She stiffened at my words, resisting, but her body jerked as she neared orgasm.
“Stop.” Her voice was weak. A half-hearted plea.
“Give it to me.”
“I…”
I pinched her clit, and she fisted her hands, leaning her forehead into the wall.
“Please. Don’t. Not here.”
“Come.”
She shook her head but stayed as she was, not attempting to free herself, to drag my hand from her pussy.
“Come.”
“No… Fuck.”
Her knees buckled, but I kept her pressed against me, this time gripping a handful of hair and tugging her head backward. “Come, and I’ll release you.”
“I…said…no.”
“Stubborn.” I turned her to face me, kissed her, and worked her clit hard between thumb and forefinger. Her mouth opened to mine, and her arms wrapped around my neck, pushing and pulling, so close to orgasm yet resisting with all she had.
She broke away. “I…won’t.”
But I took her mouth again, and this time, I slid the hand that held her hair down into her panties, parting her ass cheeks, pressing my finger there, rubbing her tight little asshole until her knees gave way, and she cried out, gripping my neck, burying her face in my chest to stifle her moans as she came, her pussy soaking my fingers, my hand, her weight fully supported by me as her body gave out. She sighed, her breathing short, her eyes wet and dark when she turned them up to me. I wrapped my arms around her, smiling, victorious.
“I hate you,” she murmured, closing her eyes when I claimed her mouth for the kiss I took, triumphant again.“I’m not hungry.”
“But you are stubborn,” I said to Lucia, leaning in closer. “You’re eating. Choose something, or I’ll choose for you.”
She glared but acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll have the mushroom ravioli.”
“Ravioli it is,” the waiter said, giving me a look and taking our menus.
Once the clothes had been paid for, Lucia had dressed in the black backless dress, and we’d headed to a small Italian restaurant for dinner.
“I can’t show my face at Nordstrom again. You know that, right?”
“No one saw your face,” I said, winking, as I picked up a piece of bread and dipped it into a bowl of olive oil.
“You make me so mad!”
I chewed on the bread. “They have the best olive oil. You know, it’s made from their own olives from their groves in Tuscany.”
She took a piece of bread and violently dipped it before biting off a chunk, then sat back and gave me a look. “Did you wash your hands?”
I laughed so hard I nearly choked, and the patrons at the tables around us turned to stare. “I like the way you taste,” I said, reaching under the table and sliding one hand up the inside of her thigh.
“You’re terrible!” She caught my hand and shoved it away.
“That’s not what you were saying in the dressing room.”
The waiter brought over the bottle of wine I’d ordered. Lucia dropped her gaze to her lap, her cheeks flaming red.
He popped the cork and poured. “It’s fine,” I said after tasting it. He filled Lucia’s glass first, then mine. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said to her after the waiter left and we picked up our glasses.
“I just had a very loud orgasm in the fitting room at Nordstrom.”
I smiled and shrugged a shoulder. I knew this resistance was in part due to her anxiety over my father’s birthday party. “You’re probably not the first,” I teased, then gave her a wink and decided now was a good time to change the subject. “Your niece is cute.”
She studied me, slowly sipping from her glass. “She is.”
“You’re close with your sister?”
“I was. Before…everything.”
“What do you think of her moving into your father’s house?”
“I’m glad she’s moving in there. I don’t know if I’m ready to sell it. And I’m glad she’s staying nearby.”
“Why didn’t you see each other while you were at school? You could have. Nothing was forbidden.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “You mean like when Marco was standing over us when she came to visit me at the house?”
I gave her my most patient smile. “You didn’t want to.”
“You don’t know me or my family.”
“I’m trying to get to know you. Just because you haven’t been in touch with them doesn’t mean you can’t start again. They’re your family.”
“What about your brother? Are you close?”
“With Dominic?” She nodded. “No. Dominic is…not good.”
“But you were close with Sergio?”
“Yes. Very.”
Neither of us spoke until the waiter interrupted with our dishes. Once he left, Lucia looked at me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to my father before he died. I should have told him I forgave him.”
“Do you? Forgive him, I mean?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I think he was backed into a corner. And you’re wrong, he wasn’t just saving himself. He gave me up to save all of them. You…your father had murdered—”
“I’m getting bored of this conversation. It was a war. Both sides lost many lives. You and I both know that.”