A Tainted Beauty

A glass elevator zoomed them up to the honeymoon suite, which was situated at the very top of the beautiful building. As they stepped inside Lily became aware of a large salon with elegant sofas, lavish displays of flowers and a bucket containing champagne which had been placed there for the newlyweds. Terracotta tiles led outside to a flower-filled terrace and beyond that was a breathtaking view of the bay, under the ever-watchful eye of Mount Vesuvius.

‘It’s exactly like looking at a picture from a travel brochure,’ she exclaimed as she stared at the dramatic outline of the famous volcanic mountain.

But the views and the luxury were forgotten the moment her husband took her into his arms, his lips brushing lightly against hers, and Lily could feel his incredible restraint as he pulled her close to his aroused body.

‘I feel I’ve waited for ever for this night,’ he said unsteadily.

‘Me, too.’ She put her arms around his neck. ‘And now it’s here.’

‘And now it’s here,’ he repeated. ‘Are you nervous?’

She thought about his experience. About what he might expect of her. And once again she felt a brief pang of unease as she wondered whether she should have told him. But how could she come out and say it, especially now? ‘A little,’ she answered truthfully.

‘Some nerves are perfectly natural, but I will show you that there is nothing to be scared of.’ His smile was reassuring as he gestured towards the ice-bucket. ‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’

Aware of an increasing feeling of trepidation, Lily shook her head, carefully removing the wreath of roses and the veil which was still pinned tightly to her head. She hung the veil over the back of a chair and looked at him. Was it madness to find herself thinking that she just wanted to get this bit over with? As if this was a necessary hurdle to clear—so that afterwards they could relax properly and just enjoy the rest of the honeymoon and their life together?

‘Can we just go to bed, Ciro?’ she blurted out. ‘Please.’

His momentary surprise was eclipsed by an intense feeling of satisfaction. Shyness and eagerness—could there be a more perfect combination? ‘Oh, Lily,’ he murmured. ‘My beautiful, innocent bride—for whom I have waited as I have waited for no other woman.’ Ignoring her small squeal of protest, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, his arms sinking into the massed layers of her tulle skirt before setting her down on the cool, marble floor.

‘I want you to do something for me,’ he said as he slid the zip of her dress down in one fluid movement and it sank to the ground like a fresh fall of snow.

‘Anything,’ she whispered. She stepped out from the circle of the discarded gown so that she stood before him in just her white lacy bra, her thong panties, a pair of lace-topped stockings and matching suspender belt. The high white silk wedding shoes made her much taller than usual and they made her stand differently, too, so that the jut of her hips seemed to be on display, and she saw his eyes darken.

‘Let down your hair,’ he said suddenly.

‘My hair?’

‘You realise that I’ve never seen your hair loose before?’ he questioned unevenly. ‘And somehow it seems symbolic that it should be tonight when you set it free.’

His dark eyes were blazing with wonder… as if all this was very new for him and of course, it was. And Lily realised just what it was that made marriage so special and profound. He had never done this before and neither had she. Made love to her spouse—which happened to be a very old-fashioned word, but in that moment she felt old-fashioned. And that was how Ciro liked her to be, wasn’t it?

Lifting her hand to the intricate topknot, she pulled out the first pin and dropped it onto an adjacent table as the first shiny strand tumbled down. Ciro sucked in a breath as the second pin was removed, and then a third—and as each one liberated another thick lock it was accompanied by the tinny whisper of each falling pin.

His throat was bone-dry by the time she’d finished and his groin was threatening to explode. She looked like a goddess, he thought. Like a creature who represented the fields and the harvest—with that glorious corn-coloured spill of hair.

‘Promise me something?’ he questioned.

Her eyes met his and she tilted him a smile. ‘You know where I stand on promises, Ciro.’

‘Ah, but this is one you can easily keep, dolcezza mia. Promise me that you’ll never cut your hair.’

For a moment, she hesitated. He made it sound as if her long, cascading hair was what defined her—and something

about that made her feel faintly uneasy. Yet the look of appraisal which was making his dark eyes gleam like jet quickly had her nodding her head in agreement. ‘Okay, I promise,’ she said softly.

‘Mille grazie,’ he murmured as he pulled her close, framing her face in his hands before lowering his mouth to hers.

He kissed her until she moaned. Until he felt her weaken in his arms and then he picked her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down on its centre, before removing her shoes and dropping them to the floor. For a moment he thought of leaving her wearing her provocative underwear. If it had been anyone other than Lily, he would have done just that. But she was not one in a long line of lovers who always tried to outperform themselves in order to please him. He did not need the titillation of seeing her curvaceous body encased in scanty pieces of silk and lace—he wanted to see her naked. To feel her naked. As close as it was possible for a man and woman to be. Because this was his wife. His wife.

Wriggling his hand behind her back, he unclipped her bra, a shuddered sigh escaping from his lips as her lush breasts were freed of their lacy confinement. Dipping his head, he started to suckle her and a shaft of pleasure shot through him as he circled his tongue around each pert nipple. Hooking his fingers into her panties, he slid them down over her thighs—unable to resist the brief brush of his thumb against her clitoris, smiling at the squeal of pleasure she gave in response.

‘Ciro,’ she breathed, her fingers scrabbling wildly at his shoulders.

Her fervour pleased him almost as much as her body, but he realised that, although she was now naked, he was still fully dressed and so he backed away from the bed.

‘Don’t move,’ he instructed as he saw her mouth begin to form a circle of objection. ‘I need to get rid of these damned clothes.’