The garden is peaceful and the hotel dark and quiet, and I take in the air, the roses suddenly smelling sickly sweet. I feel guilt for all the women I have used and discarded. I feel helpless and don’t know what to do now I have won her. Senorina Georgie, what do you want from me?
I am tired, but overtired and I lie down motionless, the noise of my heart keeping me awake. Every little movement makes it beat stronger and I abandon the effort, sitting up and turning on the TV that has so far remained unwatched. Keeping the volume low lulls me to sleep and I allow myself to slide down under the covers, exhausted as the flickering screen illuminates the room.
I dream – I pursue Marco through a maze of hedges, never quite able to see him clearly. Suddenly I reach the centre and see him savagely pruning a bush down to the ground, feverishly cutting at the stems. I cry out and run forward to stop him, and he turns to me, puzzled at my interference. I look again and the bush is whole, unknown blooms bursting into flower. He carefully clips one, handing it to me and saying "This one has no thorns" and I take his hand, leaning into him, striving to touch his lips with mine. The closer I get to him, the more he pulls away until I cry with frustration. I wake to the sun slanting in at an angle, my body aching with longing.
I shower and dress, going down to breakfast. I feel a thrill go through me as Marco appears to serve the coffee, smiling at me as soon as he enters. He seems to move agonisingly slowly around the tables, coming to me last. He takes my hand and kisses it, sitting with me to drink. I leave my hand on the table, fingertips barely touching his, wishing the day away until we are alone.
"Did you sleep well, Amore mio?" he asks, turning my hand over and tracing a circle in my palm.
"No, Marco, the bed was big and empty and cold" I say teasingly, drawing my hand away. He raises an eyebrow
"You are very bold senorina, be careful what you wish for" We are interrupted by one of the elderly ladies, who calls over
"Oh Senor – when does the pony and cart leave for the village?" her companion adds "Don’t leave without us, we aren’t as quick as we used to be" He rolls his eyes at me and goes over to pay attention to them, leaving me to go and get ready.
I change into a long loose skirt and blouse, taking my hat and bag, and go down to meet the others ready for the regatta. Marco steps forward as I go out into the morning sun, taking my arm and leading me to the pony and trap, decked out again with flowers. He helps me up onto the front of the carriage before helping the remainder of the guests. He comes up to sit beside me, beaming with pleasure before taking the reins and gently urging the pony into motion. The drive to the road is smooth but the road down the hill is not; some of the guests grumble as we go over the potholes but I find myself laughing and holding on to my hat and the padded bench we sit on. Marco smiles at my pleasure and urges a little more speed. I am mesmerised by his forearms, tanned and muscular, his strong hands expertly twitching the reins to navigate a smooth descent into the village. The fresh air is invigorating and the view ever changing as we approach. All too soon we are there and Marco gets down, seeing to the others first. Sylvia is waiting and hops into the cart before Marco takes us to his uncle’s house. Once there, he helps me down, all but picking me off my feet and kissing me as he puts me down.
"I must go amore mio, I will see you after the prize giving" he says as the front door to the house flies open, and we are welcomed by a multitude of relatives, some but not all of whom I recognise from the night before. I am hugged, kissed and squeezed, subject to a stream of rapid Italian and taken inside. As a guest I’m not allowed to lift a finger and am proudly shown around the house before being seated out in the shade on the broad balcony overlooking the harbour. The intricacies of the boat races are explained to me, half in Italian, half in English, and favourites and family members’ boats pointed out. The men gather and make bets, no doubt for small amounts but their enjoyment is not diminished for that. Lunch is served inside, the table groaning with salads and pasta, pizza, fresh bread, cheese, fruit and jugs of both alcoholic and non alcoholic drinks with ice. Marco’s mother, Gabriella, takes it upon herself to try to make me sample every dish on the table, remarking how thin and pale I am. She is determined to send me home more than a few pounds heavier, but I manage to eat sparingly without insulting her. The afternoon progresses and despite the excitement of the races, I doze a little in the heat.
The whole family go down to the square in the late afternoon for the prizegiving. Marco is with others on the stage, and Sylvia explains that one of the cups to be awarded is given in Marco’s father’s name, presented by Marco. His brother is also to receive a special award for best decorated boat, and Gabriella has tears in her eyes as the cups and rosettes are given out. Finally Marco joins us, coming straight to my side and putting his arm around my shoulder
"Senorina, you look tired, my family is too much for you" he jokes turning to his mother "Mama, I said to look after her, not wear her out. I must take her back to the hotel to rest" Sylvia opens her mouth to say something but Marco glares at her. Gabriella feigns annoyance, protesting that she has looked after me perfectly, that I just need a little more meat on my bones and then I will be strong enough to withstand Marco’s advances. Marco draws me away back to the pony and cart, the other guests waiting to go back. Again he sits me on the front and we make our slow way back up. I am indeed tired, and sway with the motion, clinging on to the seat, leaning into Marco’s solid body and again gazing at his strong hands on the reins. He stops the cart at the hotel front, Beppe waiting to take it away and help the others down. Marco lifts me gently to the ground.
"I was joking when I said you looked tired, senorina, but you do look weary. Go and change, and I will prepare dinner – come when you are ready" and he kisses me softly on the forehead. I lean into him, feeling his arms around me, not wanting to leave, but I do need to freshen up, and tear myself away
"I won’t be long Marco" I promise, and go inside.
The day has passed interminably slowly and the memory of my English amore sustains me while I officiate at the regatta. Her hand cool in mine as I lifted her up onto the seat of the cart, a glimpse of her shapely legs under her soft skirt; her high spirits as we descended the pitted road, laughing as we were all jostled around. My arm around her waist as I lifted her down again and delivered to the arms of my large and noisy family, safe from harm; her scent, her green eyes gazing into mine. At last we were reunited, and I felt pride and happiness at her closeness as we made our way back. Now she has skipped off to prepare for the evening.
What does the evening bring? I realise how nervous I am at the thought of what I should do next. The meal is simple, and I will have flowers on the table, soft music playing and the bed made upstairs; but am I moving too fast? What experience does she have and what will she expect? I busy myself with cooking – just a simple Bolognese with pasta, a bottle of Valpolicella ready to be opened, tiramisu chilling in the fridge. I hear the patio door out into the garden slide open and go to greet her. Silently I hold her in my arms, just content to feel her soft body pressing into mine, her scent suffusing my senses. She holds on to me, head pressed to my chest; she must be deafened by my heartbeat. I stroke her hair and resolve not to worry but to let the evening take its course. Reluctantly I let her go.
"I must go to the kitchen – sit and rest, it won’t be long." She smiles up at me, eyes sparkling
"Really, I’m not tired Marco. Can I help?"
"You can watch amore mio, but Mama’s secret ingredient stays secret" I joke, and lead the way to the kitchen. She sits and watches me busy myself, but really there is little left to do except wait for the pasta to cook. I feel her eyes on me, and I have to make conversation or I will melt from the heat of passion and cooking.
"Tell me senorina, you said you had just broken up with someone – how could any man in his right mind reject you?" I immediately regret my question as she looks sad, but I have to know something of her experience with men.
"He found someone else, Marco. He was very possessive and didn’t like me making a show of myself – but the girl he left me for was a model. He told me I wasn’t taking pride in my appearance, but he was the one who told me not to wear makeup and how I should dress. I wonder if he will do the same with her." I go across to her and kneel in front of her, looking into her eyes
"You have natural beauty amore mio; why would one apply paint on a delicate bloom? I am proud to be seen with you, I would not hide you away." I see the trace of tears in her eyes and go on "Tell me if you can – was he generous in bed? Did you feel fulfilled?" She blushes a little "I ask because I need to know – must I be passionate, or gentle with my English rose?"
"He – I suppose he was selfish, Marco. We were together for four years and we lived together, but when I found out about the other woman, I left. I was so sure we were going to stay together that I had a contraceptive coil fitted, and I still have it. It’s difficult to talk about, but looking back, it was all good to start with. He was my first, but toward the end he didn’t seem to care much about me." I feel anger rise inside me.
"If this man was here before me, he would regret neglecting you. Let me tell you Georgina, my reputation is deserved. I am not a selfish man, my lovers come back to me because I please them, find out what they desire. There are some who come back every year, those that understand that between us it is a game, that we can pick up where we left off and never speak a word between visits. I don’t know where we are going, perhaps we will part in the same way, but my heart is yours now and I have already promised you not to look at another while we are together." The timer for the pasta interrupts and I turn away, letting my words sink in. I find myself wishing that she were here for longer and am shocked; usually I see my conquests off without a flicker of regret. She doesn’t answer, and I serve the pasta there on the kitchen table; she has a modest portion and I grin.
"Did Mama try to fatten you up?" I laugh, and she nods
"Yes – didn’t you hear her saying I should have more meat on my bones?" she giggles as she twirls the spaghetti around her fork.
"You are beautiful as you are, and as long as you are comfortable in your own skin, that is all that matters my love" We eat and the conversation turns to other things – her work, her home, her friends; I explain a little about my own vast family.
"Many of my friends envy me for having my own place to myself. It’s unusual for a single man to live alone. Mama is always trying to find a suitable wife for me, but always I tell her I am too busy." We have both finished eating and I take the plates and fetch the dessert out of the fridge – just the one dish of tiramisu and one spoon. She looks at me, puzzled
"Aren’t you having any, Marco?" I smile and draw my chair up closer to hers, taking a spoonful and offering it to her. She takes it and I watch her savour the bitter sweet taste while I take one myself, only taking my eyes off her for a moment.
"I love tiramisu – there’s a lot of coffee in it, I’ll never sleep tonight......" her voice trails off, her eyes widen, and I laugh.
"It’s your choice amore mio, eat a little and sleep soundly, eat more and stay awake with me" She raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth for another spoonful, leaning a little closer. We eat silently, getting closer with each spoon until I put it down and our lips touch. I taste the coffee on her tongue and shift closer, one knee between hers. My whole body thrills to the challenge and I know what I must do now. I must be sensitive to her needs, aware of every little sign she gives me. Lord knows I am experienced in reading women, and she cannot be much different to any of them; the signs of pleasure are universal. The kiss deepens and I feel her whole body straining toward mine. This is no longer the right place to be and I break away, standing and taking her hand.
"Come with me, amore mio, and I will fulfil your every desire. Have no fear, if I go too far or displease you in any way, tell me. The more I know about you the better I can please you. Come, and be mine senorina"
The meal has been simple but perfect, the wine and the dessert helping me to relax, the coffee in the tiramisu combats any sleepiness I feel along with the adrenalin as I reach out to take Marco’s hand, certain of myself now. I rise and silently he leads the way upstairs, into the bedroom, the window open and the cool rose scented air swirling around us. He puts his hand to my face, gazing into my eyes, and kisses me deeply and softly. My bones feel like water as his fingers go to the buttons on my blouse and my hands go to his shoulders for support. He draws away, eyes downcast to my chest as he fumbles a little. His hands slide around my waist, the blouse open now and I shiver to feel the slight roughness presumably produced by his gardening skills, and I remember his hands strong on the reins only a short while ago.
He draws me closer, lips wandering down to my neck, hands feeling for the clasp of my bra, not taking long to release it. He pulls back a little and pushes the blouse off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as it slides smoothly off my arms. I stand still as he lifts the thin straps of my bra away and down, his expression rapt as he reveals my breasts. My nipples pucker with desire and the cool breeze, though the room is warm. I sway and he brings his hands to my hips, steadying me and reaching behind me to cup my buttocks. I lean into him, breathing in his musky scent and passing my hands under his shirt to feel his bare flesh, my arms snaking around him and gliding over his back. He shifts and runs his hands under my waistband, pulling it over my hips, bending a little until my skirt drops to the floor. I am left wearing only my panties, my shoes left downstairs when I came in. His hands glide over my thighs softly, up over my buttocks again and up my bare back, making me shiver and sigh, then I feel his fingers run through my hair, murmuring in my ear in Italian. My legs can’t hold me anymore and I cling to him.
"Marco, I can’t stand...." I start, and he pulls back in consternation
"What is it, what have I done wrong, amore?" he asks, puzzled, and I laugh
"It’s alright my love, I just mean I can’t stand up anymore, you made me go weak at the knees" He sighs with relief and guides me to the bed to sit down. From here, I unfasten his shirt buttons; he shrugs his shirt off, revealing his smooth lightly muscled chest, his biceps well defined, belly flat but slightly soft, a faint trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. My hands reach out to his waistband, but his hand goes to mine to stop me.
"No, senorina, allow me" he says, standing back a little, and undoes his belt and flies, letting his trousers slide down stepping out of them. My eyes are drawn to the impressive bulge under his boxer shorts "My ah – friend has been impatient to meet you" he grins "You have no idea how much, but he is under control, never fear" I giggle and he comes to join me on the bed, sitting beside me and kissing me again. He shifts on to the bed, lips meeting mine and playing a sort of chasing game, backing off so our lips are barely touching, so I have to follow until we are both kneeling on the bed facing one another. His hand goes to my shoulder, laying me down on the bed and lying beside me, so we face each other lying on our sides. He looks into my eyes again, hand gliding over my skin – over my shoulder, my upper arm and down to my hip and thigh, a spider soft touch that brings my senses alive and turns me to goosebumps. He explores me with his fingertips until I feel as if I am melting away, muscles turning to butter.
Next on his list for attention are my breasts, and he gently pushes me over onto my back, leaning over so that his lips graze over the flesh of my chest, butterfly kisses moving toward the nub of one nipple while one hand cups the other, thumb circling my areola. He takes his hand away as he takes the nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, teeth grazing the puckered flesh, and now his hand glides over my belly, thumb exploring my navel, fingers pressing the fabric of my panties. I run my fingers through his dark hair, unable to keep still under his touch even though I am weak with desire, intense tingling in my groin and belly.
"Amore mio, I want to taste every inch of you" he murmurs, and shifts down the bed, gently removing my panties and running his hands down to my feet. I am particularly ticklish here and jerk them away, but he makes soothing noises, apologising and gliding his palms upward to the front of my thighs, gently stroking them and I shift, allowing my thighs to fall open a little. At this he groans and murmurs in his native tongue, lowering his head to my thighs and trailing kisses upward.
As I explore her body, soft and pliant, it takes all my self control to go slowly, but I want to maximise her pleasure. Her skin is still porcelain white, her pubic hair as red as that on her head - I knew of course that there is nothing false about this young woman who affects me so strongly. I am intoxicated by the aroma coming from her womanhood, a ripe inviting smell that entices me to find out more. As I kiss and stroke her thighs I hear her low moans and she shifts, opening her thighs a little. I gently tease them further apart, mind intent on the prize but patient for her to reveal it at her own pace. I hold my breath as she opens to me, her private parts so like rose petals, soft and fragrant. My fingers stoke her outer lips, and feel the slickness already gathering there, inviting me to probe gently deeper, slipping easily inside. I let my breath out in a long sigh, directing it over her delicate petals.
I stroke the length of her lips and gently part them, revealing the tight nub of her clitoris, already swollen and enticing. I kneel between her legs, and listen and feel her every move and sound, knowing that she is in transports of delight. I lean closer and press my tongue to her bud, rewarded by a little shudder and a soft cry. My own manhood throbs and aches to feel itself engulfed by the warm velvet softness where my fingers already explore, but my tongue circles her clitoris again, flicking softly across it and blowing gently. Her hips move, pressing up to me, her fingers going to my head and digging determinedly into my scalp, pulling me to her. Here I am uncertain as to how sensitive she is, how firm I should be, so I am gentle and gradually increase the pressure with my circling tongue. I am rewarded by her fingers tightening and her hips pushing up in a great paroxysm, a guttural cry escaping her lips as she calls out my name, her soft walls tightening around my fingers. I lap up the flood of her juices and gently disengage as her hands soften and release my head. I move up beside her and hold her close to me, feeling her heart beat strongly. I am surprised at the swiftness of her climax, but her words enlighten me...
"Marco, no one has ever done that for me" I don’t know whether to be angry or sad as I stroke her hair
"You have never met a man worthy of you, amore mio. You deserve the best, and I shall strive to give it to you" I allow her to cool down slowly before I begin to caress her again, afraid of rushing her – perhaps she has already had enough? But her hands go to my chest, the flat of her palm stroking down over my belly and under the elastic of my boxers, damp with precum. I gasp as she slides her hand inside and my manhood jumps, eager to be satisfied. Her hand is soft but firm and explores, stroking and circling. I wonder how I compare to her previous lover but dare not ask. I know I cannot last long with her touching me, having held back for so long, so put my hand to hers and get off the bed. I stand to take my boxers off, at last my cock springing free and open to her gaze. I do it like this not to show off, but to subtly move away from her and regain control.
Her eyes are soft as she gazes up at me and holds out her hand. I take it and she draws me closer – I climb back onto the bed and she sits up. I straddle her thighs and run my fingers through her flame red hair, taking her face in both hands and kissing her full on the lips. Her mouth opens eagerly and my tongue invades it, probing and swirling, knowing that she can taste herself. Her hands go to my shoulders and glide down my upper arms, over my sides and lower, but before she can reach my aching manhood, I press her down again.
I break the kiss and run my hand over the soft roundness of her breast, and she sighs as I gently put one knee between her thighs, feeling the dampness still there. My cock is heavy and brushes against her belly as I lower myself over her, kissing her shoulder, her breast, taking her nipple between my lips. She moans and grips my hips, restless and moving around, her mound pressing against my knee. My English escapes me for a moment and I speak softly in my native tongue. I move my lips back up to her ear, nibbling and gently sucking her earlobe, at which I feel her whole body go into overdrive, her thighs parting again, back arching, body rising up to mine.
"Are you ready for me, amore mio?" I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting her to tell me herself. Her voice is husky as she answers
"Yes Marco – oh God, yes" and I position myself between her thighs, dizzy and excited beyond measure but still in control, still gentle and responsive to her needs and desire. I stroke her thighs softly, cock gently nudging her outer lips and drawing upwards, the velvety slickness inviting me in. I push down gently and inward, feeling her folds open, head pressing further in, waiting for her to relax. I press on, feeling her stretch to accommodate me, pausing again and drawing out, then pushing again. She responds to my gentle invasion, hands on my hips guiding me – a little pressure to slow me, pulling to encourage me, and we work together until I am all the way in. I have done this so many times, but never has it been like this, never has my performance mattered so much, never have I appreciated the warm embrace of such a receptive woman. I groan in ecstasy to feel my groin against hers, enveloped deep within her. I start to draw out and slowly back in, setting up a slow pace, watching her carefully, trying to gauge how close she is by her moans and the movements of her hips.
She is moving with me, fingers digging into my flesh, hips gyrating and rising up to meet my thrusts. This is our first time so I don’t expect it to go on for long and after all her pleasure is most important to me. I ignore my own desire to plunge deep and hard and fast, sensitive to every movement, every sound, holding back for the right moment. This means staying on the edge, sweating and shaking with the effort, hoping that she is close. I become aware of a change, a flush in her cheeks, a loss of rhythm and her moans and gasps increase. Her back arches and her walls tighten around me – at last I can let go, and I make a few more deep thrusts before I feel myself explode inside her, groaning in ecstasy, I feel my seed and her juices combine and flood out, warm and sticky.
After a few more slow shallow strokes, reluctant to leave her tight intimate embrace, I pause, our breath echoing each other’s and slowing. I keep my full weight off her, trembling a little with the effort until I have to I pull out. I roll over onto the bed, pulling her with me, wrapping my arm around her and holding her close as she gasps, not moving of her own volition yet, and kiss the top of her head.
I am barely able to move after my second incredible orgasm, held close to his chest, speechless and wondering at his skill. My heartbeat slows and I hear his too, ear pressed to his chest. I am so relaxed, so spent that my body feels like liquid, like fabric draped over his torso. I feel an almost painful ache in my groin, and thinking back to my previous relationship, tears spring to my eyes and before I know it are flowing silently down my cheeks onto his chest. He stirs
"No, no Georgie, why do you cry? Have I done something wrong?" and he pulls away a little, trying to look into my eyes
"N-no Marco, it was so perfect. I never realised how it could be. I feel – I feel cheated, not finding this before" the tears continue to flow and he sits up, reaching for tissues and mopping them away
"This man you were with before – he didn’t know what a treasure he had, and he was a fool. It is a selfish man who takes only his own pleasure, there is nothing in the world as wonderful as bringing pleasure like this; I take pride in it. This is only the beginning amore mio, and I promise you I will do my best to bring you many more experiences like this." I smile and nestle into him, feeling sleepy. He shifts, pulling the bedclothes back, and we get under the covers together. He holds me as I drift off to sleep, happier than I have ever been and wondering what the next day will bring.
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