Letters to the Baumgarters (11 page)

“I have to go anyway.” I untangled myself. “I have some studying I’ve
neglected.”

“I’ll take you home.” Nico offered.

“In the gondola?’ Mason snorted.

Nico swiped his hand under his chin at Mason, the Italian equivalent to
giving him the middle finger.
“V
affanculo
!”

Mason didn’t need an English to Italian dictionary to interpret what he
meant.

“I’ll walk,” I said, heading for the door. “The fresh air will do me
good.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Mason called. “Pick you up at seven?”

I didn’t answer him. My flat was half a mile away, and it was good to be
out in the fresh air. I gulped it down, trying to clear my head. Days like
today, I was ready to tell both men to go jump in the Grand Canal and be done
with it. Of course, when it came down to it, this thing was my own fault. If I would
just make a decision, they would stop trying to compete with each other, right?
So what was wrong with me?

I still couldn’t believe the two of them had decided to room together. It
made me wonder what they were up to. It was the last thing I’d expected, after
my confession to first Nico and then Mason, that I was seeing them both. Part
of me had expected Nico to end things, and Mason to turn around and head back
to the states, but neither of those things had happened.

Jezebel mewed at the door when I opened it, demanding to be fed. I filled
her bowl, glancing at the books on my little kitchen table. I’d been too
distracted lately, first Nico and now Mason, neglecting my studies. I should
have cracked the books but instead I poured myself a glass of wine and took it
to the sofa, sitting and sipping and listening to Jezebel eat.

I couldn’t get either man out of my head, and now I couldn’t separate
them either. When I closed my eyes and imagined them, their hands and mouths
and voices melded in my mind. The wine, of course, wasn’t helping. It made
everything fuzzy around the edges. Jezebel joined me on the couch, kneading my
thigh with her paws before settling next to me with a large yawn.

The knock on my door startled us both, and Jezebel followed me, just as
curious as I was who might be calling. Cara Lucia stood there in the entrance,
frowning, her gray hair covered, as usual, under a dark-colored scarf. She
remained in mourning for her husband, who made it through WWII in one piece
only to die twenty years later from delayed effects of nerve gas. 

“Here.” She spoke English, handing me a sheet of paper, and my heart
dropped to my toes. Had someone seen Mason here and said something? Was I being
evicted? “No more visitors in the room.
Capice?”

Sure enough, it was a warning about having Mason over. Someone must have
seen him coming or going. I cringed, folding the paper and putting it into my
back pocket, already apologizing, but she waved my excuses away.

“I can’t have different rules for different tenants.” She was back to
speaking Italian again. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Of course I did. But I also knew she must be angry with
me. I hadn’t been to lunch with her since I started dating Nico. “I promise, no
more.”

“So this Mason, he’s come for you?”

“I’m not sure why he’s come.” I nudged Jezebel back in. Thankfully the
rules about pets were far more lax than her rules about men.

Cara Lucia smiled knowingly. “And what about this other one? The
dark-haired Italian boy?”

Who did I think I was kidding? She didn’t miss anything.

“We’re...” What were we exactly? “We’re working things out.”

“Well don’t take too long.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You want a marriage. Babies. You’re not getting younger, you know.”

I jutted my chin out. “How do you know I want that?”

“You do.” She scoffed. “The way you covet your friend’s baby? Look at the
pictures you have of her. You want what she has. I know you do.”

I swallowed, thinking about Carrie and Doc and their little Janie. Did I
want what they had? Some part of me did. And another part of me was scared to
death of it. Some echo of a memory cried out, “Not again, never again.” And
then my body betrayed me, every single time I was with one man or the other.

“So consider this your first warning, yes?” Her eyes met mine. “No more
visitors.”

“You don’t have to worry,” I assured her, although I didn’t explain that
both Nico and Mason had found their own place—together. It was too weird, even
for me.

“Good.” She nodded her head, satisfied. She turned to go and then turned
back, looking like she wanted to say something. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I replied, attempting a smile, but I felt dizzy with my own
realization. Did I want what she claimed I wanted? A husband? A child? A
family? “I’m sorry about the…visitors. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” She hesitated again. “I think those boys are taking too much out
of you. Maybe you should lie down. Get some rest. You look pale.”

“I will.” I pushed Jezebel out of the way again and shut the door,
leaning against it for a moment, my head swimming. I was going to read and work
on my thesis, but when I got the couch, Cara Lucia’s suggestion was too
powerful and my thoughts far too overwhelming. I fell asleep with Jezebel
curled on my lap.

* * * *

“This is too weird.” I glanced at the bedroom door as Mason closed it
behind him. The bed was the only thing in the room, so I sat there. They still
hadn’t purchased much in the way of furniture. There was a kitchen table now
but no chairs, and a coffee table and a television in the living room. “Where’s
Nico?”

“He had to go help a guy with a leaky pipe.” Mason grinned. “At least,
that’s what he said.”

I rolled my eyes. “Was it Sal? His sister’s husband?”

“I don’t care.” He came to sit next to me on the bed, his hand already
moving up my knee, under my skirt. “I’m just glad we have the place all to
ourselves.”

“Still, if he comes home…”

“I locked the door.” Mason captured my mouth with his, insistent.

Our dinner had been good—it was hard to get a bad meal in Venice—and our
conversation even better. But both of us had been impatient for time alone.
Every time our hands touched or our eyes met or my knee brushed his under the
little café table, a spark of electricity passed between us, a surge of desire.
I was already wet for him, had been for hours. And he knew it.

During dinner, he had leaned over and whispered, “Go to the bathroom and
take your panties off.”

And I’d done just as he asked, passing them under the table into his
hands, letting him feel how moist they were, still warm from my pussy. His eyes
had darkened with lust when he took them from me and slipped them into his suit
coat pocket. It hadn’t been long after that we were alone in a water-taxi
heading, so eager for each other his hand had found its way under my skirt to
my bare pussy, flicking my clit, teasing me as we sailed toward home.

We were just as eager now, his hands roaming over my blouse, pushing my
skirt up to my hips, my aching clit finally getting his full attention. He
rubbed it with his thumb as he kissed me down onto the bed, undoing the button
of my blouse with his other hand.

Not to be outdone, I peeled his suit coat off, working the buttons on his
shirt too. I was still getting used to Mason all dressed up in suits. The
husband I’d been married to wore the typical college uniform—jeans and a
t-shirt. I found this new Mason irresistibly sexy. It was the same man but
different, and the change was exciting.

“God, I love your tits,” he groaned, finally reaching his destination,
undoing the front hook of my bra and letting them spill out. He grabbed them in
both hands, his knee going between my legs so I could rub myself against his
thigh. His tongue made circles around my nipples, tracing delicious patterns
over my skin from one breast to the other.

“Mason,” I whispered, arching my back, my pussy swollen against the press
of his leg between mine. I could barely wait, my whole body pulsing with need.
“I want your mouth. Please. Lick me.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. I was hanging half off the edge of the
bed, my legs dangling, and he got down on his knees on the floor, shoving my
skirt up to my waist. I parted my pussy my lips with my fingers for him as he
kissed his way up my thigh, his breath hot, fast. He was excited as I was.

He pressed my thighs open wider with his palms flat, shoving my legs
back, rocking my hips up, completely exposing my pussy and ass to him. I moaned
in anticipation, rubbing the hood of my clit with one finger, not wanting to
wait. Mason was busy licking the inside of my thigh, following the fleshy seam
between my leg and my pelvis with his tongue.

“You’ve got such gorgeous legs.” He praised me, murmuring, in between
kisses. He had them pressed far back, my heels still on. I didn’t tell him they
were the same heels Nico had bought me for our hotel stay. “Your skin is like
silk.”

“Please,” I whimpered. Not that I minded the compliments. They made me
flush with pleasure. I loved the way he looked at me, so wolfish, like he could
put me in a dish and eat me with a spoon. Finally, oh god, finally his mouth
reached my pussy, his tongue lapping up and down my lips, teasing the swollen,
wet flesh, making me squirm on the bed.

“Oh my god, you taste so good.” His tongue slipped through my cleft,
smooth and slick, scooping up my juices as he went, spreading them over my
labia, up to my clit. My hips lifted toward him in response the moment his
mouth covered my pussy. He knew just what I liked, finding my pleasure center,
that electric hot spot that made me quiver, feeling his way.

I’d forgotten how good he was, how well he knew me. My body responded
without thought, giving myself to him like an offering, spread out and
trembling. His mouth worked between my legs, but he kept his fingers busy too,
working them slowly into my pussy, then moving them in and out, fucking me
gently while he licked me.

“Oh god, baby, faster,” I panted, grabbing my own knees, pulling them
back. “Fuck me harder!”

He plunged his fingers into me, jolting my whole pelvis with a heart-pounding
rhythm, his tongue never wavering on my clit. I was so close to orgasm,
breathless and out of control, I felt full of heat and light, as if my whole
body was on fire.

Then he slid a finger down and rubbing my ass, teasing the tight ring of
my asshole, my juices and his saliva already making it wet. I gasped when he
slid it in to the first knuckle, the sensation so naughty and at the same time
so exciting it nearly sent me screaming over the edge toward orgasm.

“You like that?” he teased, knowing full well that I did. His fingers
moved in deeper, then deeper still. He had a finger in each hole, pussy and
ass, fucking me again gently. I thrust against his hand. Being fingered just
made me want his cock and I found myself wishing he had more than one, so he
could do me like this, just like this.

“Make me come.” I pressed my hand to his head, fitting his mouth over my
mound. “Lick it. Oh god, yes, like that. Please, please, make me come!”

His tongue found that spot again, working it with a vengeance as he
fingered my pussy and my ass together, sinking deeper with every thrust. I
cried out, digging my heels into his shoulders, my back arching as I came, my
climax surprising us both with its force, my pussy and ass spasming together
around his fingers in ecstatic rhythm.

Mason slid up between my thighs and I wrapped my legs around him as we
kissed. I sucked at his tongue, tasting the musk of my pussy, feeling him
fumbling with his belt and zipper. Then, oh then, his cock slid through the wet
pleat of my pussy, seeking entrance. He groaned when he found what he was
looking for, plunging into my wetness, not waiting, not giving me even a moment
to breathe.

“Oh god!” I clung to him, the bed squeaking under our weight, Mason
stretched out half on and half off, his feet on the floor, giving him greater
leverage as he thrust. His shirt was open, his belly exposed as he rose above
me like a god, blotting out the light. “Oh baby, no, wait, ohhhh! That’s so
fucking good!”

He grunted in response, rolling his hips, making circles against my
pelvis, his cock taking inventory of my pussy, every last little bit of flesh
explored. My orgasm was still fading, my body shivering under his weight. I
felt his cock swelling inside of me, impossible proportions, filling me with
every buck of his hips.

Then he slowed, panting in my ear, his muscles tense, his bottom lip
pulled between his teeth.

“Mason?” I whispered.

“I want you to suck it.” He rolled off me to the bed, onto his back,
looking over at me. “Lick all your juices off my cock. Oh god, yeah, that’s a
good girl…”

I was up on my hands and knees, still dizzy from my climax but eager to
give as good as I’d received. His cock was thick in my hand, throbbing as I
took him between my lips, the head swollen. He moaned and grabbed a fist full
of my hair, pushing me down, down, down, making me take him, every inch.

I gagged and he let me come up for air, but then it was back down again,
his cock searching for my tonsils, seeking the hottest, fleshiest, deepest
recesses of my throat. I gagged again, again, my eyes watering, but I loved
it—and he knew it. He fucked my face like that, giving me his cock over and
over, his thigh muscles taut, toes curled. I knew he was fighting climax, but
enjoying it too much to stop me.

I cried out when he swung my hips around on the bed toward him, plunging
his fingers back into my pussy, He worked them into my sopping wetness and back
out again, twisting as he went. I arched my back like a cat stretching, still
focused on his cock—although not quite so intently now. His thumb rubbed at the
sensitive button of me clit, giving me even more cause to slow down on sucking
him, my tongue pausing to roll around the ridged, mushroom head.