The Italian

I put my mouth to his ear. “You can come now, Rici,” I whisper. “You have my permission.”

He grabs my hair at the nape and drags my face to his. “This isn’t how it works, Olivia. I’m in control of the orgasms here.”

“But are you?” I laugh. I pump him hard, and he tips his head back as he loses control and jerks forward to come in a rush. I continue to stroke him as I empty him. His breathing is labored now. His eyes are rolling back in his head.

And I am triumphant.

Take that on your bedpost.

His kiss is tender and soft, and he holds his forehead to mine as he comes back to Earth.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Olivia,” he pants.

I kiss him and push back to swim away on my back. I spread my arms out and float beneath the sun. I feel euphoric—on cloud nine.

Enrico stands still, watching me. He seems shocked… or perhaps confused. I can’t read him but it’s a look I haven’t seen before. He swims over to me and scoops me up into his arms to kiss me tenderly. “Let’s go home.” His touch is gentle, tame for the moment.

I smile against his lips as I brush the hair back from his forehead. “No, I want to drink margaritas and lie in the sun. Let’s enjoy each other’s company for a while longer.”

He inhales sharply as he stares at me. “What kind of goddess are you, Olivia Reynolds?”

“The Ferrara Goddess,” I tease.

He laughs out loud. It’s deep and permeating and it echoes through the air. Rico grabs my behind and pulls me closer. “Never a truer word has been spoken.”

The air swirls between us, “You called me Rici.”

“Felt right.”

He smiles darkly, “Yes… yes, it did.”

* * *

Five hours later, we arrive at my hotel room.

We sprawled out beneath the sun until it went down. We drank margaritas and had a beautiful seafood dinner. The day is already perfect. Rico has been itching to get me home. It’s eating him that he was the first to come and that I haven’t… yet.

I eventually open the door with his lips pressed to the back of my neck. Like a pair of teenagers, we can’t stop kissing. He’s like this perfect version of the male species—one that I can’t get enough of.

We walk into my room and the atmosphere instantly changes between us.

Carefree laughter falls serious, and our kiss intensifies. Nothing stands between us now. Without hesitation, he reaches down and lifts my sundress over my head. He stands and steps back, his eyes dropping down my body as I stand here in my bikini. He slowly circles me, and his eyes drink in every inch. I close my eyes.

What if he doesn’t like what he sees?

I drop my head and stare at the floor. The intensity of this situation is too much to bear.

“La donna più bella che abbia mai visto.” He pauses for a moment and then as if realizing that I can’t understand him says. “Olivia, look at me.”

I drag my eyes up to meet his.

He cups my face in his hand. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Every inch is pale and perfect.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

With his eyes following his movements, he runs his hand over my collarbone. He unfastens my bikini top and throws it to the side. His hand cups my breast.

He slowly bends, kisses each one, and then takes my nipple in his mouth. My breasts are more than a handful for him. He hisses in appreciation. “Magnificent.”