From the Baroness’s Diary III

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

She’s incredible.

Her breasts aren’t huge, maybe a little more than a handful, but they’re f*****g amazing. Her n*****s—small, a fragile shade of pink—are peaked and so ready for me to take into my mouth again. The curve of her hips; the long, lean muscles in her legs; the slope of her collarbone, and the pool of her chestnut hair arranged like a dark halo…

Every small piece of her on its own is flawless, but combined together she looks like a painting, a work of art that could never be replicated.

She shudders and I realize she’s cold. I pull the coverlet over us and wrap my arms around her.

“Shh.” I soothe.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says in a sleepy voice.

“I heard you anyway, Principessa,” I whisper in her ear. “You just have to feel and I can hear it like a church bell.”

“And you’re a religious man?” she asks, smiling sleepily.

My c**k is already half-erect against her leg and the last thing on my mind now is religion. “Not very much. You?”

“Less than I should be for someone raised in a convent.” There’s a touch of sadness in her voice, a vulnerability that strips me bare. “But…I want to worship you.”

I know she means something more by that than the s*x we both had and we are going to enact again.

An alarm rings in my mind, but I mute it instantly. I understand that a twenty-four-year-old woman would see in me, a forty-year-old man: experience, power, money.

But somehow, I don’t think she cares about this. Smart girl.

She follows through on her promise, worshipping me with her lips and tongue until I can bear no more.

And, here, in her bedroom in Mario’s house, with the waves crashing outside on the beach and while the heavy moon peeks in on us with a vouyerish satisfaction, we are a thousand miles away from the world of tuxedos and ball gowns; of international businesses; white and red wines and spumanti. Far from love and jealousy and revenge. From Amalia.

There is only a woman who wants to suck me. And touches me and who wants me to f**k her.

Outside, the world is harsh and rough. Here, it’s all softness of lips and breasts and thighs that cradle my hardness. Unexpected gentleness and thoughtfulness.

I let myself relax when she straddles me, her delicate fingers entwining on my chest hair. And I let myself enjoy when she kisses me softly, slowly, oh-so-slowly riding me.

And this time around, it’s sweet and gentle. And surprisingly good and fulfilling. Vanilla s*x with Fleur is everything I never knew I wanted, and still, I want more.

As I close my eyes, I remember I hate wanting.

But somehow it doesn’t matter.