Mia Dolce (4 page)

She sighed into his arms, relieved and thrilled their time
was not yet over. “All night,” she told him with boldness. “We must stay here
though until Sandy and Joe leave.”

He pulled back to watch the bride and groom dancing. “I hope
they will enjoy themselves as much as we will.”

She chuckled, tossing her head back to admire his charming
face. “Me too.”

His expression fell to hot desire. “I need you now.”

“I can’t leave.”

“There is no need.” He tipped his chin toward the gazebo
beyond the dance floor in the gardens. “We can go there to talk.”

She sputtered with outrage and gleeful expectation. “You
have no intention of talking.”

“To tell you that I want my hands on your cat again?” He
twirled her around as her faced flushed with delight. “To tell you that I will
make your nipples plead for my mouth?”

“Sergio—” she warned, losing this battle and loving the
warmth of the blush on her face and the gush of cream to her cunt.

“To have you as these people dance and drink? Oh yes. I want
you now.” He pulled her behind him as he left the floor.

She followed him laughing.

He reached the gazebo far from the wedding crowd but in
plain sight of them all. “Here,” he said, and turned her away from him, facing
the guests. “They will suspect. A few will know. Watch them,
bella
,
while I bring you in my hand.” And so he reached inside the slit of her dress,
pressed himself and his hard cock against her ass and inserted his warm fingers
up into her cunt.

She arched. “Oh Sergio.”

“You are dripping, my pretty cat.” He dropped a kiss to her
nape, his lips a hot brand on her body. “Have you been hungry for me, eh?”

“You know I have,” she purred as he stroked her and she
opened her legs wider. “How can I do this?” she asked out loud, but ground her
teeth in delight.

“Because you love what we are together,
si
?”

“I do.” She moved with his rhythm, in and out, in and out of
her. “My clit,” she urged him. “Do me there.”

She glanced down and shivered at the sight of his tanned
hand nearly covered by her gown. The green against his olive skin was a rich
contrast that had her trembling. “I can’t come here.”

“Yes, you can.” He rolled her clit between thumb and
forefinger.

She bucked. Her head fell back against his shoulder.
“They’ll see,” she murmured but didn’t give a damn. “They’ll know,” she said,
but couldn’t move away.

“They do, my love,” he murmured, and caressed her labia to a
quick and pounding orgasm. “They see you coming on my hand.”

And she could not care about anyone else but Sergio and
herself as she came and came and came into his palm.

Later, god knew how long, when she opened her eyes, her head
still against Sergio’s shoulder, she could see how three men turned away with
an envious smile on their faces—and how one woman, whom Reggie thankfully
didn’t know—stared at them in awe.

Reggie spun away from them into his arms. “I can’t believe I
had the courage to do that. But I loved it.”

He put his fingers to her lips and she licked her own musk
off each one. “Do you like how you taste?”

“Oh yes.” She felt impish. “It is a new dessert. Regina
Dolce.”

He grinned. “I know how to make that.”

She stretched up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips. “You
are the only man who can.”

His expression became severe. His fingers gripped her arms.
“I want to make the dish again.”

“Tonight. I promise.” Her fingers skimmed the ridge in his
trousers. “I want to drink this dessert again before the dawn.”

He captured her wrist. “I must fuck you now, Regina. The
hotel was to deliver more condoms to my suite. Come. Come now. We will return
here.”

Weak with fulfillment, she scraped her nipples against his
tuxedo. “Anything you want, Sergio.”

“Anything?”

“After this?” She rolled her eyes around the gazebo. “I owe
you a huge orgasm, my darling.”

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her
to the elevator.

This time during the elevator ride he merely held her tight
to his side. It seemed he could not even look at her. “I cannot touch you more
or I will rip the dress from your body,
cara
.”

Pulling her into his suite, he closed the door then told her
to remove her gown and hang it up. As she obeyed, she watched as his eyes
searched the room, alighting on a box of condoms. He held them up in triumph.

Smiling at him, she strolled naked through the living room
into the bedroom. He followed as she lay down, spreading herself out for him
upon the mattress like a prize.

He discarded his trousers and his thong in a half second.
Rolling on a condom with a snap, he climbed on the bed and gripped her thighs.
And in one swift stroke, he took her to the hilt. “Oh
mia regina
,” he
ground out, unmoving, eyes clamped shut. “I have needed you for hours.”

Then he fucked her as if he had wanted her for centuries.
And she knew as she panted in her own release that she had wanted him in all
her dreams.

At the end, as she stretched in sensuous exhaustion, she
rose up to curl long fingers around his nape. “Darling, come here and kiss me.”
And when he had, she savored the taste of him, and whispered, “You astonish me
with your vigor. We have drained you of so much cum in the past twelve hours.”

“Witch, you are the cause!” He chuckled and hauled her up
from the bed. “Wash!” Dress!” He swatted her ass. “Your sister will disown you
for fucking me too much!”

“As long as you don’t,” she murmured, shocked at her
bluntness and her implication that she wished for more of him.

“I won’t. Ever.”

Loving his sentiment, ignoring what it meant for them beyond
tonight, she began to walk away.

But he caught her hand. “Come here.” He drew her close. “I
want to love you more.”

“Tonight,” she assured him.

“There is so much more we can do together.”

“Sergio, I—”

One finger to her lips, he silenced her. “Do not talk.
Listen. Come home with me to Florence and Toscano.”

She vibrated at the sweet temptation of his invitation. She
loved Italy. Especially Tuscany. The yellow sun, the silvery olive groves, the
green vineyards, the aromas of basil and tomatoes wafting on the air. But she
was beginning to care for him too much. To go to his home would be too
intimate, too satisfying and too heartbreaking when time came for her to leave.
“I can’t.”

He lifted her chin. His sculpted mouth was severe, his gaze
demanding. “I must show you other joys of a man and woman.”

She swallowed, so tempted. So needy. So much more bold than
yesterday. “Like what?”

His black eyes narrowed in want. “Tell me your fantasies.”

She’d come this far, she could confess more, couldn’t she?
“Toys.”

He crossed his arms. “I have them.”

Her cunt quivered in anticipation. “Chains?”

His brows danced high. “I have a special one.”

She squeezed her pussy lips together in delight. “You do?
What else?”

“For you, my darling,” he put his hot lips to her ear, “bold
delights handed down in my family for centuries.”

“Centuries, eh?” She nestled closer to him and spoke on his
mouth. “Like what?”

“Ah, if I tell you,
bella
, where is the surprise?”

She examined his charming face and pondered if she was
strong enough to take his invitation, enjoy his rare delights and at the end
leave him with her heart intact.

He plunged his hands into the wealth of her hair, tugging
her head back with urgency. “What business do you have this week?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning with my agent about
the TV show and then,” she sighed as she foresaw a solitary week, “I am
writing.”

“I too have an appointment tomorrow morning in the city.
After that I plan to fly home. Come with me, my darling. One week. Seven days,
seven nights. I have my jet at JFK airport. The pilot is my man. He will bring
you home next Monday. Come.”

How could she refuse?

Sensing her agreement, he caught her up and twirled her
around. “We will leave here tomorrow early and go to your home. Where is it?”

“Manhattan.”

“There we will get your passport. You have no need for
clothes.”

She chuckled. “You are rushing me.”

“I am. It is my way to get what I want. But you delay.” He
stepped back, angry, adamant, arms akimbo on his hips. “What else stops you?”

She opened her mouth to speak but dared not reveal her
biggest fear that she could crave him at the end of the week and not survive
the parting. Instead, she could only wave a hand, searching for words she
feared he might intuit anyway.

“There, you see. No reason is left.”

“True,” she acknowledged, grateful he had insisted without
demanding she explain. Excitement shimmied up her spine as she said, “I have
not been to Italy in two years. And never with such good company. Or someone
who lives there.”

“Bravo. And so this means we are able to keep one promise to
your sister.”

Confused, she shook her head. “Which is?”

“We told her last night we were coming up here to cook.” He
indicated his kitchen.

“Ah,” Reggie laughed. “But we did!”

“Now we will do it as no one has ever done it before.”

“Naked?”

He winked at her. “What other ways are there?”

Twenty hours later Reggie sat in Sergio’s sleek Lamborghini
Gallardo as the little red sports car climbed the hills and valleys from Roma
north into the Chianti region. Sergio had put the top down in the bright
morning sunshine as he drove them from the Fiumencino Airport where his pilot
had landed his Learjet. They had escaped the throng of paparazzi at the airport
by sending a car hop for Sergio’s car.

“Nothing is worse,” Sergio told her, “than that pack of
hounds tracking you. No privacy.”

She laughed at the memory now as she came awake from a brief
nap and glanced over at Sergio’s profile. In his sunglasses, his sharp Roman
profile sent throbs of need to her cunt and filled her heart with pride. He was
so damnably handsome, so sophisticated and so enthralled with her.

How long can that last?

She shivered at the fear of losing him but straightened in
her plush seat and pushed strands of hair from her cheek. It had been at least
two hours since she’d pumped his cock inside her on the conference table in his
main cabin. She slid her labia against the fabric of her skirt and marveled
that her pussy was not sore from her countless matings in the past forty hours
or more. Instead she was wet and ready for Sergio again. She grinned to herself
that the woman who had used a cold dildo for three years was now fucking a
living, breathing, beautiful man often with such ease and joy. No doubt about
it, she was becoming addicted to his expert loving. And she needed to be fucked
again, hard and soon.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Cold?”

“No, just excited.” She lifted his fingertips and kissed
them. “And needy.”

He glanced at her nipples as they peaked in the silk blouse.
“I am eager to see just how much.”

She grinned at him. The thin blouse and skirt she had on
were the only clothes he had permitted her to bring—or wear. She wore no bra,
no thong. She shifted, loving the gush of her pussy creaming and crying for his
touch beneath the thin skirt that he had chosen from her closet. All of which
was just fine because she had the two garments off more than on. “How much
farther?” she asked him.

“Over this hill, you will see my home,” he told her with a
grin.

As they took the top of the hill, she saw that atop the next
one was a fortress city. Surrounded by old beige and white stone walls, a city
of alabaster spires and red-tiled rooftops pierced the blue skyline.

She sat forward. “Oh Sergio. This is your home city?”

“Monte Bianca. Filled with people since four hundred years
before the Romans came to rule us. Filled with olive growers and winemakers
since long before that.”

“And your family has always been among them?”

“Always.” He directed his little car up the hill, entered
the city gates but swung away at a fork in the road to circle the base of the
town.

“But where are you going?” she asked, turning to see Monte
Bianca disappearing behind her as they climbed even higher to the mountaintop.

“Up to the house,” he told her, and pointed to the highest
point on the hill.

“The house” was not quite what he should have said, and so
she crossed her arms, and mused, “Does your excellent English suddenly fail
you, darling?”

“What could you mean?” he teased her with flashing black
eyes.

“That, my dear man, is no house.”

“You are correct.”

“It is a
castello
.”

“
Si
.”

A huge castle. She sat open-mouthed as he sped along the
two-lane road up to the red stone castle with a wall of the same huge rocks
circling round it. Falling away from the turreted roof were wide green
vineyards, and in the narrow valleys, olive trees by the hundreds. Workers in
the fields waved to Sergio as they passed and came to the iron gates of another
stone wall. On the iron rails hung an emblem of a black panther, claws bared,
teeth sharp, clasping a pike and arrows.

“The family seal?” she asked, amused by his mute laughter.

“
Si
. Ten centuries old.”

“One thousand years. And the age of the vineyards and the
olive groves?”

“As old. Some of course are newer. From thirteen hundred,
more or less.”

“More or less,” she muttered. “And the workers?”

“Loyal to us. Ever since we protected them from the invasion
of the de’ Medici.”

“The de’ Medici. In the fifteenth century. I see.” She
watched him punch in a code to the electrical box so that the gates swung wide
to let them pass. “Are there other historical aspects I should know?”

“A few. My grandfather hated Mussolini and hid resistance
fighters in the wine cellars. Oh and when the Americans came through here in
1944, we helped them by surrendering and offering up the castle for the
American general’s headquarters.”

She understood Sergio better now. His confidence. His
energy. She could inhale the giddy perfume of centuries of Avanti power and
dominance. “You are very proud.”

“But of course.” He stopped the car in front of a circular
drive to the front moat, got out and came around to open her door. “Come,
bella
.
Meet the staff.”

Perhaps twenty men and women trooped out of the huge wooden
double doors and came to stand in one long line. Sergio advanced to greet them
and introduced Reggie to them, one by one.

“
Il Duce
.” They nodded or curtsied in deference as
Sergio passed by them to say hello and comment on this or that with them.

The duke.
Reggie walked beside Sergio, bidding them
buon
giorno
and pondered what a unique man he was—and how gratified she was to
enjoy his mind and his body for even a little time. This time with him gave her
more than sexual pleasure. It gave her confidence and perspective on her own
power, sexual and emotional. That he was a duke with an ancient pedigree was
only a frosting to the substance of his charm and intellect.

But then she entered the front door and saw spread before
her a checkered black-and-white marble foyer, braced by black marble
columns—and she knew his family history contained more than the few short
stories he had shared. She paused to absorb the sparkling beauty of the foyer.
A butler conversed with Sergio in Italian and Reggie knew enough of the
language to hear that the servant asked for her luggage and was told there was
none. Then there was another instruction she could not understand.

“What did you tell your butler?” she asked when the man excused
himself. She could not help but wonder if the servant had often been told by
Sergio that the lady accompanying him had no clothes. It was none of her
business what Sergio had done in his past. But she was becoming so fascinated
with him that her natural inclination to claim him as hers exclusively asserted
itself with a shock that made her frown.

Sergio took her arm and led her toward the circular foyer.
“I told him that I would take you on a brief tour of the
castello
while
they set out for us now a cold luncheon.” Sergio turned her to him and she felt
the wonderful warmth of his arousal against her stomach. “As soon as that is
done, he is to take all the servants down to the gatehouse for the next six
days.” His two hot hands pressed her against him from groin to chest. “I want
you too often to worry that they will see us as we enjoy each other.”

She wiggled even closer to his tempting body, discarding her
darker insecurities for the moment. “They enter your private bedroom at will?”

He rubbed his nose against hers, smiling. “Oh no,
bella
.
Never.”

“But then how could they see us?” She was baffled.

He lowered his face to her throat and nuzzled her there. “I
want you naked. Out of these.” He caught a bit of her skirt fabric in his hands
and tugged. “All the time.”

She shivered at the thought of walking this ancient castle
in nothing. Nothing at all. “And you?” She pulled back to view him, her fingers
going to the buttons of his crisp white shirt and flicking one open. “I think
you must be naked as well.”

“Whatever you wish, I am yours,” he promised against her
mouth, his tongue claiming her, his hands molding her to him. “Come for the
tour before I ravish you and we miss our lunch.” He broke away and, grasping
her hand, he strode before her as he became her guide through the centuries-old
castle that was his home.

He took her through the circular foyer, in the center of
which stood two giant wooden chairs from the year the castle was built. “The
first
signore
of the house was a man who, legend says, came from a
family of Vikings who had invaded the shores of Toscano in the fifth century.
That was his chair—and his wife’s.”

“She was as large as he?” Reggie ventured on a laugh.

“No, but she merited an equal seat of power. She was a
beauty say the records in our library and the daughter of a rich local
landowner. Family history says my irreverent ancestor first made love to his
wife in that chair.”

“Hmm, there’s an appealing concept.” She ran one hand over
the deep carvings of olive trees in the wood.

“And a successful one,” Sergio added, “because the first
Avanti and his wife had twelve children.” He winked. “Come, we will return here
later to see if we can find a position that might amuse us.”

“With that kind of precedent,” Reggie gulped at the idea
that twelve children might come from the joy one might find in that chair, “we
must take care to bring a large number of condoms.”

Sergio chuckled as he led her down a long corridor, opened a
set of double doors and walked into a long room with vermilion walls and gold-and-silver-framed
paintings adorning them. “This is the reception room and the gallery. As the
Avantis became more important in the next four hundred or so years, they
commissioned paintings and sculpture from artists in Florence and Venice. You
see them here.”

“Corregio.” Reggie recognized many from her art history
classes. “An early Tintoretto. A Raphael. Heavens, Sergio.” She craned her neck
to admire the dark chiaroscuros and brilliant Renaissance hues of the masters
whose works lined the red walls. “This is a priceless collection!”

“
Si.
And one that needs proper tending too. The room
has automatic temperature controls to prohibit deterioration of the canvases.
And see those skylights? We had to cover them with sun protectant glass so that
the works here might not dry out or dim. It is the oldest collection of Italian
artists in private hands in the country.”

“Let’s come back here later too. I must absorb them all,”
she told him with anticipation. “Had I been able to do more than draw stick
figures, I would have wanted to try my hand at painting rather than cooking!”

With a molten look into her eyes, Sergio said, “Bravo. You
like art and understand it. I hate reciting what is here for visitors. It
seems, ah, how do you say? Too much ego?”

“Too egotistical?” she asked, and he nodded. “I would see
how you would want the art prized for itself, not for its owner.” Still, the
treasure that was here astounded and humbled her. Sergio wore it all as his
due. As he should. As he had because he was born to it. But for her the
abundance and its historical importance thrilled her and yet made her
breathless.

She pressed one palm to her heart. She could and should
value this man for the joy he brought her. But she was not of his world. Not of
his experience. This display of priceless riches added to her determination not
to expect more from him than the sexual delight they had. The dalliance they
enjoyed. Yes, she was coming to care for him deeply. Yes, she would continue to
give her body as she desired, but she must refrain from giving him her whole
heart. Yet how could she do that? She had no practice in deception or denial.
Especially of affection…or romantic love. Would she fail at saving herself? She
faced him, curiosity about the house offering her a way to cover her somber
conclusion. “So shall we see more?”

“Absolutely.” He led her through the formal dining room, the
drawing room and the music room, each decorated in lavish gold baroque and
ebony Napoleonic furniture. Then he took them down a long corridor lined with
portraits of family from past centuries. “I can tell you stories of each man
and woman, some of which will curl your hair. But let’s see this first,” he
said, and flung open an ornately carved white door.

“My bedroom,” he announced, and led her into a sun-filled
room with deep red and black velvet drapes, the sheer voile curtains beneath
rustling with the breezes flowing in.

Entranced, Reggie walked into a room three times the size of
her New York apartment and lush with ebony and gilt furnishings that could have
come from some medieval lord’s wild imagination. Massive wooden cupboards,
centuries old, ran from floor to ceiling. A twelve foot mirror, framed in
filigreed gold, faced the bed. That structure was no mere place to rest from
the day’s work but a piece that commanded the room and of a size she would bet
could hold four adults in full sprawl. And to the side of that stood the
biggest chaise longue, massively lipped at both ends, slanted oddly toward the
floor and upholstered in wine-red brocade.

Reggie slowly faced Sergio. The questions on her lips were
ones she had no right to ask. Who had come here with him? When? How many?

He stood, his arms crossing before him as he pondered her
solemnly. “The bed was designed by Duke Lorenzo Avanti in the fifteenth
century. He had a taste for many women at once until he met his wife Maria.
After they married, he had no other women.”

She smiled, eager to pursue this topic. “Did they have
children?”

“Eight.” Sergio nodded toward the mirror. “That was
commissioned by the twelfth duke in 1710. He married a woman from Siena who had
been his enemy’s daughter. He did not trust her when first they wed—and he had
the mirror made so that he could see her from many angles amid the bedclothes
as they mated. You see, he feared she would stab him.”