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The Morelli Alfredo sauce simmers in a pot at Santino’s home. While kneading dough for fresh pasta, Santino’s conversation raced through my mind.If it matters to you, I’m all in.I’d left early, gone home to find my beloved crystal candelabra set and other settings for a romantic dinner.
The sauce has simmered for hours by the time I blow out the candles. An hour later, I call Santino to ask about him coming home.He thought I would be much later.So, I tell him to finish up with the bathroom at his friend’s flip. I fall asleep with Hallmark Christmas movies watching me only to be awakened by Santino.
“Yum, Santi, you smell good,” I grumble.
“That's a bad thing?”
“Well, yeah. Stinky you makes me feel risqué. You came home and had a shower?” I can’t hear his response because I’m dozing off.
* * *
The next morning,I wake up prior to Santino. Even For a businesswoman like me, that’s out of the norm due to his construction assignments. I’ve showered when the massive hunk of meat in Santino’s boxers rises into a teepee. I’m drying myself with a plush towel when a spicy idea comes to mind. I ease my knee onto the top of the bed near the headboard, then slowly, I’m straddling Santino’s face. He grouses something inaudible.
“Babe, you awake?” I inquire, placing my pussy lips down. My clit nudges his nose—this is better than my first scent of coffee. Better than pumpkin spice. His prickled jaw is a delicious friction against my inner thighs. “Babe . . .”
Santino’s hand’s claim my hips with such force that all my weight goes onto his face. “Oh, crap, sorry.”
He says, “No need to apologize, Bella. Waking up with pussy in my mouth is any man’s dream.”
I can hear the happiness in his voice. With a giggle, I squeeze my thighs around his head. “Better just bemypussy in your mouth, you jolly bastard.”
The retort fades into a growl in the depth of my throat. Santino’s tongue spears my pussy with the same strength as his cock would. His tongue comes back out, dividing my pussy lips, tracing each sugary scented fold. Eyes shut, my fingernails claw at the cedar wood of Santino’s headboard. I’m scratching at it and scrambling to press my ass down for more leverage. The Italian’s tongue drags over my sweet nectar until he’s sucking my clit.
Gasps from uncontrolled hedonism fill the room. Santino owns my pleasure. I’m a whimpering mess when he catches my clit between his teeth, intensifying my orgasm.
Suddenly my thighs grip Santino’s face again, and my body goes rigid in what the French callLa Petite Mort. I’m sated against the headboard, blacked out in orgasm.
Without warning, air fills my lungs as I scream. My entire body vibrates like the Ferrari of dildos with fresh, new batteries.
Sometime later, Santino cradles my body against his hard frame. My fingertips create endless infinity signs on his chest then my lips kiss the eternity I’ve traced.
Santino’s framing my hip with his hands when he says, “Bella, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Me too.” I lower my gaze, chewing my lip.
“What is it, Bella?”
“Well, it might be imperative . . .” I trail off. Though I was emotional during our chat yesterday, there may be a reason for it. A reason that will span the rest of our lives. But I lick my lips. “Tomorrow, I have an early morning flight to meet Mr. Turner at his B&B.”
“Four in the morning. Gina, I remember. No more Thomas.”
I laugh out loud. “Hey, your ma wasn’t singing that tune—”
Santino’s fingers run along my ribs, and I cackle. He shifts me until I’m on top of his erection. Through the thin shield of his boxers, I know he can feel my damp arousal.
Smiling down at him, I flick a curl behind my ear. “Santi, listen. I plan to fly home late tomorrow night, hopefully by midnight. When I arrive, we can tell each other then. Fuck me before I go to work, baby.”
“Okay, tomorrow,” Santino groans. He touches the nape of my neck, bringing our mouths together. He gently bites and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.
My hands map a route along his taut abdominal muscles, trailing into his boxers. I grip his hardened shaft, and the taut muscle bobbles free. In quick movements, I’m stroking his erection.
“Not your hands, Bella, your pussy,” he murmurs.
Shifting on my knees, I plant his crown at my apex with my thighs caressing the sides of his muscular body. I glide down on him, stretching for his thickness.
“Ohhhh,” I exhale in ecstasy.
Little do I know, we’re sitting on the top of the fucking world right now, the only place to go is down. Come tomorrow, I’ll wish I could either live in ignorant bliss or never have crossed paths with Santino Morelli.
