then he was leaning forward and his knees were trembling against the back of my legs and he was coming and so was I, grinding my teeth together to keep from crying out loud. Luca's hand dug into my hip and jerked me backward as he powered into me, his balls slapping against me, his come shooting deep and his tip throbbing against my wall.
We came together, moving in sync, me thrust back as he pushed forward, slow, savage grinding of our bodies together, instinctively seeking to go deeper, more, harder. I heard his breath coming in ragged gasps behind me. The orgasm washing through me was like a tsunami of sensate delight, a true agony of ecstasy, too much thrilling raging rampant pleasure to contain, light bursting behind my eyes and in every synapse, every muscle clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing.
As Luca went limp on top of me, I wondered, if it felt that good to have his fingers down there, if I might like it even more with his manhood. I worried about it hurting, since his fingers, even two of them, were significantly smaller than his cock.
I knew then that I'd try it. I'd let him. I was glad I hadn't then and there, though, for I was learning I was vocal, and enjoyed letting myself shriek and moan out loud. Stifling my voice during sex seemed to dampen the pleasure I got from it, as silly as that may sound. The knowledge that we were within earshot of his entire family made the experience seem deliciously illicit and exhilaratingly naughty.
Luca slid out of me and helped me climb onto the bed, lay down next to me. " Mio dio , Delilah. The things you do to me."
I laughed. "I do to you? You're the one sticking your fingers in my asshole."
"True, but you liked it, I am fairly certain," Luca said, grinning.
"Oh, I liked it all right," I said.
He sobered. "I am sorry for pressuring you into something for which you were not ready."
I kissed him, just to reassure him. "You didn't pressure me, Luca. You asked, and I said not now, and you let it go." I traced circles with my fingertip in the light dusting of hair on his broad chest, not quite looking at him. "I'm willing to try, if you want. It's just...not here, not now. Not with everyone awake and listening, and whatever."
"No, you are right. This was perhaps not the best time for such things." He gave me a playful slap on the ass. "Especially since you make such loud, wonderful noises."
I blushed and buried my face against him again, my words muffled by his skin. "I am kind of noisy, huh?"
"Yes, and I love it."
There was an awkward tension suddenly, stemming from his use of the "L" word. Again, the panic hit me, and I tensed, my breath catching as if a weight had settled on my chest. Run. Run. Run. My heartbeat was a rapid-fire thumping, and I wanted, in that moment, to get up, throw some clothes on, and flee, find a cab to anywhere. Love? No. No no no. I tried to tell myself he hadn't meant it like that, but it didn't help. I couldn't deal with being in love, being loved. I was in Italy to find myself, to figure out who I was, to get some life experience, some sexual experience. I was getting sexual experience in spades, and I was loving it, but the rest? Not so sure.
Who was I? Who was Delilah Flores? I knew I liked writing, and dancing. I liked wine. I liked sex, it seemed. I never really had before, it had just been something that happened because I was married and Harry was so damned persistent about it. But I'd never liked it, wanted it, needed it. Now, since meeting Luca, I couldn't get enough. Even now, barely ten minutes after a mind-blowing orgasm, I wanted Luca again.
So I liked sex, a lot.
A thought blew through my head. What would sex with Brad from Chicago have felt like? Would it have been different? What about someone else? A random man, someone from a different country, a different city? The body parts all went in the same places in the same way, so in some sense I thought it might all be pretty much the same. Right? But what if a
We came together, moving in sync, me thrust back as he pushed forward, slow, savage grinding of our bodies together, instinctively seeking to go deeper, more, harder. I heard his breath coming in ragged gasps behind me. The orgasm washing through me was like a tsunami of sensate delight, a true agony of ecstasy, too much thrilling raging rampant pleasure to contain, light bursting behind my eyes and in every synapse, every muscle clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing.
As Luca went limp on top of me, I wondered, if it felt that good to have his fingers down there, if I might like it even more with his manhood. I worried about it hurting, since his fingers, even two of them, were significantly smaller than his cock.
I knew then that I'd try it. I'd let him. I was glad I hadn't then and there, though, for I was learning I was vocal, and enjoyed letting myself shriek and moan out loud. Stifling my voice during sex seemed to dampen the pleasure I got from it, as silly as that may sound. The knowledge that we were within earshot of his entire family made the experience seem deliciously illicit and exhilaratingly naughty.
Luca slid out of me and helped me climb onto the bed, lay down next to me. " Mio dio , Delilah. The things you do to me."
I laughed. "I do to you? You're the one sticking your fingers in my asshole."
"True, but you liked it, I am fairly certain," Luca said, grinning.
"Oh, I liked it all right," I said.
He sobered. "I am sorry for pressuring you into something for which you were not ready."
I kissed him, just to reassure him. "You didn't pressure me, Luca. You asked, and I said not now, and you let it go." I traced circles with my fingertip in the light dusting of hair on his broad chest, not quite looking at him. "I'm willing to try, if you want. It's just...not here, not now. Not with everyone awake and listening, and whatever."
"No, you are right. This was perhaps not the best time for such things." He gave me a playful slap on the ass. "Especially since you make such loud, wonderful noises."
I blushed and buried my face against him again, my words muffled by his skin. "I am kind of noisy, huh?"
"Yes, and I love it."
There was an awkward tension suddenly, stemming from his use of the "L" word. Again, the panic hit me, and I tensed, my breath catching as if a weight had settled on my chest. Run. Run. Run. My heartbeat was a rapid-fire thumping, and I wanted, in that moment, to get up, throw some clothes on, and flee, find a cab to anywhere. Love? No. No no no. I tried to tell myself he hadn't meant it like that, but it didn't help. I couldn't deal with being in love, being loved. I was in Italy to find myself, to figure out who I was, to get some life experience, some sexual experience. I was getting sexual experience in spades, and I was loving it, but the rest? Not so sure.
Who was I? Who was Delilah Flores? I knew I liked writing, and dancing. I liked wine. I liked sex, it seemed. I never really had before, it had just been something that happened because I was married and Harry was so damned persistent about it. But I'd never liked it, wanted it, needed it. Now, since meeting Luca, I couldn't get enough. Even now, barely ten minutes after a mind-blowing orgasm, I wanted Luca again.
So I liked sex, a lot.
A thought blew through my head. What would sex with Brad from Chicago have felt like? Would it have been different? What about someone else? A random man, someone from a different country, a different city? The body parts all went in the same places in the same way, so in some sense I thought it might all be pretty much the same. Right? But what if a
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