Page 115 of Giovanna

Please? Ma’am? Daddy? What am I supposed to say?

“Um…yes, I want more. I want to…” I look pointedly at the glistening lips sitting below the tidy triangle of dark hair between her legs.

With no more encouragement required, Giovanna throws one of her legs over my shoulder, propping her foot on the bed behind me, and I scoot a little closer so I’m kneeling with my face just centimetres from her pussy.

Pressing my nose into the very top of her inner thigh I relish her earthy smell and groan. I’m terrified that I’ll do the wrong thing and don’t know where to start. Sure I’ve received oral sex many times in my life, but I feel utterly clueless as to what I should do in the role of giver.

Tentatively, I let my tongue dart out to lick her clit. It’s hardening and covered in her arousal. She hisses and her hips jump a little. I feel her reach out and grab the post of the bed to steady herself.

“That’s it, darlin’. Just do what feels right,” she rasps in that low, gravelly voice that drives me wild.

Confidence growing, I lap gently at Giovanna’s pussy. My strokes grow longer and more languid, sliding through her slick lips. My core is throbbing again and I can’t believe how turned on I’m getting just from eating her out.

One of her hands is in my hair and I look up to see she has thrown her head back. “You’re doing so good,” she praises me.

Both of her hands go to cup my face as she balances on one leg. She grinds her pussy against my face and can’t resist taking control of me bit by bit. Soon she is fucking me, not the other way around, and the way she takes ownership of my body when she fucks me taps into sexual needs I didn’t even know I had.

My tongue delves boldly inside her thrusting, seeking as much depth as possible and I groan as she grinds against my mouth to assist me.

“Suck on my clit,” she commands and I obey in an instant.

“Good. Girl,” she groans. “I’m going to come on your pretty little face.”

Nothing prepares me for how hot it is when she comes, shuddering against my face, crying out my name. Her fingers are tangled in my hair and I’m gasping for air from the intensity of it all. The power I feel in being able to bring her such pleasure and the connection with her are intoxicating.

She doesn’t stop touching me. We lie in her bed talking in sleepy hushed voices. She tells me about what the gay scene was like in Sydney when she was my age and I tell her about the time Massi and I met some insane Italians at a club in Soho who invited us back to their small village in Italy. We left that same day and spent a month staying with various nonnas and relatives. I had to find a new job when we got back because my employer was less than impressed with my sudden absence.

It is refreshingly normal to talk about things that don’t matter and to share memories from the past that aren’t painful.

Her hands skim over my bare skin absentmindedly. Every so often she leans over to kiss me softly. On my lips or my shoulder or my boob. I stretch and practically purr at all the attention and physical touch. It is pure pleasure.

“I don’t think Elio wants this life,” I find the courage to raise the elephant in the room after we have been lying in companionable silence for several minutes.

She is unsurprised by the comment, but still asks, “What makes you say that?”

“This. It just doesn’t feel like his destiny. That sounds silly, but what I mean is that he finds joy in ways that aren’t compatible with being in charge of Sydney’s mafia. I don’t mean fucking either. He’s too…frivolous…wait, no that sounds too negative. He’s…this is going to sound strange since he has been such an arsehole to me, but he’s too sweet and self-indulgent. He is made for a job that he can clock off from and party to his heart’s content.”

I cut myself off and look over at her pensive face. She is considering my rambling as if I have said something worthwhile. It is nice to feel like what I say is worth being heard.

When she doesn’t say anything, I push my luck some more. “But you, you were made for this world,” I whisper.

“Because I’m not sweet? Or good? I’m not afraid of violence?” She sounds a little bitter and I cautiously reach out and cup her cheek. My thumb gently strokes her stunning high cheekbones.

“No, because you’re not afraid full stop. You’re a born leader. People naturally look to you. You’re serious, a deep thinker. And yes, you were willing to kill a man to save me.”

Emotion dances behind her eyes in the dim light and I wonder if I should have just shut up. But she reaches out and drags me closer to fit me under her chin, tangling our legs together.

“I am afraid sometimes,” she murmurs into my hair. “I’m afraid of failure. Of something happening to my brothers; to you. I just know how to hide it.”

I shift my face so I can access her neck properly and begin to kiss my way up to her sharp jawline. She emits a quiet groan as my kisses become more sensual and my hand, resting on her back, starts to stroke her tight muscles.

“I want you,” I whine, needy and desperate.

She responds by grabbing me under my chin and kissing me hard. My pussy aches for her touch again and I begin to rub myself back and forth on the leg that is pressed between mine. I’m almost embarrassed by how horny I am. Almost. I have never wanted sex like this in my life.

“Again?” she murmurs in quiet amusement. “You’re a horny wee baby lesbian, aren’t you?”

Pushing me onto my back, Giovanna lays her naked body over mine, between my splayed legs. She kisses me hungrily for what feels like hours, savouring me, not wanting to rush.

---