My Italian BFF

Chapter One

How could that scumbag leave me? He wasn’t even that good-looking. Well, he was, but still. We had been together for three years and he just decided out of the blue that he was not happy and that he wanted to move on with his life. He always thought he was better than me. He owned his own business, and I was just a barmaid. I might have been just a barmaid, but at least I was happy. Well, I was happy before he upped and left to screw a leggy blonde.

Who knew he was even into the bimbo type? She barely had two brain cells to rub together. I looked in the mirror, trying to be objective. My hair could have been straighter or curlier, my hair was a weird in-between that didn’t quite fit into either category. My hazel eyes, unfortunately, had bags underneath and dark circles from working late shifts at the restaurant. Not that he ever saw them. I always wore enough makeup to cover them when he was around.

The newer model was much skinnier than me. I was more of a curvy girl, but in all honesty, who wanted to cuddle a stick insect. So, I had a bit more junk in the trunk, but I thought that was supposed to be a good thing.

I knew logically that I was better off without him, but I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about myself. My size and shape had always been something I worried about. I looked nothing like the ideal woman that society portrayed, but I tried to think logically about it. I had seen photos of icons like Marilyn Monroe, and she wasn’t skin and bone, she had the same stomach podge and thick thighs as me, and she was considered to be one of the sexiest women alive during her era.

I had my own place and my own money; I didn’t need to rely on Spencer. Unlike the newbie, who was an unemployed gold digger. My place wasn’t a palace. It was a simple one-bedroom apartment with an open-planned living area, but it was mine, and that was what mattered. I sat on my black leather sofa that night and complained to Luca.

Luca was my best friend. We worked together, and we met through the restaurant a few years before. The day we met, Luca stopped me abruptly, as I was serving drinks and started speaking Italian to me.

According to him, I had typical Italian features and a Mediterranean glow. He had been so excited to meet someone else with Italian roots that he jumped into a full-blown conversation in Italian. As far as I knew, there was no Italian blood in me and I certainly didn’t speak Italian, which was exactly what I told him. We had both found the incident so amusing that we went out for drinks together after the shift and had been close friends ever since.

Over the years, he had turned into my BFF, so he was the first person I rang as soon as the tears subsided. He had said he would come over and bring some drinks so we could commiserate Spencer’s misfortune at being stupid enough to let me go. Luca had a way of always finding something positive in everything, no matter how dire the situation.

I changed into my pale pink flannel nightdress and wiped my tear-stained face with my face wipes. I felt comfortable with Luca like I could be myself, even when I was a mess. When the buzzer sounded, I pressed the button to let him in without a second thought and busied myself getting the vegetable pizza out of the oven. I was still bent over the oven when he walked in.

“How can anyone resist a sight like that? Spencer is clearly crazy.” Luca always knew how to make me feel better. I was instantly feeling more confident about myself. I gave him my sweetest smile as I placed the pizza on the coffee table. Luca was busy unloading his bags and placing the contents on the table beside the pizza. I fetched the plates and shot glasses before dropping down beside him on the sofa. He wasted no time getting the tequila poured into the glasses, we didn’t bother with lemon or salt, just knocked them back. I grabbed the pizza cutter and started cutting it up, handing Luca a piece on a plate and grabbing one for myself.

"One day, I will take you to Italy and show you what a real pizza is like. There's a great place in Verona that I go to with my younger brother."

“I'll hold you to that. I feel better about everything already. Just you being here helps.” I knocked the shots back as fast as he could pour them. I just wanted to forget all about Spencer and get some self-respect back. Tequila was not my drink of choice, but that night, anything would do. The tequila took the edge off, which I needed and helped to erase some of the pain I was feeling. I knew I was getting out of control, but I couldn’t care less. I knew I needed to slow down, but I didn’t want to, and I wasn’t going to.

Like any good BFF, Luca matched me shot for shot. At least if I was going to be a drunken mess, I wouldn’t be the only drunken mess in the room.

“Rylie, you were always too good for him, anyway.” I loved the sentiment, but I was no longer sure it was true. I felt cheap and trashy. We had a good relationship; I did my thing, he did his, and we enjoyed each other’s company. He could be a nightmare at times, but we got on well when it mattered. So, our personalities were at odds some of the time. Did it matter when we were matched in the bedroom? I didn’t know what to say to Luca for the first time ever because I didn’t believe I was good in any shape or form.

I just felt ugly inside and out. As he went to pour another set of shots, I took the bottle from him and started drinking it straight from the bottle. It didn’t last long; us passing it back and forth until we had drained it dry. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table, opened it, and took a long swig. Wincing as the cheap liquor flowed down my throat.

I could feel the alcohol starting to take effect, but it wasn’t enough to drain the negative thoughts from my brain. The burn of the whiskey in my throat at least meant I was feeling something other than self-pity.

“Did you mean what you said? About me being too good for Spencer.” I was slurring my words and I couldn’t care less. I just needed to feel better. If alcohol wouldn’t banish the negativity, then maybe some positive thoughts would help. Maybe I could rely on Luca to compliment me out of my funk.

“You’re amazing, you know that, Dolcezza.” The sound of his accent as it thickened over my pet name sent a tingle of lust through me. He always called me Dolcezza, but that time when he called me sweetness in Italian, it invoked a wanton urge. I leaned over and kissed him; we had kissed before but never anything like this. This was a passionate, alcohol-fuelled kiss, not our usual friendly nature.

I pulled back from him, suddenly realising I had crossed the line. I chastised myself. What on earth was I thinking? The truth was, I wasn’t thinking. I was spiralling out of control and was trying to feel anything I could, to try to stop the numb self-loathing I was experiencing.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” Before I could finish my apology, his lips were on mine, hot and heavy, he forced my lips apart, his tongue exploring my mouth as though it was as interesting as backpacking through the rainforest. I wrapped my arms around his neck and allowed him to pull me on top of him, straddling him and feeling the pressure of him between my thighs. The feeling of his desire for me drove my arousal higher and I could feel my peaks pushing against my bra, straining to break free.

As if reading my mind, he pulled my nightshirt over my head, unleashing my nakedness to him. He paused, looking down at my chest and purred at the sight of me, before bringing my mouth back to his forcefully with his hands cupped around my head. The heat spreading through me erased all thoughts other than the ones of what would happen next. My imagination was reeling. His skilful hands released the hooks of my bra in one move, releasing my bosom into his waiting hand. As his thumbs circled my peaks, making them erect further, a moan of satisfaction erupted from me.

Unexpectedly, he placed his hands firmly under my thighs and lifted me effortlessly as I nuzzled into his neck. Laying kisses along the line of his neck and nibbling just a little. He carried me to the bedroom as I continued kissing his neck and running my tongue up to his earlobe. As he dumped me roughly onto the soft mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before turning his attention to his jeans.

When his trousers fell to the floor, I gasped with anticipation of feeling him inside me, seeing the size of his manhood naked beneath the layer of denim. Before I had a chance to think about it further, he grabbed my legs and pulled me to the edge of the bed. Sinking to his knees the second he had me where he wanted me, and licking at my most sensitive place, I quivered and bucked at the overwhelming sensation of his warm tongue on my body.

“Luca, that feels so good. Oh my God.” My breathy words spurred him on further and he increased his speed and slid two fingers into me. The sensation of him slowly rotating them while kissing me intimately made me gasp and beg for more.

“What Dolcezza? Tell me what you want.”

“You, now.” He stood, stooping to grab my ankles, and lifting them into the air, pushing them towards me, which lifted my bottom from the bed. Effortlessly, he slid himself into my moist centre, slowly, giving me time to get used to his presence. As he removed all but the tip of himself, I groaned at the sudden emptiness.

It didn’t last long, as he buried himself inside hard before pausing again. Over and over again, slowly teasing me into a crazy desperation, needing his presence inside me more than anything else in the world. My reaction to him was electric, nothing like I had felt before, and I cried out, begging for him to thrust faster. I had always thought s*x was enjoyable, but Luca was something else. It was mind-blowing and a completely new experience.

I couldn’t think clearly through the fog of pleasure. I knew I was close to explosion. The build-up of tension was almost too much to bear. I was whimpering with frantic craving, a need to feel release. As I cried out in despair, he increased his pace. Moving quickly and expertly, pushing me closer and closer to oblivion. As he exploded inside me, the sensation tipped me over the edge, making my climax come thick and fast, forcing me to dizzy heights.

Once he had recovered, he lifted me again, laying me carefully on my pillow, before climbing on the bed beside me. I rolled over onto my side to face him and smiled sheepishly. As he stroked my cheek, any concern I had vanished. His eyes on me the whole time made me feel treasured, revered even. I had no idea how I had gone from heartbroken and worthless to being laid there feeling valued in just one night, but it had happened.

I had slept with my best friend, and it was the best thing I had ever done. There were some concerns in the back of my mind, but I pushed them aside. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the touch of his hand on my skin. As I laid there spent, I felt wanted and desirable, and it was an addictive feeling. I shifted myself closer to him, wrapping my arm over him, and fell asleep in his arms, with his head resting on mine.