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Knowing I needed to be back in the kitchen at my own request, had me feeling cheated this evening, because I couldn’t partake in my guilty pleasure of watching him strip to nothing and swim naked in the sea. It wasn’t something he did every evening, but I’d learnt in the early days of our marriage, that it was something he did when he felt the need to cleanse away the day, and I’d encouraged myself not to think too closely as to why.
‘I’m in the kitchen,’ I called cheerfully back.
‘Yeah?’ I heard his puzzled tone.
‘Yes, I’ve given Maria the night off and cooked for the two of us.’
‘Yeah?’ I heard him speak Italian under his breath and grinned, as I heard his bewilderment had only increased at my answer.
Without turning around, I felt him move closer to where I was cleaning the fresh salad leaves, peppers, and tomatoes in the sink. As his hands connected with the aluminium sides which surrounded the sink, I took in his large, tattooed hands, closed my eyes, and trained my available senses on him. I could smell the salt from the sea drying on his skin, and ever so faintly in the background, the fresh, citrus bodywash and cologne he always wore.
When the heat of his body enveloped me, I instinctively pushed my knees against the built-in cupboard below the sink to steady myself. My heartrate accelerated at his closeness, and I had to fight the urge to drop what I was holding and to turn around. But I knew the anticipation would only enhance what I was already experiencing.
‘How was your day?’ Salvatore’s warm breath caressed the shell of my exposed ear, and I held my breath at the contact, enjoying how the very briefest of connections made my body react.
‘It was good,’ I nodded, as I placed the ripe tomatoes into the colander to the left of me. Without shaking my hands free of cold water, I pushed my hands behind me, holding onto his muscular thighs and feeling the warmth of his skin through the material of his suit trousers.
A fast intake of his breath was my reward.
I took a few seconds to picture him in my mind’s eye.
Sometimes he would vacate the sea, with water pouring off his skin, and run up to the villa wearing the white, fitted Armani trunks he sometimes wore. On the other occasions when he hadn’t worn underwear at all, he would replace his trousers, thrust his arms back into his fitted shirt and with the expensive cotton connecting to his wet skin and showing off his well-developed torso, he would stroll on up.
I wasn’t sure which version was my favourite. Both made my breathing still, my heartrate accelerate, and my core start to throb with expectancy.
‘So, what’s for dinner?’
‘Gnocchi, in a butter and…’ His mouth connected with my ear and as he started to nibble the very edge, I was stopped from completing my answer.
‘Mmmm hmmm…’ he encouraged, and the vibrations travelled through my body, causing an instant flood of desire to touch the very tops of my thighs.
Knowing we weren’t going to be leaving our villa that evening, I hadn’t put on any knickers. After having a quick shower to freshen up, I’d grabbed a clean dress only. Swiftly, I recognised that my earlier choice of a flimsy, blue and lilac striped sundress, with its strapless, fitted bodice and full skirt, suddenly seemed like a poor choice.
It offered me no protection at all from the man behind me.
If there was any.
I had run through how this evening needed to go. Earlier, I had laid the table on the terrace. We would eat the food I was preparing, drink wine and grappa and as we then watched the sun set below the mountains behind us, I would let him know how I wanted to help at the hospice.
Already, the plan I had so carefully formulated was unravelling before me.
‘And…’ Salvatore encouraged as his mouth travelled down my neck and onto the skin of one of my exposed shoulders.
‘Sage,’ I whispered, mesmerised by his actions. ‘Gnocchi, with a butter and sage sauce.’
‘With salad.’
‘With salad,’ I repeated, ‘and meats and cheeses.’ I managed to force the last words out quickly as his lips found purchase further along my shoulder.
‘Interesting. I can’t remember Maria saying she needed the time off. So, what made you cook?’ he questioned.
I could only imagine how the man interrogated.
‘I wanted to talk to you… Ohhh.’ Again, I stopped talking as his teeth nipped at the tight skin on my collarbone.
Abruptly, his hands moved. One wrapped around my waist, lifting me slightly so only my toes now touched the marble tiles beneath me, and I had no choice but to lean back into him. His other hand flicked up the skirt of my dress. The calloused skin on his fingertips ran gently but firmly up my inner thigh, and he pushed through the slickness he found waiting for him at the apex of my leg.
‘If you really wanted to eat and talk, little bird… you should have at least covered up your cunt.’ Salvatore’s voice had deepened with lust.
