Delilah's Diary #2: La Vita Sexy (6 page)

I felt my feet tapping, my body wanting to move. Aside from writing, I've always loved dancing. It was an activity that I seldom got to do, however, as small towns aren't exactly known for their night life. In college, however, I took classes nearly every day, mostly classical ballroom stuff, tangos and waltzes and samba and such. The more interpretive styles like jazz and contemporary didn't appeal to me as much. I liked the stylized steps, the ordered beauty.

Luca looked at me sidelong. "Do you dance?"

I shrugged, smiling shyly. "A little."

He stood up, held out his hand, and I took it, let him pull me to an open area. He started off easy, a basic waltz hold, and trotted around with me, no steps, no structure. The sisters shifted their song, playing a tune I'd danced to frequently during ballroom classes, and automatically adjusted my hold on Luca, my feet starting the steps on their own. Luca's face showed his surprise, but he went with it, his spine going rigid, his hold formal and elegant, his feet light and quick.

Good gravy, the man could dance. My instructors had always told me I could have had a future in ballroom dancing, if I'd been willing to put the work in and slim down a bit. Good thing I liked writing more, since slimming down never seemed to work. A bit of a digression, there. My point is, I can tell the difference between someone who simply likes to dance, and someone who has had training, who takes it seriously.

Luca was a dancer. His poise was impeccable, his mastery of footwork breathtaking. He led me flawlessly, moving me around the courtyard, our eyes locked, the world blocked out but for the music flowing between us and in our veins. We came to a part of the dance where there would normally be a lift, if this was a choreographed number. I felt Luca's hold adjusting, watched his eyes scan the floor around us, calculating, assessing.

"Ready?" he breathed.

I nodded. Three steps, a half-turn, and then his hands moved to my waist, lifting me as I hopped. I'm not the most agile girl in the world, but I'm lighter on my feet than most people would assume, and Luca, well, he was powerful enough to lift me and make it look effortless.

We pulled off the lift like we'd practiced it for days. I felt the rush of excitement and adrenaline that follows pulling off something difficult, and then we were off again, spinning around the courtyard, his hand hot and powerful on my waist, his eyes piercing mine, desire raging from him in palpable waves, igniting my own need and lust. Dancing had suddenly never been so sensual, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, fitting just right.

The song eventually ended, and Luca and I glided to a stop, hand in hand, breathing hard and sweating, unable to break eye contact. His family was cheering, clapping, the kids going wild. I realized they'd all stopped to watch, and felt my cheeks flame. I'd never danced for an audience. I took lessons, got my fix out then, and never had any desire to get on a stage and perform, or compete, even though my instructors fairly begged me to on a regular basis.

"You are a truly marvelous dancer, Delilah," Luca said.

"You, too. I had no idea you were a dancer."

"Nor did I." Luca led me by the hand out of the courtyard and away from the prying eyes of his family. "We should dance together more often. I have not danced with someone so skilled in many years."

"Me, either," I said. "Not since college. I can’t believe we did that lift!"

Luca laughed. "I know! I thought it was worth a try, when I realized you knew the steps so fluently. You are very graceful."

We were standing near a flight of stairs, and Luca glanced from my flushed face to the stairs, and then the courtyard. His family was dancing again, Elisabetta and Lucia playing another improvised jig.

Luca licked his lips, and then pulled me up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I asked. I hoped he had in mind what I thought he did.

"Somewhere private. Or, mostly private." Luca turned a corner, pulling me down a narrow, wood-paneled hallway to a door at the end.

The room behind the door was small but comfortable, a guest bedroom obviously seldom used. There were two windows, one looking out over the city, and the other over the courtyard. The music was clearly audible, the laughter of children mingling with the chatter of adults, the slap of feet against cobblestones and the splashing fountain.

Somehow, my suitcase was in the corner of the room. I wasn't sure when Luca had brought it in from the car, but there it was.

Luca closed the door and hooked a chain over the door, then turned to me, desire fiery in his eyes. I lunged for him, locking my lips around his, my hands pulling at his shirt, tugging it off, and then unbuttoning his jeans. A flurry of busy hands had both of us naked in seconds, and then Luca's warm hands were skimming over my body, mine over his.

His mouth trailed kisses down my throat to my breasts, teeth grazing my nipples, and then his fingers slipped over my belly to caress the mound of my sex, unleashing a flood between my thighs. His cock was hard in my hands, an intoxicating shaft of heat and steel and silk.

I wanted him, right then. I didn't want to wait for him to touch me. I moved toward him, lifting on my toes, guiding him toward my entrance. Luca had other plans. He pushed me back toward the bed, kissing my lips hard enough to take my breath away. I started to crawl backward on the bed, but Luca gave me a mischievous grin, then took my hips in his hands and turned me around to face the bed. I looked at him over my shoulder, confused.

He ran his hands up my back, caressing and pushing at the same time, then pressed his lips to my spine, tangled his fingers in mine and stretched my arms over my head. Somehow I ended up bent forward over the bed, my arms in front of me. I began to understand what he had planned when his hands moved back down my spine toward my ass, then down farther still to stroke my pussy with gentle, probing fingers. He found my entrance and delved in with his fingers, curling up to find my G-spot, caressing it until I began to move my hips and gasp.

I felt the leaking tip of his cock drag down the crease of my ass, guided by his hand, and then he was sliding inside me, filling me, pushing deep. He was standing straight, his cock buried inside me, and then he pulled back and drove in, and I couldn't help moaning low in my throat.

"Shhh, the window is open. They will hear us," Luca whispered. "Not a sound, okay?"

I nodded and bit the blanket as he moved in a rhythm within me, thrusting harder with every passing second, on hand braced on my lower back, the other pulling my hips back into him. I felt his finger trace down my ass, slip between the cheeks and probe the knot of muscle there. Something wet and warm touched my second opening and then his finger was pushing in, slowly and carefully. Now I was ready for it, knew what it would feel like, welcomed it with an eagerness that worried me in the back of my head.

His finger slipped in, and I had to stifle another loud moan. I felt myself stretch again back there, and then the filled feeling increased and my rising orgasm neared peak. I craned my neck to look over my shoulder, but all I could see was Luca's body moving as he plunged into my pussy.

"I would like to put myself down there," he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. "Do you trust me to do so?"

"You mean, your...you want to put your cock...in there?" The idea filled me with panic all over again.

Luca nodded, and I hesitated. 

I was just getting used to his fingers. I liked his fingers, liked the intensity of the orgasm it gave me, but I wasn't sure I was ready for any more, either physically or mentally.

"I don't know, Luca. I'm kind of nervous about that. Especially with the window open." I felt his fingers withdrawing. "You can keep doing what you're doing, but...can we wait for...the other part? I'm not saying no, just not yet. Not now."

"It is okay," he said. "I hope I did not upset you."

I shook my head and moved my hips back into him. "No, no. Just...don't stop. Keep going. I'm close."

He kissed my back, rolled his hips into my ass and filled me, deep and slow. I moaned into the mattress as the climax, which had started to recede with the distraction, began to build up again. Luca's body moved against mine in a slow and steady rhythm, his hips bumping against the flesh and muscle of my backside, his muscled thighs brushing against mine, his hand on my hip and two fingers slipping deeper into my ass with every thrust of his cock.

Sensation swept over me, inundated me. I was being stretched and filled, pushed to the brink of tolerance, so full of Luca, so burning with the raging fire of boiling climax that I nearly couldn't take it anymore, almost wanted to tell him to stop, to take his fingers out and let me come with him on my back, in a more familiar position. I wasn't uncomfortable, standing bent forward, but it was so new, so unfamiliar, so strange. The only contact between us was sexual, and I had gotten to like...to love...the feel of his body on mine, his broad, dark bulk pinning me and protecting me, sheltering me.

This...this was different. I was presented as a sexual object like this. Only his cock inside me, his fingers inside me, his hands encouraging me. Did I like this? I had to ask myself the question. It felt good—I couldn't and wouldn't deny that. But...did it feel good emotionally?

God, yes. It felt dirty. It felt wanton. It was sinful.

While I debated this internally, I had slowed the roll of my hips into him, let his body do the work. Now, as I came to the decision to stop questioning, I gathered the blanket into my fists and arched my back, lifted up on my toes, sent myself plunging back into his body, and now, with my help, his cock speared deep into me and the pressure of climax blew through me, sending shocks of fire and heat rifling through my body. I buried my face in the bed and let myself moan, let myself whimper and sigh as sweet, powerful, thoughtful Luca drove into me. I felt him cross the threshold, that moment when he could no longer hold back, could no longer keep his motions measured or his thrusts gentle.

His fingers moved inside me, pushed deeper, and then he was leaning forward and his knees were trembling against the back of my legs and he was coming and so was I, grinding my teeth together to keep from crying out loud. Luca's hand dug into my hip and jerked me backward as he powered into me, his balls slapping against me, his come shooting deep and his tip throbbing against my wall.

We came together, moving in sync, me thrust back as he pushed forward, slow, savage grinding of our bodies together, instinctively seeking to go deeper, more, harder. I heard his breath coming in ragged gasps behind me. The orgasm washing through me was like a tsunami of sensate delight, a true agony of ecstasy, too much thrilling raging rampant pleasure to contain, light bursting behind my eyes and in every synapse, every muscle clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing.

As Luca went limp on top of me, I wondered, if it felt that good to have his fingers down there, if I might like it even more with his manhood. I worried about it hurting, since his fingers, even two of them, were significantly smaller than his cock.

I knew then that I'd try it. I'd let him. I was glad I hadn't then and there, though, for I was learning I was vocal, and enjoyed letting myself shriek and moan out loud. Stifling my voice during sex seemed to dampen the pleasure I got from it, as silly as that may sound. The knowledge that we were within earshot of his entire family made the experience seem deliciously illicit and exhilaratingly naughty.

Luca slid out of me and helped me climb onto the bed, lay down next to me. "
Mio dio
, Delilah. The things you do to me."

I laughed. "I do to you? You're the one sticking your fingers in my asshole."

"True, but you liked it, I am fairly certain," Luca said, grinning.

"Oh, I liked it all right," I said.

He sobered. "I am sorry for pressuring you into something for which you were not ready."

I kissed him, just to reassure him. "You didn't pressure me, Luca. You asked, and I said not now, and you let it go." I traced circles with my fingertip in the light dusting of hair on his broad chest, not quite looking at him. "I'm willing to try, if you want. It's just...not here, not now. Not with everyone awake and listening, and whatever."

"No, you are right. This was perhaps not the best time for such things." He gave me a playful slap on the ass. "Especially since you make such loud, wonderful noises."

I blushed and buried my face against him again, my words muffled by his skin. "I am kind of noisy, huh?"

"Yes, and I love it."

There was an awkward tension suddenly, stemming from his use of the "L" word. Again, the panic hit me, and I tensed, my breath catching as if a weight had settled on my chest. Run. Run. Run. My heartbeat was a rapid-fire thumping, and I wanted, in that moment, to get up, throw some clothes on, and flee, find a cab to anywhere. Love? No. No no no. I tried to tell myself he hadn't meant it like that, but it didn't help. I couldn't deal with being in love, being loved. I was in Italy to find myself, to figure out who I was, to get some life experience, some sexual experience. I was getting sexual experience in spades, and I was loving it, but the rest? Not so sure.

Who was I? Who was Delilah Flores? I knew I liked writing, and dancing. I liked wine. I liked sex, it seemed. I never really had before, it had just been something that happened because I was married and Harry was so damned persistent about it. But I'd never liked it, wanted it, needed it. Now, since meeting Luca, I couldn't get enough. Even now, barely ten minutes after a mind-blowing orgasm, I wanted Luca again.

So I liked sex, a lot.

A thought blew through my head. What would sex with Brad from Chicago have felt like? Would it have been different? What about someone else? A random man, someone from a different country, a different city? The body parts all went in the same places in the same way, so in some sense I thought it might all be pretty much the same. Right? But what if a different man was less understanding of my hesitancies? Less accepting of the fact that I wasn't a diminutive little thing? A different man may not have taken no as an answer just a few minutes ago.