Letters to the Baumgarters (6 page)

“You’re naughty,” he murmured as I rocked, a nice, slow ride. My nipples
were so hard they ached, and he thumbed them, making me moan in response.

“Here,” I said, guiding his hand down to my pussy, whimpering when his
fingers found my clit. “Yes. Oh god yes, like that.”

I felt his cock swell inside of me as I began to rock faster, matching
his rhythm against my clit. Our breath came faster, our bodies starting to
sheen with sweat. Sex in the light of day gave us both a new perspective, and I
found myself looking into his eyes as we fucked, seeing far too much emotion
there and wondering if he saw the same in mine.

“Fuck me from behind,” I said, loathe to take him out of me, but not
knowing if I could stand seeing the hungry look in his eyes anymore.

“Like a dog?” He chuckled as I got to my hands and knees on the bed,
offering my ass up for the taking.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, feeling his hands on my hips, his cock already
seeking entrance. “Fuck me like a dog.”

I meant it, and I think he knew it. He shoved deep into me, the angle
tighter now, better for us both. I reached under and rubbed my clit as he
fucked me, the sound of us filling the room, two animals in heat, rutting
together.

“Harder!” I hissed. “Deeper!”

He thrust again, again, grunting with the effort, giving me what I wanted,
and I loved him for it. I was going to come like this with his cock buried so
deep I could almost taste it, my pussy stretched with the glorious width of
him.

“So tight,” he moaned, lost too, and I found him with my hand, feeling
him driving into me, using the heel of my palm to rub myself off. “Oh god, I
can’t… I can’t…”

“Come on!” I urged, lifting my ass higher to meet him. “Do it! Oh fuck!
Fuck!”

And then we were coming together, quivering and trying to drown our cries
so no one heard the sounds of our lust. My eager pussy convulsed around the
pulsing length of his cock, milking him, draining him completely. Nico
collapsed onto me, the hard, lean, sweaty length of his body so good against
mine I thought I must be dreaming this, all of this.

I even asked him, “Am I dreaming?” as he rolled to the side and gathered
me into his arms.

“If you are, then I’m dreaming too.”

I considered the possibility, touching the charm around my neck as we
drifted in the hazy afternoon sunshine, wondering which would be better—dream
or reality.

Chapter Three

Dear Carrie and Doc,

Janie sounds like a handful! The pictures you sent of her in the
outfit Cara Lucia made were so sweet it made my uterus skip a beat. She’s
growing so fast!

Remember that guy I told you about, the gondolier, Nico? We’ve been
seeing more of each other. A lot more of each other. I’m not ready to call it a
relationship yet, although his mother and sisters have us practically married
with two kids in their heads already. Mama Dorotea talks about wedding dress
fabric every time I see her and shushes Nico when he insists her arthritis is
too far gone for her to be sewing. Never mind that she’s talking about sewing a
wedding dress for a nonexistent wedding!

But in spite of all the mama’s boy stuff—why do I pick men who can’t
cut the apron strings?—can I just say, in all honestly, I haven’t had sex like
this in so long. He reminds me a little of you, Doc—so insatiable. And Carrie,
you’d like him. Oh what fun we could have with Nico, you and I! That is, if Doc
didn’t get too jealous. I know how he gets about sharing you, even if you’re
okay with things the other way around. The more I watch people and the
relationships around me, the more I realize how special you two really are.
You’re in your own category altogether as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think
many people get to experience what we did together. And yes, I miss it, and I
miss you.

Maybe it’s because I deprived myself for so long, I don’t know, but I
can’t get enough of Nico. And he… oh my god, he is a greedy boy. My little room
at Cara Lucia’s has paper-thin walls and while we can sneak up to his attic
room at his mother’s, I feel funny about it, and it’s clear she doesn’t
approve. So we find ourselves looking for alternatives and I’m beginning to
think we need to get our own place just so we don’t get arrested!

* * * *

“Not here,” I whispered as Nico kissed me into a narrow alleyway, the
cool brick biting my back, pressed hard against the wall.

“Yes here,” he insisted, and I cursed myself for wearing a skirt to
school. March was flirting with April and the weather had been sunny and
bordering on warm all day, prompting my choice of outfit.

“No, no,” I protested, but telling him no was impossible. He took what he
wanted, when he wanted. I couldn’t deny him, and even as my mind forbid him, my
body responded, my hips thrusting to meet the hard press of his cock through
his trousers, my mouth opening under his.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, his hand cupping my mound through my skirt.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. My cock has been hard for hours.”

“We could get caught,” I whispered, eyes closed with pleasure as he
rocked the heel of his palm against my pussy. It was still daylight and anyone
passing by the alleyway could see us. “Arrested. What would your mother say?”

“I don’t care,” he growled, yanking my skirt up to my waist, exposing the
black flash of my panties underneath.

“Nico!” I gasped when he went to his knees, unmindful of the suit he was
wearing, burying his face between my legs.

The truth was, I was already soaking wet—I’d been thinking about him all
day too, about our date and where we would go to ease this ache. I had to sneak
him into my flat past Cara Lucia. His mother guarded his place like Fort Knox.
We had found places of course, the darkness our accomplice. We had christened
the restroom at the Mood Café twice, once in the men’s room, the second time in
the women’s. We’d made love in the gondola in the dark several times, tied to a
post, nearly tipping it over once in a narrow canal with our fervor. We’d even
done it like this, in dark alleys, cul-de-sacs, entryways to empty buildings.

But we’d never dared to do it like this, in the daylight, in plain sight.
I usually felt like a naughty teenager, sneaking around and hiding our lust,
but this was beyond daring—it was dangerous.

I loved it.

“Lick it,” I begged, sliding my leg up over his shoulder to give him
better access. He nudged my panties aside and did just as he was told, his
mouth working sweet, hot magic between my legs. My clit throbbed against his
tongue, my nipples hardening under my blouse. I rubbed my own breasts, grazing
them with my nails through the material, sending hot tingles down between my
thighs.

“Oh god!” I cried when he grabbed my other thigh, pulling both of my legs
over his shoulders. I looked down and could only see his curly head and the
lust in those striking blue eyes on mine, his mouth fastened over my pussy. “Oh
my god! Nico! Oh! Oh!”

I was coming, just like that, flooding his mouth, my clit beating time,
like a hummingbird’s wings, against the lash of his tongue. He moaned softly,
his fingers digging into my ass, when he felt the buck of my hips, the arch of
my back.

“I have to have you,” he croaked, his face shiny with the juices from my
pussy as he looked up at me, still on his knees, his eyes filled with
something—a cross between desire and worship—that made me grateful he was still
supporting me, because my knees suddenly felt weak.

When he shifted and stood, pressing me against the wall, I glanced down
the alleyway, mindful now that we might be seen. I saw someone walk past, close
enough I could tell it was a man pushing a cart, but he didn’t glance toward
us. The other way was a dead end, but there were doorways all along the alley, backs
of shops, and owners or employees could come out of any one of those doors.

“Nico, wait,” I murmured, feeling him fumble for his zipper, but once his
cock was free, I truly couldn’t resist. The hard length of him pressing against
my thigh as he kissed me was pure temptation and I found him with my hand,
feeling him swell as I began to stroke him. He moved his hips, seeking
entrance, but I had other ideas.

“Ohhh
Mio Dio!
” he moaned as I sank to my knees for him, the
cobblestone cold and unforgiving, but I didn’t care. I sucked the thick,
mushroom head of his cock, feeling his hand moving through my hair, pushing
himself further into my throat. I let him thrust deep and hard, let him use my
mouth for his pleasure, my fingernails grazing his balls, coaxing the cum I
knew was boiling there to the surface.

“No, no, no,” he cried, making a fist in my hair and pulling me back. I
looked up at him, panting with lust, my eyes half-closed, my hand tucked
between my legs, rubbing at my aching clit.

“Please,” I whispered.

That was all I had to say. He stood, turning me around roughly and
shoving me up against the wall. His hands roamed over my ass as he pulled my
hips back, bending me at the waist so he could take me from behind. I braced
myself, hands splayed on the brick, waiting for him to impale me.

“Play with yourself,” he ordered, pulling me back into the saddle of his
hips, his cock an iron rod between my ass cheeks.

“Please,” I said again, but I reached down to touch myself, my clit
pulsing under my fingers.

I heard a noise behind us and turned my head to look but Nico grabbed my
hair, pressing my cheek to the wall as his cock slid into the wet, waiting
shelter of my pussy. I prayed it was just a cat, but then he was fucking me and
I forgot everything.

He grabbed onto my breasts, rubbing them through the silky material of my
blouse, his cock a driving piston between my thighs. Already in heels, I went
up on my toes, wanting all of him, deeper, harder. He fucked me so hard it
hurt, and still I wanted more, the motion jarring, shoving me against the
brick, rattling my pelvis, my breasts swaying in his hands.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, hearing the panting of his breath in my ear,
feeling sweat trickling down the middle of my back underneath my bra strap,
knowing he must be close. “Make me come! Oh fuck, Nico, please make me come
again!”

He grabbed my thigh and lifted it, spreading me wide and pushing himself
deeper inside of me, making me howl like an alley cat in heat. My fingers
worked furiously against my clit, rubbing faster than Aladdin looking for that
elusive genie, the anticipation of the wish almost better than its fulfillment.

Almost.

“I’m gonna come!” I cried, my body stretched taut, something in my belly
poised and ready to spring. “Oh now! Now, now, now!

My pussy clamped down on his cock, spasming around his swollen length, a
wet, velvet trap. He cried out at the sensation, grabbing my breasts and
squeezing hard, his hips driving in deep, thrusting uncontrollably.

“Oh
mio Cara, mio amore,
” he whispered endearments into my ear,
wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my neck.

Self-conscious now, I pulled my skirt down, the slick slide of his cum
caught only by the panties now bunched between my thighs. Nico zipped his
pants, still breathing hard, and turned me to face him, kissing me deeply. I
could taste myself on his tongue.

“You’re a naughty girl.”

“Me?” I gave a throaty laugh. “This alley was your idea.”

“I can’t resist you, bella.” He kissed my lips, my cheek, my chin. “I’ve
never met a woman who makes me want her like you do.”

Beside us, a door opened, and a tall man stepped out carrying a bag of
garbage. He took one look at us and rolled his eyes.

“Rent a room!” he growled, striding past us.

I looked at Nico and giggled. “You know we’re going to be late for dinner
at
Il Ridotto
!”

“No we’re not. Come on.”

“I can’t run in these heels!” I protested as he dragged me along.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

I squealed when he bent and then hefted me up over his shoulders in a fireman’s
carry, my hair flying behind me. It was only a few blocks, but he ran the whole
way with me on his shoulders, howling all the while.

“Shhh, you little she-wolf.” He set me down and kissed me, barely out of
breath. The man was in incredible shape. I smoothed my hair and my skirt, still
flushed from being carried upside down—and from the sex. “Let’s go eat. I’m
starving.”

Il Ridotto
was so small it could only accommodate four couples and
two more groups of four. The tables lined one wall with candles and a single
flower in a vase in the center. The walls were light brick, the fixtures
nondescript. People didn’t come for the décor and the atmosphere—they came for
the food and the wine.

A rotund man in an apron and a chef’s hat came around the corner as the
door closed, waving us in. There were two couples seated already, one of them
eating, the other talking over glasses of wine.

“We have reservations,” I explained as the little chef came our way.
“Bianchi.”

“Come in, come in!” He was boisterous and smiling, nodding his head as he
showed us to our table. “I’m Gianni Bonaccorsi, I’ll be your waiter—and your
chef.”

Nico had prepared me for this fact. Dinner at
Il Ridotto
was an
intimate affair. Gianni handed over our menus and a wine list, excusing himself
to let us look over the fare.

“Are you sure you can afford this?” I whispered behind my menu to Nico.
As a student, I didn’t make any money. I was living off savings and had to be
very careful with it.

“Shush.” He waved my question away. “Anything for you.”

And that didn’t exactly make me feel better about looking over the menu,
where the items were fresh, local, gourmet, and very expensive.

“I can’t possibly decide,” I said, looking helplessly at Nico. “It all
sounds so good!”