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The night had felt like a date.
And those lips of his, full and plump, slightly parted. I took a step forward and leant in, our noses rubbing slightly. Tom was rigid and his eyes hooded, waiting for my next move. I pressed my lips to his and kissed him gently. He groaned and slid a hand up my neck into my hair, tangling in the updo.
“I love your curls,” he moaned against my jaw.
Without hesitation, I reached up and pulled at the bobby pins that held my hairdo together, and my curls tumbled down my neck and back.
Tom grunted, running his fingers through my hair, and kissed me hungrily.
And I kissed him back.
We staggered up the stairs, and Tom pressed me against the French doors; our tongues tangled.
Between my legs, I ached. Thoughts of him touching me down there, licking me … fucking me. I moaned into his mouth and tugged on his jacket. I poured all of my dirty thoughts into our kiss. My nipples were hardened points, trying to cut their way through the satin of my dress, trying to reach him, it seemed. Tom slipped one hand over my arse while the other tugged on my hair, exposing my neck. He bit and sucked below my earlobe.
“Christ on a … I want to eat you up.”
He gripped my arse, pulling me closer, his erection obvious against my stomach.
Holy hell.Tom is hard as a rock, and he ground himself against me. I found his shirt and fisted the fabric.How hard could it be to rip it off and—
We broke the kiss to catch our breath and our eyes met; Tom looked at me with lust and shock. Shock won. I released his shirt and gathered my wrap around my chest, which had fallen away, forgotten. Tom touched his lips as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.
He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by an outdoor light coming on beside us.
“Rosalba? Rosalba!Sei a casa ora?”
“Si, Mama. It’s Rosie.”
Jesus, my hair, my lipstick!I clutched my wrap around me and held a hand to my mouth. My curls were on their own. I was still a little dizzy from the kiss and tried to smile naturally, but it was a grimace at best.
The French doors opened a crack, and Mum stood in her dressing gown, clutching it at her throat. We were a mirror image of each other, both grasping our clothes and squinting in the harsh glare of the outdoor spotlight.
Busted.
“Ah, Tom walked me to the door.” I waved towards Tom, who clasped his hands across his crotch and wore a grim smile.
“Just … making sure she got home safe, Mama Zanetti,” he said with a strained voice.
A muffled voice came from behind Mum, and she called over her shoulder. “It Thomas; he walk Rosalba to door.”
No doubt Papa was checking up on me too. I was twenty-one, and it still felt like I had a curfew and was doing something like sneaking home late.
“You good boy, Tom. You look nice in suit.” She waved to me. “Bed now, Rosalba, it late. Say goodbye and let him leave.Buona notte, buono notte.” She closed the door and said something to Papa I couldn’t work out.
Oh. Could they hear us making out?
Tom stared at the ground. I sighed. What a mood killer. “I guess I have to go.”
He nodded.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight as your plus one. I had fun.”
Tom nodded again. We stared at each other for several moments, then he took a hesitant step towards me, but voices came from my parent’s bedroom and he stepped down to the ground.
“I’ll be thinking of you tonight, Rosie,” Tom said in a deep, smooth voice with a ghost of a smile. “See you tomorrow. At my party.”
I nodded and watched him walk away until he was out of sight. I fumbled with my evening clutch as I dashed through the doors into my room, and leaned back against the cold glass.
