Quick deaths in our world are the norm because that’s how it goes. A deal goes sideways, someone gets cocky, attitudes are out of control, and shit happens.
I finish my beer, leaving the empty bottle under the lounger, and make my way inside carrying my leather dress shoes. Alessia rang at the security gate and is now driving up in her Italian made Spider, red of course.
I open the door to see her walking up and looking stunning in an evening dress. She’s dressed to go out dancing more so than staying home to fuck, but I’m not complaining. It’s close to seven and I’m hungry and horny.
“Hey.” I kiss her on one cheek then the other as her jasmine perfume floats in, announcing her presence before she steps into the Carrara marble foyer.
Alessia is a beautiful woman with high cheekbones, fair complexion, blue eyes, and honey-colored hair. I’m sure my mother would be thrilled if we married as she comes from an old Florentine family.
In my world, status is based on money first followed second by the fact that we are all Florentine, born and raised in families that have lived in Florence for generations. We have our own dialect and traditions here that set us apart from other Italian families.
“How are you?” Sliding her thin arms around my neck, the pressure makes its way through my shirt. I can’t say I mind the feel of her smooth skin on my neck. My lips descend on hers in a passionate kiss. It’s instinctive in nature, part of the crude and ruthless code of being a single, dangerous man.
“Fine.” I break away and murmur against her, “Hungry?”
“Hmm, only for you,” she purrs, surrendering her lips to me again. I play with her pale pink luscious lips, and if I liked catnip, I’d be enthralled. Alas, I’m not, but I can play the game, tugging and releasing to create a pace for our sexual desires as I feel her melt under me.
With one arm wrapped around her back, I pull her hips into mine so hard her fake boobs jiggle as if they’re real, and I feel naughty as I press my hard cock against her stomach. She has no idea what I’m capable of and I will keep it that way. Someday, she’ll be someone’s wife. A nice man who comes home on a schedule and she’ll have one child and never work.
“Dante,” she murmurs against my ear, and her soft breath passes like a light breeze, light enough to excite me even more.
My cock is like a racehorse, anxious to get us out of the starting gate and wanting to take a long, hard ride. I wrap my other arm around her so she can feel my hardness pulsating against her pussy. She knows I’m ready for her, and that I’m not very patient with things I know are mine.
“Upstairs,” I command, releasing her and pointing in the general direction. She dutifully turns and her Gucci heels make a softtatsound on the marble steps as she makes her way to the second floor.
I follow her at a distance, so I can take in the sway of her hips as she walks saucily up the winding staircase and dances her fingers along the wrought iron handrail as she makes her way up the steps she knows well, probably too well. I really need to cut her loose, but I keep her around as she’s my only link to a normal world, affection, and sex.
I pull off my shirt and loosen my belt, taking two steps at a time as she peers over her left shoulder to see where I am. Seeing me behind her, she takes the steps faster, giggling and trying to stay ahead of me. I capture her at the top of the stairs, and she squeals as I swing her through the air and set her on the landing. We race to my room, and when we reach the doorway, I scoop her up and toss her on the bed. “Lose the panties.”
Alessia flashes me a saucy grin and pulls up her dress to show me she’s not wearing any panties at all, then flicks off her heels. They sail through the air before making athunkon the floor.
The house was modernized years ago, and we have air conditioning units that cool individual rooms, but tonight, the summer air is cool enough for my shutters to be open and sweet-smelling wisteria fills the room, invited in on the silent breeze. Yet one more reason to live at the top of the mountain.
I drop my pants and boxers and crawl towards her. My cock is hard, enough of these childish games, enough foreplay, my needs are basic, and I need immediate stress relief. And she knows it.
She places one hand on my chest as her other hand grabs my pulsating cock and tugs as I let out a quiet moan. She slides her hands across the ripples of muscles in my shoulders and biceps like she’s never felt them before.
I insert two fingers into her and roughly move them back and forth, making sure she’s ready before I pull them out and enter her, taking her hard and fast.
She gasps, and the look of surprise on her face is priceless as she moves with me, clinging to my torso as I’m on the edge of ripping her apart, I’m so intent on rubbing one out in her. I’m not concerned if she comes or not—I have to remain in control of myself and detached.
She moans and arches her back as I explode inside her, and after a brief pause, I roll off. I lie there with my eyes closed, enjoying the moment, when my phone rings. It’s as if someone waited until I climaxed.
“Pronto,” I answer and listen. I respond and tell them to do what is necessary, then hang up.
My stomach growls at me.
“You want some dinner? I have some of Mama’s Bolognese Sauce.”
“Sure.” She sits up, using the bed sheet to wipe away the proof of our fuck. I pull on my pants, going commando, and head downstairs.
I haven’t eaten and I’m fucking starving as I pull a bowl of sauce from the refrigerator and a saucepan from a rack on the wall. I use the gas stove to warm the sauce and make use of a double boiler to rewarm the pasta.
She enters the kitchen. “You seem preoccupied.”
“Yeah, always. What’s new?”
“More than usual,” she presses. “Anything I can do to help?”