Page 66 of My Fake Italian Marriage

* * *

Thank God there was no traffic. He drove home in record time, and then they were tumbling up the stairs in a mess of arms and legs and kisses, like a pair of hormonal teenagers. They made it as far as the living room before he stripped off her blouse. Beneath it, she wore a dusky pink bra; the colour of her blushes. He pressed her against the wall, sucked her nipple through the lacy fabric, and she moaned, arching against him, her hands in his hair.

Already, all his blood had moved south, his erection hard and throbbing with need. Her urgent hands unbuckled his belt, popped open the button on his jeans. He considered their options. The sofa would be softer, but the dining table was a better height… Dining table it was.

He lifted her off her feet, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, sliding her hands under his shirt, urging it up and over his head as he carried her across the room. He laid her back on the sturdy walnut table, unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them down over her hips, casting them aside.

The pink panties matched. He rubbed his fingers over her, feeling the dampness of her desire through the thin lace, and she raised herself on her elbows to look at him with eyes glazed with passion.

He traced the edge of the fabric, pulling it aside and bent to place soft kisses along her exposed skin. She writhed, her hands in his hair again. “No,” she gasped, managing to sound both desperate and commanding at the same time. “Later. I need you inside me.Now.”

He bit his lip, tasting blood. “The condoms are upstairs.”

She shivered, eyes half-closed. “I’m on the pill.”

He hadn’t been inside a woman without protection since he’d been too young and horny and stupid to care. But this wasn’t any woman. This was the woman he’d lived with for two weeks, the woman who’d turned her life upside down for him, for his family.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded, reaching between them to tug down his zip, freeing him from the confines of the denim. She wrapped her fingers around his erection and stroked, her touch firm and confident, and he bucked in her hand as his need for her mounted.

He didn’t even bother to peel off that scrap of pink lace. He merely brushed it aside as he leaned over her to kiss her neck, and she guided him to her entrance. Then he was sliding inside, into her already-slick body which opened up to welcome him as he sank deep. She moaned and moved beneath him, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. He rested inside her a moment, buried deep, savouring the feel of her around him, the sense of completeness, then he pulled back out, moving harder and faster with each thrust as she met his every movement with her own fierce desire.

Dio, but it felt good to be inside her like this, skin on skin, more intimate than he’d ever been with a woman. It felt right.

Her breathy gasps grew ragged, and louder, and then she called out his name, her thighs clenching around him as she came, and he let go his own release, spilling into her. He sagged against her, breathing hard, and her fingers were back in his hair, softer now, no longer urgent but tender.

He lifted himself off her, aware that his jeans were still bunched around his thighs. He pulled them up, then bent to give her a kiss. “Are you hungry?”

She smiled. “Not for food. Not yet.”

He needed more time to recover, wasn’t as quick to rise as he’d been when he was younger, but he summoned enough energy to lift her off the table and carry her upstairs, though she squealed in protest. They lay together on his bed for a long time, naked, not speaking, just exploring with hands and tongues, as he memorised the shape and feel of her, until he grew hard again. Though the condoms were now only arm’s length away, he didn’t reach for one. He wanted more of this, the surprising intimacy, and her trust in him.

This time, he took it slowly, tracing every bit of skin with his tongue, tasting her. He made her come twice, first with his tongue, then his fingers, before he nudged her legs wider and lost himself in her again. There was nothing else in the world but Cleo, her unsteady breath against his throat, her hands on him, her body wrapped around him, drawing him in, tight and warm and perfect. He rocked into her, gently at first, then harder as another orgasm rolled through him. Her muscles tightened around him, she cried out, and he shattered inside her. As the waves ebbed, he cradled her against him, heard her breathing slow as she drifted into sleep, and he whispered, “Ti amo, cara.”

ChapterTwenty-Eight

Tra il dire e il fare c'è di mezzo il mare.

(Between what we say and what we do lies the sea)

Cleo frowned at her laptop screen, finger hovering over the mousepad, but she couldn’t quite manage to pull the trigger and click the “proceed to checkout” button.

This was stupid. There was no reason to delay booking her flight home any longer. The Fioravantis’ anniversary party was in just a few days, and then her agreement with Luca would be done. She’d already gone above and beyond the call of duty, and Kevin was ecstatic that the vineyard was pulling back from the brink of failure.

But Luca’s apparently casual suggestion that she stay kept her immobilised. What was he offering? A job, or something more? What if he didn’t want this to end any more than she did?

Quick footsteps sounded in the passage outside and she hurriedly closed the airline reservations webpage, turning in time to see Dario appear in the open doorway.

“Am I disturbing you?” He bounced on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy. “I have some ideas for improving our social media strategy.”

She grinned. “Since the vineyard doesn’t haveanysocial media strategy, anything you suggest will be an improvement.” She waved him to a seat, and he bounded across the room to hand her a sheaf of papers: research on what other vineyards were doing, notes on branding, content. There were even graphs. Cleo loved graphs. Dario definitely had huge potential.

“The vineyard’s image is very corporate and impersonal, because we only deal with wholesale distributors, but I think we’d benefit from making it more personal, and emphasising the family aspect of this vineyard. Even for the distributors.”

She agreed, especially after their experience at the Lario wine show. Perhaps they could revamp the website, and she could set up a photo shoot to get pictures of Luca and Giovanni together on the farm, father and son, passing the traditions down from one generation to the next…

“I thought we could start with the photos from your wedding.”

---