of extra fumbling to remove my bra. Also, he takes about ten times longer on my chest as I did on his.

He pulls me to him and we kiss, our bare chests pressing together. I pull away enough to graze my hard nipples from side to side against his chest.

He groans and closes his eyes. “Do that again.”

I do it again, and he moans. More heavenly chest vibrations rumble through us.

His eyes flick open. Staring at my lips, he says, “I brought you flowers, wine, jewelry, and also condoms. They’re in my other pocket.”

“We should play Scrabble.”

He smiles, still looking at my mouth. “I’ll play whatever you like. Your house, your rules. No expectations.”

“How many did you bring?”

He looks up into my eyes, his eyebrows high with surprise. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I look down at my panties, and his jeans. I reach for the button on his jeans, but pull my hands away. I’m so nervous, suddenly. Usually, guys are trying to get their clothes off the minute you start kissing. Luca has so much restraint, it worries me.

What if he’s good at sex, but I’m the terrible one? I don’t know any fancy moves.

“You’re thinking,” he says. “You disappeared up into your head.”

“Luca, I don’t have any fancy moves.”

He moves and places his hand between my legs, cupping his fingers under me. His warm palm presses down on top of my panties, and he begins to lightly massage me.

His voice low and growling, he says, “Fancy is overrated. The best way is simple. You see something you like, you rub it, kiss it, lick it.”

I close my eyes and relax into his touch. He keeps moving his palm, the movement almost circular. Soon, I’m rocking my hips and pressing against him.

When I’m ready, I jump back off his lap, whip off the underwear, and return to straddling him.

“You do that like a gymnast,” he says, his voice low and thick. “Like I’m your pommel horse.”

“You
are
my pommel horse.”

“I’ll be your anything.”

He puts his hand right back, this time bare skin on skin. The pleasure is almost unbearable.

His fingers slide, moving deeper, until they’re slipping in and out of me. I lean forward against him. With his other hand, he lifts up my hair so he can kiss my neck.

His mouth on my neck and his fingers inside me is nearly heaven, but I want more.

For the second time, I reach for the button of his jeans. This time, my hands are powerful and sure. I open the button and wrestle down the zipper.

“Hang on.”

He pulls his hand away from between my legs and holds onto the back of my hips. His strong thighs flex underneath me, and he lifts me up. After a little awkwardness, he gets a square packet pulled from his pocket, and then pushes his jeans down and off, along with his boxer shorts.

I’m shy about looking down, now that we’re naked.

We return to sitting. We’re still on the couch, and haven’t folded out the bed. It doesn’t matter. This desire can’t wait for pulling off cushions and folding out beds.

I reach between us cautiously and touch him. He’s long and hard. There’s so much, and it gets harder with each squeeze and caress.

He pushes my hand away, and rolls on the condom. I glance down, amazed it all fits in there.

When I look up again, he’s gazing into my eyes. His expression seems to say something daring.
If you’re impressed now, wait ’til you see what I can do with it.

I give him a look of my own.
Bring it on.

We start kissing again, and I slide my chest up the length of his chest, standing up on my knees. I reach behind his shoulders and grab onto the back of the couch.

This is happening.

I move my hips forward. The tip is slippery from the lube on the condom, and I giggle as he slips around at first. With a minor adjustment, he’s in place. Still hanging onto the back of the sofa with both hands, I breathe slowly as I ease myself down.

He rocks his hips, pulsing, but not pushing.

Fireworks start to go off inside me.

I’m not even all the way down, and it’s incredible.

He kisses my neck slowly and thoroughly.

Sliding down all the way feels good. Do I remember how to do this?

After a few wiggles, my body starts to move without any heavy thinking involved.

His big hands squeeze me around the hips. His thumbs wrap around the front, across my hip bones, and his fingers reach down to the middle of my butt cheeks.

I’ve never been gripped like this. I look down in amazement at his arms. His biceps ripple and bulge.

He nods his head forward, breathing heavily, and presses his face into my chest.

I close my eyes and move in all the ways that feel good. I let go of the couch and wrap my arms around his neck. He’s filling me completely, utterly.

The waves rise, and soon my climax approaches, along with the realization of how much I’ve missed this.

“I’m coming,” I whisper in his ear.

He groans and leans back, looking up at my eyes.

I lean forward and kiss him, burying his face in my hair.

“Don’t look,” I moan into his mouth.

“Okay,” he growls, his chest vibrating with his pleasure.

I tilt my hips and slide along him, each pulse sending my pleasure deeper. His thighs tense under me, and he’s harder and thicker.

My breath catches, my muscles tense, and I drive myself down on him. I climax, and lose myself to it.

After, my body goes limp. I’m still moving, though, powered by Luca’s arms.

He shakes and gasps, coming right after me.

The deep, rumbling sound in his chest is more thrilling than the wildest summer thunderstorm.

Eventually, his hands loosen their grip on my hips, and his palms slide back down the tops of my thighs. This motion reminds me of the equipment at a carnival, powering down at the end of a ride.

We’re still for a moment, our breathing returning to normal.

“Bleh,” he says.

“What?” I pull back to look in his eyes.

“Bleh,” he repeats, pulling wavy strands of my hair out of his mouth. “I’m eating your hair.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a jerk.”

He grins. “I know.”