Page 14 of Perfect Match
“Don’t stop,” I beg, and thank God he doesn’t let up even for a second.
I thread my fingers through his thick hair as he feasts on me, my muscles tensing as heat pools between my thighs. Relief can only come from this man. The combination of sucking, tongue flicking, and teeth is a rare talent. I push my hips into him, the long hard ridge in his boardshorts hitting my clit in exactly the right spot at exactly the right moment. And I’m lost in a maelstrom of sensations my moans now a full cry of release.
“Fuck me,” I eventually manage to exclaim.
“Is that a request?” he asks between kisses as his mouth moves up my chest to my neck.
“More an acknowledgment …” I squirm in his arms as the kisses tickle. “What you did was fucking amazing.” I squirm some more, my pussy continuing to rub against his cock.
He groans close to my ear. “If you keep rubbing up against me like that, that messy talk is going to become a reality,” he warns, but if he thinks his words are going to deter me from my mission to get him off, he’s wrong.
“Then we should move to the shower.” I slip from his arms, untie the remaining string of my top, and discard my bikini bottoms, leaving them where they fall. Then, spinning on mytoes, I strut toward the en suite. He follows, and when I turn back around in the shower area, he has ditched his boardshorts.
Holy hell. His cock is hard and thick, touching just below his belly button. He reaches past me to turn on the shower. And I reach for him. My fingers curling around his girth. He shudders. I like that stroking him pushes him to the edge. And the thought that he might be about to shoot his load all over my chest and belly turns me on even more.
“You know, I’m a huge fan of messy,” I tease, reaching my hand between his legs to trail my nail lightly from behind his balls forward to the base of his cock.
“Fuck, you’re a dirty girl,” he groans, the sound reverberating through my body before capturing my bottom lip between his teeth.
A knock on the outer-room door pulls us reluctantly from the kiss. The disembodied voice of the first mate seeps to us through the polished wood. “Mr. Barbieri, your father is calling and wants to speak to you urgently.”
“Of course he fucking does,” Gio mutters into my shoulder. The words, I suspect, are more for himself than me.
I want to screamdon’t go, but that isn’t what this is, so I keep quiet. Today was only ever meant to be a bit of fun. A day of adventure. Nothing more, and we both understood that.
He lifts his head, his eyes a stormy gray, and I know what he’s about to say before he does.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take this.”
Our fantasy escape is over, and Gio’s real world seems to have just gate-crashed our afternoon.
He steps out of the shower cubicle. Pulling a couple of towels from the clean pile, he hands one to me before grabbing one for himself and quickly swiping it over his body. Then, tying it around his waist, he strides to the cabin door.
The snick of the lock is clear before he says, “Tell my father I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The door then bangs closed again without waiting for an answer. I wrap the towel around myself before joining him.
He’s already pulling his shorts on over his boxer briefs. He looks up. “I’m sorry we have to cut our day short.”
He steps toward me, and I to him. We meet in the middle of the cabin.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to … finish,” I reply, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere that’s descended on us like a fog rolling in. I’m guessing Gio and his father aren’t close, given the way he reacted to the summons. It’s something I understand better than most. After all, my father has probably only spoken to my sister and me about a dozen times in all of our twenty-six years of life.
“You can’t imagine how sorry I am too,” he says. A heavy sigh escapes his chest as he brings his head down to touch his forehead to mine. “I’ve really enjoyed our day together.”
That’s it, then; he’s almost confirmed my suspicion that we’re done. And it hurts more than it should.
I draw in a deep breath that will hopefully push the ache back down inside where it belongs. “Me too.” My voice is high and overly cheerful, but I’m hoping that, because he doesn’t know me well enough, he won’t notice the hollowness lurking behind the words.
“Now go speak to your father,” I urge, virtually pushing him toward the door.
He snatches up his shirt from a nearby chair and leaves, shoving one arm into a sleeve so roughly that it’s amazing the linen doesn’t rip. On the same chair are my own shorts and shirt neatly folded. I quickly dress, wondering if it was the first mate or the bitchy blonde who placed our clothes here. Although, she seems to have disappeared since we returned to the boat.
When I’ve done the best I can to tidy my hair without a brush, I head back up on deck. Gio’s clipped tones can be heard above the drone of the boat engine when I’m about halfway. His voice nothing like the charming man who left me minutes ago. I imagine this is Gio the businessman, strong, direct, and maybe a little bit cold.
But the moment he sees me, his voice drops, and soon after, he ends the call.
“Are you okay?” he asks, coming to me. His arms wrap around my shoulders as mine slip around his waist, like we’ve come together in this way a thousand times before. “We should be in Sorrento in about thirty minutes,” he murmurs above my head. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to Florence tonight.”
I tip my head back. “It’s okay. It’s been fun—an adventure for my journal.”
