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I open my eyes a minute or a lifetime later to find Luca on his knees, smiling. Smiling like he’s got a bouquet of roses behind his back and not his long erection pressed down by his palm.
“You okay?”
“No.” I laugh, pushing up on one elbow. “And it’s your fault. Come here…” I sit up more. “And let me help you with that heavy, heavy package.”
His eyes twinkle as he stands instead. He laughs as he pulls his pants up, struggling to fasten them. He can barely fit himself in, and he’s so hard that his erection has to bend to stay below the waistline of his trousers.
“There’s a bedroom.” He points to a narrow hall behind us. “I don’t think anyone would come down into the boat, but…”
He helps me up, and we drift down a hallway, fingers laced. I can feel a dizzy echo of sensation as the yacht bobs on the water. Then we’re in the bedroom and he’s leading me to the bed. I reach for the zipper of my gown, and he unzips it for me, helps me out, and drapes it over an armchair. His eyes never leave mine as I sit on the edge of the mattress in my silk slip, crossing my ankles.
“You okay?” His hooded eyes squint at the corners.
His hand wraps around his erection, covered by black fabric.
“Are you?” I tease.
“I’m okay.” His voice is low. He swallows, and I beckon him closer. “Come here, Luca Galante.” He does, and I rub him through his pants until he grunts and sinks down on the mattress beside me.
“Lie down and undo your pants.”
He does, and I climb atop him, hiking my slip up so I can straddle him. I take his hard erection in my hands and stroke it. He quakes under me. I feel his legs tense.
“Unbutton your shirt,” I whisper. He can barely manage as I keep on stroking: firm grip at the base, then stroke upward and rub my palm around the head of him. He’s slick up there. I rub my finger carefully around, and he lets out a loud groan.
“Oh God—Elise.” His hands fist at his sides and then he’s breathing in gulps.
“Is this okay?”
“So good.” His hands stroke my thighs. His face is rapt, strained and exultant. “I feel like—I’m gonna—”
He swells under my fingers, and then his hand clamps over mine. He makes a hoarse sound, and I feel a burst of warmth. He moans and rolls his hips so he’s pressed into my hand. Then he’s sitting up and cursing, blinking at our hands.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry.”
“You…”
“I’m so sorry. It felt so fucking good,” he rasps. “I couldn’t stop it.”
My hand hovers over him. “I love it.”
“What?” He laughs.
“Yeah, I love everything about it.” I lean over, kiss his cheek, and then we’re lying by each other, sticky, hugging. He looks half asleep, but satisfied.
“Well, I guess Anne Rice was right about the dark arts.”
We both laugh at that, and he pulls a tissue from one of his pockets before he disappears into the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth for me. He’s subdued and happy. After we’re both clean, he pulls the covers over us and nudges his strong leg between mine, wraps both arms around my back, and brings my cheek to his throat. Then he kisses my hair.
“I love you,” he says again.
“I love you more.” I kiss his throat, a little flutter of my lips over his Adam’s apple—and that’s all it’s meant to be. But our mouths act like magnets. Soon we’re kissing harder, deeper. We’re both groaning, panting, and his fingers find my sweet spot through the layers of my slip and start me rolling my hips, rubbing against his hand as my legs fall open and my hand starts rubbing his arm.
“Ohh, Luca.”
“I can get you off again. Is that what you want, rosa?”
He leans down to use his mouth, but I can see the head of him is poking out of his pants. He’s hard again.
“We’re both…you know. And I want to…” I lick my lips, unable to confess I want to give him a blow job. “Let’s do sixty-nine.” My voice quivers. “I want to lick you.”
Luca squeezes himself and says, “You don’t have to.” He swallows audibly. “It’s not a trade.” He offers me this little strained smile, trying to convince me that he doesn’t care, I guess.
I wrap my hand around his nape, moving in to kiss his lips. “No one said I thought I had to, Galante.”
His eyes are half shut as he runs his hands down my arms, kisses my cheek.
“Lie down,” I whisper. I see chills on his skin as he does as I ask. I notice his cheeks look flushed. His eyes are glazed, and as I look down at him, he unfastens his pants and pushes those and his boxer-briefs down. His erection springs up, and he leans up so he can grab me, lifting me easily over his torso, so that I’m situated over his face.
