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“Hungry yes, but thirsty most,” he replied gruffly, reaching for the bottle of wine that I’d brought. Hands shaking, he freed the cork, eyed me as if I were a buffet, and began to drizzle red wine over me. I giggled madly as the liquid ran down over my sides and puddled on my abdomen. “So thirsty,” he growled, moving between one leg resting on the coffeemaker and the other dangling off the side of the counter. Flesh met flesh. Oh how lovely! He’d shucked his shorts. Now it was all us, all skin and wine and passion. He lowered his head to lick at the wine on my nipples, wringing a short squeal of pleasure from me as he cleaned one tiny nub and then the other before lapping his way down to my navel. There he drank like a man crossing the Sahara. I tucked my calf behind his head. He lifted his head. His stubbly chin dripped with wine. Eyes smoldering, he licked his lips, took the bottle, and doused my cock. I gasped as the liquid coated my balls and pucker. I cried out as he took me into his mouth. His technique needed work, but Lord above his love of dick could not be denied. He sucked and tongued my cock, then my balls, and then bent me nearly in half to spear my hole with his curled tongue.
I flailed at the counter and wall, knocking the loaf of bread into the coffeemaker, uncaring if it went to the floor or into the sink or who knew where. Right now, I had no desire for bread. All I wanted was more of this divine adoration. When he finally returned his attention to my cock, I was teetering on the brink of orgasm.
“I love your body,” he purred hungrily, falling on my prick once more, pulling moans from deep within me.
“I’m too close,” I panted. He pulled off, wiped a hand across his mouth, and hoisted me from the counter as if I weighed the same as the fresh loaf of Tuscan bread that was resting on the edge of the Formica. “I want you in me.”
“You will have that,” he promised, toting me to the bed and tumbling into the twisted covers with me, his hips grinding down on me as we enjoyed each other’s mouths. “Let me find what we need. Do not move from me.”
He eased to the left, found the rickety nightstand, and returned with condoms and lube in hand. We wasted no time. I rolled the condom over his prick and coated him with slick. Then I laid flat on the bed, threw my legs over his shoulders, and wet my lips.
“Here I am, love me,” I whispered, opening my arms to him. He eased into me, no stopping or slowing, just one long press that made me yelp and shudder then groan. The pressure was everything. Everything. As was the weight of him on me, his big body blocking out most of what I could see, not that I wanted to look at anything other than Donvino. His eyes glowed with devotion and fire, dark pools that held little mysteries. The man was not one for suppressed emotions or secrets. What he felt showed, and it made me tremble to see such exaltation caressing me as he moved within me. It was nothing that I had ever dealt with before. I’d fucked a shit ton of men, more than I wished to count or could name. Hell, most I couldn’t name if my life hung in the balance. Nary a one of them had gazed at me with anything other than pure lust, and while that was what I thought I wanted now…
Now I was questioning everything. I placed my hands on his shoulders. He grunted as I tightened around his shaft. I arched up when he went deeper. Rolling his hips, he ground into me so far I was sure I might blackout from the pleasure. His cockhead hit my prostate. Stars exploded around his head. Was I having a religious experience? Then my cock spewed between us, coating his hairy chest and my bare one, my eyes closing as my own personal rapture swept over me. Donvino thrust once more, driving deeper still, his cock pulsing as he filled the condom. His head dropped to my shoulder. I cooed softly, rubbing my fingers into his damp hair, turning my head to drop tiny kisses to his sweaty neck. He rolled his head, capturing my mouth as he shivered while his body cooled.
Neither of us was cold. Not by a long shot, but we still clung to each other, bodies shaking slightly, as we drifted from the heavens back to his stuffy little room on the third floor.
“And to think I didn’t want to come to Florence.” I sighed, then pouted as he eased off me, his cock sliding out, and sat back on his heels to stare down at me. The sounds and smells of the world outside this little flat began to creep back in as we took a moment to study each other just as one would on one of those massive oils hanging on the walls of the Accademia Gallery.
“I am glad you come,” he softly said, placing a hand on my fluttery tummy. “I will do my best not to be a jealous idiota.”
I put my smaller hand over his and pulled our clasped hands to rest on my thumping heart. “And I will do my best not to be a clingy idiota.”
That made him smile. “Bread and wine now?”
“Is there any wine left?” We both glanced out at the food area where the empty bottle lay on its side.
“Seems no. I will go get more. Stay here, please, in my bed, just like this with your skin hot from our loving?”
“Sì, rimarrò.” Yes, I will stay. At least I think that was what I said. Donvino stole a fast kiss and streaked into the closet-sized bath where I heard him washing and brushing his teeth before darting out in shorts and a tank top of pale blue with a washcloth in hand.
“You stay. I will go get wine.” He wiped my belly, kissed my knee, and then ran out the door. I sighed dreamily, wiped up the mess on my stomach, and dropped the cloth to the threadbare carpet. Moving to my side, I let the fan blow hot air over my back as I let my eyes close, Firenze bustling along as it did just outside that small window. Sated, I fell asleep, coming awake when someone placed a kiss on the nape of my sweaty neck. I smiled at the wall, rolled to my back, and reached out to the man holding the wine, the bread, and I strongly suspected with no small amount of terror, my heart.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ihope they like it,” I said as I stared out the dusty windshield of the minivan. Donvino was leading the way to farm 20 in Bianca’s truck, with me trundling along after him and Bianca riding in the bench seat behind me, just in case of mechanical failure. Also because she insisted on coming.
“Why would they not?” She pointed at Donvino taking a left off the winding road, so I slowed, then shifted, grinding the gears a bit. I heard Bianca hissing something in Italian that sounded a lot like clumsy. “Easy please, we do not have monies for new transmission.”
“Sorry, I’m still familiarizing myself with a manual,” I replied, easing around a sharp bend onto Bonetti land. The minibus coughed and sputtered. I hurried to shift, catching it before it stalled. I threw a grin back at Bianca, who did not look impressed at all. “The first time I drove a stick was when my father tried to teach me how to drive in his Lancia. He insisted I know how to work a manual so I wouldn’t be a shiftless driver.” I smiled a little at that recollection. God I sucked at working that stick shift, but Dad was patient. To be fair, that was one of just a handful of times that he spent a whole day with me. Sadly, that lone driving lesson was the last with him. He’d been called to Italy for business and never could find the time to wiggle in another lesson. He sent me to driving school instead, which worked. I got my license on the first try but felt lower than a slug seeing all the kids celebrating with their parents after passing. All I got was a handshake from Mr. Perkins, the head of the driving school.
“You should be better with driving your car,” she pointed out as we slowed to a stop in front of a brick building that housed the office.
“That’s different,” I replied as the van stalled with a lurch.
“How is it different?” Bianca asked as she rose from her seat to stare down at me.
“She’s just more lenient with my little oopsies. I only stalled once coming into Florence this morning, and that was to avoid hitting your geese. So that stall was technically your fault.”
Her dark eyes flared. We were still arguing the point when we met up with Donvino looking deliciously windblown. I longed to kiss him. Bianca wouldn’t mind. She actually encouraged us to be a couple when it was just the three of us. Sadly, Signor Piravino might object. Since we were still hiding a bucketful of secrets, we had to be careful.
Instead of a kiss, I gave him a warm smile. It would have to do.
Discretion was a good call as no sooner had we arrived than the manager came hustling out of the office building, smiling widely, chattering to me as if I were the King of England making a surprise visit.
“Ah, this is such a kind gift!” Signor Piravino gushed, patting the minibus affectionately. “I will make sure it is delivered to—”
“If possible, I’d like to have the workers called from the fields so we can present it to them,” I politely interrupted, if interrupting could be called polite in any manner. “This way we can take pictures to post on social media to show the world just how giving Bonetti Farms Olive Oil truly is.”
