Page 17 of Her Dirty Secret
“You are a little nuts,” Alessandro replies, smiling. “But in a good way. Mostly.”
I turn and poke him in the stomach. “Be careful,” I warn him. “I assume you still want to get laid later.”
He puts his hands up in surrender.
“You know, music is one of my great loves as well,” he admits.
“Oh, really?” I ask skeptically.
“Nothing can move me like a good piece of music,” he asserts. “Though I’m hopelessly lacking musical talent. But I admire those with it greatly.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I’m sure there are things you’re better at. You know. Real estate stuff.”
He laughs loudly. “Yes, real estate stuff. I’m quite good at that.”
“You’re good at other things too,” I remind him with a suggestive grin.
“Mmmm,” he replies, his eyes locking on mine. “Are you asking for a demonstration?” His voice is thick with desire, and just the sound of it turns me on.
“Maybe,” I whisper hoarsely.
He turns me back around so I’m against his chest, running his hands over my breasts, baring them to the warm air. His thumbs prime my nipples as his mouth runs along the shell of my ear, his hot breath unbearably sexy against my skin. One hand drifts down, skimming my stomach, slipping under my bikini bottoms. His fingers slip between my folds, stroking me gently at first.
“Cara Mia,” he whispers in my ear. “You are unbelievably sexy.” I moan into the stimulation. “Yes, let me hear you.” His deft fingers stroke and slide, and I’m writhing in his arms. My hands go to his thighs, holding on for dear life as he rubs me into a frenzy. I try to keep the volume down, but I just know when I come, I’m going to scream.
He seems to know it too, because a moment before, he turns my head with his free hand, and my moans erupt into his mouth, muffling the sound.
As I drift back down to earth, he wraps his arms and legs around me. Once I’ve fixed my top, we settle in and watch the surf lap at the shore for a while longer. And when he unwraps himself, stands, and offers me a hand, I just stare. Because I want to etch this moment in my memory. I can’t remember ever being quite this happy. And I know it won’t last forever. It never does.
We rejoin our group just in time for the last round of post-nap beach antics before dinner. Dinner is, as usual, an all-night affair of eating, drinking, and talking. After which we drive home, and Alessandro and I have sex in the shower, then spend the last of our waking moments talking about everything and nothing.
He continues to amaze me with his ability to listen, share himself completely, and make me feel like I can tell him anything. And the fact that he’s beyond amazing in bed doesn’t hurt, either. As we drift peacefully to sleep after going at it one final time, I can’t help but think to myself that this is like living in a fairy tale. And I’m already dreading the day I have to go back to reality.
* * *
The next day is much of the same, just a different beach, a different lunch spot. But for dinner, Alessandro steers me away as the others head to a nearby restaurant.
“I have something special planned, Cara Mia,” he tells me with an excited grin.
“Oh? Is this the part where you finally get me alone and I find out you’re really an ax murderer?” Just to be weird, I say it like I’m excited about it, and he gives me an impatient look.
“Yes,” he deadpans. “You caught me.” He rolls his eyes. “No, crazy. Come, I’ll just show you.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me away from the main tourist area, meandering up a side street that looks like it goes up a hill to nowhere. But as we turn the final corner, I’m surprised to find an old, towering restaurant tucked away on a cliff.
He gestures to the entrance. “If you think you love Italian food now, you’re going to be in heaven soon,” he explains. “Trust me.”
I give him a look somewhere between surprised and sad. “You’re too sweet to me.”
He stops, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Getting up in my face, he lifts my chin. “You deserve it,” he tells me seriously, looking deeply into my eyes. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
I want to tell him I don’t, but I don’t want to argue and spoil his wonderful surprise. “Thank you,” I reply sincerely. “For bringing me here. Now quit being so cute and feed me.”
He laughs lightly but stays to kiss me for a moment before leading me inside.
And by the time we’re done eating hours later, I couldn’t argue with him if I wanted to. I’m too blissed out over the most amazing meal of my life. With the most amazing views. With an amazing man, whom I still can’t reconcile with the selfish ass I’d pegged him as. I don’t consider myself particularly romantic, but dinner with him was off-the-charts intimate.
As we walk home, I say the first prayer I’ve said in years that he’s really this man. That I was wrong about him before, when all I had to go on was what someone else told me. But deep down, I have trouble believing it. It’s so much easier believing the bad things.