Bellissima (4 page)

He would see it through to the very end, knowing the finale would be all the sweeter for the anticipation.

And hopefully he wouldn’t spend in his pants while pushing the delicious Jane Rollins to her own denouement.

Chapter Four

Jane watched Sergio walk away and had to bite her cheek to stop herself from calling him back.

From begging him to come back. To fill her mouth with that long, hard cock. To let her suck on the plum-hued head, take the full length deep into her throat until he spilled his seed and she could drink it down.

The taste of him lingered on her tongue, and she craved more.

Turning her head to keep him in sight as long as possible, she saw him pick up the chair she had put out for him. Then he disappeared behind her, carrying it, and she knew better than to move from where he’d put her to be able to see what he was about.

Here was a man who knew how to command, how to take her to the heights of desire before allowing her—yes,
allowing
—the fall over into ecstasy.

She shuddered just from hearing him move around behind her, and when she felt the side of his chair against the back of her leg, a hard stab of lust made her moan. He would be sitting almost between her legs, her cunt right beside his face, where he could look at it, touch it, should he so desire.

Jane hoped he so desired, for she yearned for it, lust and need burning so hot in her belly she could hardly draw breath, could hardly think.

Sergio came back into view beside her, and she watched as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot, added a splash of milk and a spoon of sugar. How incongruous—and arousing—it was to see him standing there, thick masculine fingers moving with surprising delicacy as he poured the tea, his rigid prick jutting from the front of his pants. She wanted those fingers on her cunt. That cock inside her, fucking her hard. Those beautiful, pendulous balls slamming against her as he took her from behind.

She wanted it all—everything Sergio Fontini could give. And she wanted it so badly she would do anything, tell him anything, to get it. To have him.

He moved out of her sight again, and Jane closed her eyes, straining to hear what he was doing. There was the creak of the chair as he sat, the soft chime of the cup against the saucer as he lifted it, probably to take a sip. She imagined him raising it to his chiseled lips, the way they’d part to receive the rim, and bit back another moan as it came to her that perhaps his dark, heated gaze was, even now, trained on the wet slit between her legs. The thought of him engaged in the genteel occupation of taking tea while lasciviously ogling of her cunt was so deliciously bawdy, her entire body shuddered.

Although his voice was low, when he spoke it made Jane start.

“How old are you?”

She had to lick her lips before she could reply. “Five-and-twenty.”

“Young for such a responsible position.” She thought there was a feather-light touch on the hairs of her cunt, but it was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure. “Are you married, or is your title of ‘Mrs.’ an honorific?”

So he was aware that, married or not, most housekeepers were addressed in such a way, but she felt a small thrill that he was interested enough to ask her status.

“I have never been married.”

Again there was the sensation, almost like a gentle breath, over the exposed flesh between her legs.

“How did you rise so quickly to housekeeper?”

It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, never spoke of to anyone, but it was a measure of Sergio’s complete control that the words all but fell from between her lips.

“I was a foundling, taken from the orphanage by my first master when I was only nine. He and his housekeeper educated and trained me, and when she died, I took over her duties.” Did he need to know those duties included sleeping in the master’s bed whenever he desired it? She didn’t know, and was loath to say so. “When my master knew he was ailing and probably wouldn’t recover, he wrote me a glowing letter of reference and left me a small benefit in his will to keep me until I found a new position.”

This time the feeling of being touched was more marked. Just a light, quick brush, but enough to be unmistakable. Her legs, which had steadied as he questioned her, began to tremble again. That, then, was to be her reward for telling him what he wanted to know. Each time she did, he would touch her a little harder until, hopefully, he would fuck her. Knowing that made her want to hurry him along, get him to ask her as many questions as it would take to get to that most desired point.

Seemingly he was determined to take his time, enjoy his tea, for she once more heard the sound of the cup leaving the saucer, and it wasn’t until after it was replaced that he spoke again.

“But why have you bound yourself about with padding, made yourself out to be older than you are?”

She couldn’t help the little snort of laughter that broke from her throat. “Housekeepers are in demand, but not if they are young and, in the eyes of the lady of the house, too attractive for their own good. I was told that, to my face, by the first two ladies who deigned to speak to me. That was when I knew if I didn’t want to end up on the streets, selling myself to survive, I had to find a way to disguise myself.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat, one she couldn’t understand the meaning of, and the touch she had expected, craved, didn’t come. Perhaps he didn’t believe her? Didn’t understand what she was trying to say?

“I was a foundling,” she said, hearing the desperation in her voice, not able to contain it. “I know what it’s like to have no one, nothing to count on. I would look at the poor gin-soaked women on the streets, wondering if one of them was my mother. Wondering if I would end up like that too.” Her voice had risen, and she struggled to moderate it, struggled to control the urge to cry. “I would have done anything in my power to secure a good position.”

There was a sharp
clack
, as though he’d put his cup and saucer on the floor, although she had not heard him move.

“Shh,” he said, laying his palm on her ass, his thumb stroking just alongside the outer edge of her cunt. “I understand.”

And, just with a touch, he dispelled her distress, replacing it with a fresh wash of arousal. The slow, steady strokes of his thumb, so close to the center of her need, were almost unbearable. How she wanted him to go harder, farther in, find her nub or penetrate her, anything to satisfy this raging desire.

“You have a beautiful cunt, Jane. Like an exotic flower, wet with dew.”

She hadn’t expected that. Neither the cessation of his questions nor that lustful words could be so sweet and make her moan with pained anticipation.

But he hadn’t finished prying, only now the questions seemed intended to make her lose her already tenuous control, perhaps even to drive her to release.

“Do you want me to put my finger into your cunt, Jane? Pretend it is a little cock to fuck you with?”

“Yes… Oh God, yes.”

“Or would you prefer my tongue on you?”

The thought of it made her muscles lock, her belly and cunt begin to pulse with the first waves of bliss. That mobile, beautiful mouth on her cunt? His tongue lapping, hot and slick and wet, at her nub? It was too much to dream of, but everything she could want. Unable to answer with words, she pressed against his hand, and he laughed, a low, dangerous sound.

“Perhaps it is my cock you want, Jane. I would let you have that too, perhaps between those sweet, pink lips of yours today, so I can spend in your mouth.”

“Oh God,” she moaned, trembling so hard she was in danger of her legs giving way beneath her.

And all the time his thumb stroked, close but not close enough, driving her to lunacy, edging her nearer and nearer to ecstasy.

“Tell me what you want, Jane.” He pressed the side of her mound, moving the flesh just enough that a sharp stab of pleasure fired through her straining body. “Tell me you want my finger and tongue and cock, and I shall let you have them.”

She tried to speak but choked on the words, her throat too dry from the rush of air in and out of her mouth. Desperately she swallowed, moistening the passageway enough for the words to fly forth.

“I want your finger, your tongue, your cock. Please, Sergio. Please. Let me have them.”

He laughed again, but she didn’t mind, for his thumb had finally traversed into her slit, was pressing into her cunt. The inner muscles of her body clenched on it greedily as though to suck him in as far as possible, and when he rubbed in slow circles Jane was taken up on her toes by a white-hot strike of pleasure.

“You’re so wet and slippery, Jane.” Sergio’s accent was suddenly thicker, his voice a gravelly rasp, and she gloried in the sound. “So tight too. Can you imagine what it will feel like when I put my cock in you, fuck you slowly, thoroughly?”

She came then, shattered by his words, the sensation of his thrusting thumb, the sudden clear picture of the two of them together, his prick deep in her cunt, her body writhing with carnal pleasure beneath his. Shaking, biting her lip so as not to scream, she rode the waves of ecstasy, her legs trembling so hard she tightened her already convulsive grip on the chair so as not to sink to the ground.

“Sweet Jane.” His voice stroked over her like the finest velvet, bringing another shock of pleasure, taking her, trembling, back to the knife-edge brink of release again. “Sweet Jane, with her sweet, hot cunt. Her secrets and hidden delights. What other discoveries are there for me to make?”

Was there truly anything hidden from him? Caught in the fog of his bliss-inducing touch, she didn’t think so. She’d never felt more exposed, more gloriously open to another person.

“Ahh,” he murmured. “One more discovery I must make, sweet Jane.” He rotated his thumb inside her, caressing her inner walls, his free hand suddenly grasping the other side of her ass. And when next he spoke, she felt his breath on the oversensitive flesh he was so masterfully controlling. “I would know how you taste.”

Her pleasure-slowed brain wasn’t able to process his words, but her body recognized the hot, slick sensation of his tongue sweeping between her folds. It seized, her back arching as much as it could, her mouth open, a scream of delight caught in her constricted chest. And her legs gave way. She would certainly have landed on the floor if Sergio hadn’t wrapped an arm around her and held her aloft.

Stuffing a fist in her mouth to muffle her uncontrolled groans and cries of delight, Jane jerked and writhed under the onslaught of his wicked, talented tongue. It danced and played over her flesh, circling where his finger penetrated into her body, slicking along the lips, then returning, again and again, to lightly flick over her nub. Each time he touched her there the frenzied wave she rode rose a little higher, until she was almost afraid of what would happen when it crested.

“Come for me again, sweet Jane.” He spoke with his mouth still on her, so the words vibrated into her trembling body, lodged and echoed deep in her belly. “Let me drink your delicious passion.”

He covered her nub with his lips, his tongue lashing, his thumb thrusting in and out of her cunt. Going up on her toes, shaking as though with ague, Jane felt the first pulse of release tossing her high. Then, just as she began to fall, he sucked hard on her and one of his fingers touched her puckered anus.

Ecstasy unlike anything she’d known before caught hold of her, shook and destroyed her sense of time, place, self. As though he wrung every drop of life from her, she was left without breath, sight, hearing—every sense except that of being able to feel where he touched and how that touch cast her adrift into a storm-racked sea of decimating pleasure.

It seemed to last an eternity—was over far too soon. Jane sagged, trying to pull air into her laboring chest, trying to stay in the position he’d told her to. Wanting to please him was the only thought in her head, wanting to show him she would do as he commanded, whatever he commanded. Only that determination to demonstrate her complete surrender to his will kept the darkness wanting to claim her at bay.

“My good girl.” He cupped a hand around her throat. The other arm banded around her waist to gently help her straighten and pulled her back against his chest. His strong thighs bracketed her still-bared arse as her skirts remained rucked about her waist and caught between them. The wool of his trousers lightly abraded her skin, and she wished she were taller so his cock would nestle against her quim. Leaning in to him, she heard the strong, sure thud of his heart beneath her cheek, inhaled the delicious, masculine scent that was uniquely his, shivered to recognize her own scent mingled with it. When he spoke again, his breath ruffled the hair at her temple. “Such a good girl,
cara mia
.”

Lord, his voice, so rich and deep and approving, made her heart sing. There was almost as much joy in receiving his approbation as there was in his physical attentions. Yet still she craved more—more words of approval, more carnal knowledge of him, more erotic bliss. She wanted him to bend her back over, plough her cunt with his long, thick cock, fling her back into the storm of release so she screamed, uncaring of who may hear.

Instead he held her still, seeming to wait until her breathing slowed fractionally, and her legs stopped trembling. Then he pushed the chair beside him aside and stepped back slightly, holding her shoulders to keep her where she was.

“So rumpled,” he murmured, pulling down her petticoats and skirt, arranging them so they fell as they should. “Not at all how a responsible woman such as yourself should look.”

Jane wanted to sob at feeling the trappings of her life fall around her once more, but held still, blinking back tears of mingled sorrow and rage. How soon the world intruded. How abruptly he retreated, leaving her lost, no longer who she had fought to become—the woman she had felt emerging not yet fully brought forth. He hadn’t even taken his own pleasure, a matter that stung her heart, although the why of it would have to be considered later. All she knew at this moment, as his hands fluffed her skirt, his palms smoothed the wrinkles, was that she ached in a way she never had before.