Delilah's Diary #2: La Vita Sexy (7 page)

If I let things with Luca progress and just stayed here in Italy with him, what possibilities would I be giving up? I had intended to see more of the world. Greece, England, Germany, Sweden, Ireland, there were so many places I wanted to see.

But Luca...god, he's amazing.

I'm sitting in the bed with him, with the window open and the sounds of laughter and conversation, all adult now as children begin to tire out. Luca is next to me, answering emails from his phone as I write. It's comfortable, intimate, and familiar. I can see myself doing this with him day in and day out, lying in bed together, writing, doing business, reading, talking, watching TV. The very fact that this seems so easy scares me. It's almost as if I'd always lain in bed with Luca, as if I always will.

The pressure of fear in my chest is back, leaning on me even as I type. I'm not sure what I want. I don't know what to do. So much of me is screaming at me to run, to flee, to catch a bus to the airport and fly away, go anywhere, don't get trapped by love before I've even begun my journey.

A niggling voice, small but insistent, says if I run, I could be giving up the best thing that ever happened to me.

Elisabetta is outside the door, telling us to come back out, we've had enough time alone.

This family seems like a family I could be very happy with. Which only serves to further confuse me.

I've spent the last two days in Firenze with Luca's family. I'm more at home with them than I've ever felt with my own family. Scary thought, huh?

Lucia in particular has become a close friend. Which leads into another scary thought: I didn't have any friends back home—back in the States. I mean, none. Leah was the closest thing, but she was my sister, and that doesn't really count, does it? I had work acquaintances, Harry, a few ladies from church that I'd do lunch with occasionally, but no one I could just sit around and drink grappa with, listen to music with, stroll the streets and chat with.

I do all these things with Lucia. She understands me in the same way as Luca. She doesn't judge me, she understands where I'm coming from emotionally, especially after I related my adventures of the past few days.

My god. It's only been a few days. Barely a week since I walked in on Harry with Helen. It's felt like a lifetime. I'm a different person already. I curse, I drink alcohol, and I have sex with Luca. A week ago, all these things would have been mortal sins, life-altering lapses in judgment. Here, it's just life.

My confusion isn't gone. I still don't know what to do. In the meantime, I stay here. It's easiest. Luca says he'll be here for at least two weeks, if not more, so there's no rush. I can take my time to decide. I'm not spending money on a hotel, or food, or cabs. I help Domenica cook, I help everyone clean up after meals, I play with the children. I'm learning Italian faster every day.

I want to see Venice. I want to see Athens, the Acropolis, millennia-old theaters where the first great plays were performed. I want to see London with the red double-decker buses and Big Ben and the London Bridge.

But, Luca. Lucia. Little Benito with his fast, loud mouth and adorable curls. Quiet little Rosa with her naked dolls and crayon drawings of ponies. Domenica, with her knowing eyes and effortless dignity and grace.

And Luca. Luca. His smooth power, quick, attentive hands, his skillful mouth. And god, his cock. I've never wanted anything so much, so frequently. I love being in bed with him. Or on the bed, or bent over the bed, or standing up against the wall (like this morning, as I was getting into the shower). Anywhere, anytime. I'm a monster for sex now. Poor Luca. I'm afraid I'm exhausting the poor man with my insatiable appetite.

But no, that's nonsense. He's as voracious as I am.

Here he comes now, back from the gym, sweaty, shirtless, hair splayed across his brow and sticking to his skin, muscles ripped and glistening, his cut-off sweat shorts hanging low across his hips, revealing that glorious V-cut of muscle. I think every woman likes that. Whether you like your men muscle-bound or wiry, hairy or smooth, that little indentation of muscles leading to his manhood is sexy and erotic in some kind of indefinable way. It just turns you on, gets you going and makes you salivate.

He's about to take my netbook from me. I'm sitting in bed in my panties and nothing else; I was about to take a shower and decided to journal instead, so now we're both raring to go.

I'll have to finish this later.

*   *   *

It's the middle of the night now, several hours after the preceding entry.

I've gotten addicted to writing these sex scenes, I think. I've read erotica books since I was in high school, my one lifelong dirty little secret. I could never quite make myself give them up, even though I always had a little twinge of guilt about them. But for some reason, whenever I tried to read a "normal" book, I found myself waiting and waiting for the sex, and it never came, and I was just frustrated and bored. So I'd go back to the erotica books.

This journal is a private thing. I'll never publish it, never let anyone read it. This is just for me. I look back at what I've written and I realize...some of it is actually pretty good. I get turned on reading the sexy bits. And...the more I continue this journal, the more I get into reliving the steamy scenes between Luca and me. It's like getting to do it all over again, and it makes the next time Luca and I have sex, make love—whatever you want to call it—that much sweeter and more potent.

So there I was, lying in the wide, springy bed, wearing nothing but a purple thong, my netbook on my lap, and Luca came in, fresh from the gym. I tried to pretend like I didn't notice him, like the only thing I saw was my screen, but the man knew better. He saw through my silly subterfuge and crawled across the bed like a predator through the grass. He took my laptop from me, set it on the floor, and then started kissing me, toes first, then my shins, then my thighs. When he came to my silk-covered mound, he put his mouth to the fabric and blew hot air against my opening. The heat and moisture of his breath did something strange, sent thrills of pleasure through me, made me instantly wet. I'm sure there's some cute and dirty name for that, but I don't know what it is.

Then he slid my thong by its string down around my hips and past my feet, threw it across the room. He paused, looking up at me with a sensual curve to his lips, a knowing smile that told me he knew exactly how much I enjoyed what he was about to do with his mouth.

He parted my thighs, bent down and kissed up my legs until his lips were touching my thighs and his cheek was brushing my labia with his stubble. Then he turned his lips to my sex, his tongue to my crevice, lapping at the folds, just the tip at first. He wrapped his arms around my hips and tugged me lower on the bed. I stuffed a pillow under my hips and tangled my fingers in his hair as he delved into my pussy with his tongue.

Oh, sweet mercy, anticipation makes it so much better. We'd gone this morning, a quick and dirty thing against the bathroom wall, satisfying its own way, hot and hard and lustful. This was so much different.

Slow and sweet and...I'm just not sure I have words for it all, but I'll try.

He didn't hurry. He lapped slowly at me, working me into a frenzy without ever moving his tongue any faster. Just slow circles at my clit, up and down, fingers curling in to stroke my G-spot in the same slow rhythm, another finger pressing the rosebud muscle of my anus, not entering but just slowly massaging, sending me into ecstasy-land.

I wondered briefly if he'd push the issue from earlier, regarding anal sex, but then forgot as he gradually increased his pace until I was thrashing beneath him, coming, coming, coming so hard. I dragged him up my body, pushed away his shorts and rolled him to his back.

I straddled him, still shuddering, lifted my quivering hips and drove him in, no hesitation, no slow entrance. I was wet, hot, trembling, ready. He slid in and we were off, moving together, me leaning back as far as I dared, until he was wincing. I wanted this to last, and I'd learned by now that if I leaned back it would keep him from coming until I relaxed the tension.

I didn't intend to let him come until he begged me. It wasn't about power, or wanting to control him. I just wanted to drag out the pure pleasure of having him inside me for as long as I could.

I moved as slowly as he had, rolling on him as if rocking on ocean waves, gentle swells. Luca put his hands on my thighs, thumbs near the crease where leg meets hip, fingers around the curve of my ass, not pushing or pulling, just resting, caressing. His head tipped back, his spine arched, his body lifted mine up, my shins taking my weight as I lifted and plunged, faster now, faster, deeper in and farther out.

"Luca, god, Luca." The words were pulled from me as if by a string connected to his soul.

"You are so beautiful, Delilah."

I melted. I wanted to collapse forward, but his breathing was harsh and panting, his body bucking, straining for release, and I was caught up in the drawing out of the pleasure, each thrash of his body driving him deeper inside me, my muscles trembling and tense and ready for the explosion, the implosion...

My hands braced on his stomach, propping me up, I rolled my hips onto his, ignoring his ever more vocal groans of need. Lean back, move faster, chemicals rushing, desire pounding, flesh burning and tangling with his, eyes closed now and all I knew was sensation.

"Delilah...
dio
, I am going to die if you do not let me come. I am going to burst, please..." Luca's voice was rough and raw and desperate.

I slid my hands up to his chest, keeping my hips tilted backward, my spine arched inward. Our eyes met, his burning and blazing with need, his fingers fiercely gripping my hips, pulling me forward. His cock thrust hard, his body bucking, each breath in and out a ragged groan.

I couldn't draw it out any longer. I'd already come, a gradual rising flood of climax. Now, with Luca so close, beyond the edge but held back from true release, I knew instinctively I'd come again, harder than ever, the moment I relaxed the tilt of my hips.

Luca growled, cursed in Italian, and then flipped me onto my back in a single motion. He was above me, suddenly, huge and hard and powerful and rocking into me. Oh, lord. He came with a rumble of relief deep in his chest. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him into me, clutched his shoulder and the back of his head with shaking hands, feel orgasm wash over us, drive us together, push us past anything like mere physical release.

Luca's weight bore down on me, only his cock moving inside me, his breath hot in my ear, his hands tangled in my hair, his toes scrabbling at the blanket. I was coiled around him with serpentine strength, clinging to him, whimpering and whispering his name.

Something deep in my chest, incorporeal but integral to my identity, burst apart and flew out of me, into Luca, merged with him. I felt a joining then between us. The Bible verse "and they shall become one flesh" pulsed through my mind. I broke into sobs. I didn't know what was happening, what it meant, but I knew it was something I could never undo.

Luca was inside me, suddenly, emotionally and mentally, now. Not just physically, sexually, but the person of him was tangled with me. I knew, in that moment, I could never experience anything like this with anyone else. I was completely overwhelmed by physical sensation and emotional response, my body wracked with spasms.

Luca moved above me and in me, eyes locked with mine. His thumb wiped away the tears from my eyes, but he didn't ask why they were there. The glimmer of emotion in his eyes told me he knew exactly why.

It was too much.

When it was over and we were lying nestled together, I knew I would face a decision. There were no words between us, just a tacit knowledge of what we'd shared.

Eventually Luca's breathing evened out, leaving me awake, frightened, and confused.

That had gone far beyond mere sex. It threw every other moment we'd spent together into new perspective. It had never been "just sex" between us. Luca had been showing me what I'd been missing. He'd worshipped my body, given me something that went far beyond mere physical pleasure. He'd given me comfort with who I am, confidence in my own sexuality. It was a priceless gift.

So why was I about to run from again?

Sleep claimed me, briefly, fitfully.

I woke up again, about four in the morning, and started writing this entry.

The war is raging in my heart and head.

Run. Run. Run.

Love
.
L
ove
.
L
ove
. It's there, Dee. This voice sounds oddly like Leah's, calm and practical.
Don't fight the love. Go with it. It's there, Dee, and you'd be a fool to run from it.

He's so gorgeous. Look at him: longish black hair falling across his eyes, face so peaceful in repose, muscles bulky and powerful even at rest, the soft rise and fall of his chest like waves breaking on shore.

If I woke him and told him the war going on inside me, he'd find a way to soothe me, reassure me. I should wake him up. But I can't. He's so beautiful in his sleep, the thought of waking him up seems cruel.

But if he wakes up and finds me gone, he'll be heartbroken again.

Lord help me.

I'm in a train station in Geneva. It's noon. My heart is broken, for I know I've made the wrong decision. I ran. I packed my bag and left in the gray haze of dawn. I left a note this time.

Luca,

Please don't be angry. I'm sorry. I need space. I need time to think. I don't know what I want. Please don't think I left because of anything you did, or didn't do. You're wonderful and amazing. The problem is me. I'm still messed up, I guess, and things with you are just too incredible, too soon. I know that sounds stupid, but it's just overwhelming. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is I'm sorry
.
I don't want to hurt you, and  I hate the thought of how you'll feel reading this. I'll probably head north, into Europe. God, I'm rambling.
You're too good for me right now. I need time to be alone. I hope I'll be able to find you when I'm ready for things. If not, know that you gave me exactly what I needed.