Carnem Levare

COPYRIGHT NOTE

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© Jaxx Summers (Janice G. Ross) October 2014

Published by Cultural Cocktails

Smashwords Edition

Editing and Formatting by

Karen Perkins of
LionheART
Publishing House

Cover Design by
Chic
Lioness

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and events are strictly the product of the author or used
fictitiously. Any similarities between actual persons, living or
dead, events, setting or locations are entirely coincidental.

Janice G. Ross
for urban and cultural reads:

Damaged Girls I, II & III

Island Hopping Series (Books 1 & 2):
Jumping Ship & Trinidad & Tobago

Loving Nate

Jezebel Jones, A Love Story

Just Between Us – Short Story Anthology
(Love Letter to Jahdai)

Jaxx Summers
for paranormal lovers:

Samaria (Books 1 & 2): Warrior Princess
& Vampire Queen

Mysticism & Myths Collection (Carnem
Levare)

Carnem Levare
is the Latin term signifying
the start of the pre-Lenten celebration. In essence it means to
remove the meat. This term came to be known as carnival: a
celebration, a feast, a recognition of cultural differences, and a
time to lose one’s self.

Stefano Bonaro awoke floating face down in a hidden
canal. The alley appeared to be closing in on him. He gasped,
swallowing a mouthful of fluid. His nostrils filled. He jolted and
flipped over onto his back. Looking up, he could see a distant
sparkle, letting him know that night was dipping away. The stars
clung on, in hopes of providing a touch of added pleasure, Stefano
reasoned. He couldn’t understand how he’d ended up this way and in
this location.

Luckily, he’d learned to swim at an early age, so he
propelled around the marble foundation of a palatial structure. At
first he felt lost in the once lonely lagoon but, as the edges of
the waterfront came into view, Stefano relaxed. Arriving at the
steps of the dock, he quickly took to dry land rung by rung. Once
settled on the planks, he rummaged through his mind. He remembered
drifting along with Anastasia; an argument. Or rather, emotional
pain and her speaking in calm phrases. He pictured the detached
manner of her rejection.

Rejection
!

And then it all came back . . .

Stefano dove back into the water, swimming far out
into the Grand Canal and searching for anything that would confirm
his thoughts. He sought to debunk what his mind confided. Tears
clashed with his surroundings. He dove under, plunging further into
the abyss. Forcing his legs to flash fiercer, tearing through the
heavy fluids.

“
Anastasia,” he gurgled. He was
barely able to make out trash that had been thrown against the sea
floor, and his frustration at this unproductive search
increased.

By the time he returned to ground, he panted in
exasperation. And dangled his legs from the edge of the pier,
slowly manipulating the waves. He studied his limbs—the
watered-down slacks that clung to muscular legs and long fingers
that were pale and colorless. A dingy white shirt threatened to
smother him entirely, so he loosened the top two buttons and
collar. His mind raced as he considered the inward flow from the
Adriatic Sea in relation to its exit. In search of true love,
Stefano would brave the entire roundabout—even out to the massive
entrance. He pondered its strength with slight fear. Common sense
forced him to finally step onto the main road.

As his countrymen walked along the paving, they did
not take even a moment to acknowledge him. Stefano was distraught.
He buried his face in his palms. His weeping was loud, yet no one
comforted him. They went about their lives, oblivious to Stefano’s
pain. His fingers rested at his forehead before running through the
full length of his copper-brushed, curly brown coils. For one so
appealing to study, his strong square jaw might as well have been
caved in, since heartache so tragically robbed Stefano’s joy.

He forced himself to stand tall, pacing slowly
around. His feet shuffled. The sun was now blazing into his face.
Of the few people around, Stefano was the only one not in a hurry.
He turned in the direction of home, nearly being overrun by another
man that was several inches taller. And as Stefano sidestepped,
another overtook him. Preparing to withstand the effect, the second
man passed right through him.

Stefano was now frozen in the middle of the path. He
no longer tried to dodge his peers. Instead, he allowed them all to
overtake him. He coughed and spun around. For whatever reason,
Stefano was no longer a part of their realm. He had lost Anastasia
and at the same time, it seemed, his humanity.

*****

“
Stefano, I promise to love you
with my very last breath,” Anastasia declared.

They were hiding behind a set of freshly primed
shrubbery. The docking area for the Soranzo home was built with
lightly colored stones that were a perfect complement to thick
layers of marble flooring. Water would dash against and onto the
entrance. But it was ever silent and peaceful now. At times, the
cinnamon-shaded gondola would brush against the concrete, though it
was the seductive whistles of the breezes rushing the waves that
soothed the soul.

A leaf clung to Anastasia’s loose bun, and Stefano
considered it to be the perfect opportunity to reach up and remove
it. In the process, he took full advantage in trailing the back of
his right hand along her lengthy lashes, powdered cheeks, perky
lips and the exposure of her breasts. She shivered, but clearly
fought to remain still. Stefano wanted a reaction. He needed to
know that he was capable of making her lose control because, in her
presence, he was irrevocably lost.

Rather than withdraw his hand from her milky tones,
he allowed it to settle between her peaks. For a moment, his eyes
withdrew from their course, seeking approval from her gaze.

His lover was smitten.

As she sat in peaceful lust, the heaving of her pale
bosoms continued to deepen. Stefano’s own chest begun pounding. His
lips were suddenly dry and in need of moisture. His tongue traced
along the edges, while he palmed the astonishing growth of her
womanly figure. She was perfectly packaged, waiting to be unwrapped
someday. Stefano envisioned that day, hoping in its fruition.

“
Anastasia, I promise to love you .
. .” His tone increased. He grew nervous, taking a deep breath
before continuing. “Forever Anastasia, forever. My love, I need
you.”

In all his nineteen years, Stefano had never taken a
woman. He was promised to Anastasia and she to him, and so they
waited to be husband and wife.

“
Must we wait forever?” Anastasia
asked, peering from beneath fluttering lashes. “Stefano, you were
mine before birth. I don’t need a vow to prove what is meant to
be.” Their families’ bond had been solidified when their mothers,
lifelong friends, had become pregnant and given birth on the same
day.

And so this day Stefano and Anastasia decided to no
longer wait for family and religion to dictate what they already
knew to be inevitable. Anastasia’s home was empty, save for a few
servants. She dismissed their presence. Her parents had gone off to
attend hours of revelries in preparation for the festivities.

Stefano had been inside of the Soranzo home many
times. There was very little that he had not seen, especially since
their families were engrained in each other’s lives. But today, he
would venture beyond his unspoken limits.

As they moved amongst the treasures of gold fixtures
and dusty rose furnishings, he dare not stop to admire. He had done
so many times before. While they climbed upwards from the lower
levels, his breathing sped up and heart pounded. Today, images and
shades became mere distractions on his path to manhood. Anastasia’s
gown was slightly raised, revealing the backs of gleaming white
shoes. Stefano advanced as she did, becoming entranced with her
scurrying.

Once they were inside Anastasia’s elaborate burnt
orange room, Stefano secured the lock. His lover stood only two
feet from his position. She extended her arms, giving him
permission to advance. He didn’t hesitate.

Since the time they’d been out in daylight, Stefano
had wondered what it would feel like to bury his head inside
Anastasia’s mountains. He dipped down to find out, first releasing
unwavering kisses upon her neck. Wasting no time, he speedily freed
a single breast from its restraint. He gasped at its fullness.
Anastasia advanced backwards. Reaching the simplistic cradle of her
nightly dreams, she spun around, encouraging him to loosen her
reins.

He panted after reaching only her petticoat and
linen undergarments. It was a task, but he was successful without
having to rip the brilliantly designed frock to shreds. He swiftly
removed his own attire, tossing everything aside. At five foot
eleven inches, his entire body was glorious and well cared for.
Anastasia ran her palms against the rise and dips of his broad
chest. Then she pulled away. He followed her scurry in
anticipation.

They moved in sync. Anastasia crawled backwards, her
backside trailing along the richly intense bedspread. Stefano
scurried as a smitten pet, his private brushing against the thick
covering. When his princess’s back reached the mountains of
pillows, he took advantage to dive onto her midsection. His mouth
trailed against her entire body, pleasuring as only an experienced
lover could do. But prior to this day, his count was null. Stefano
was only doing the things that his cravings dictated. He had
eagerly wanted to feel her bosoms against his tongue, so when he
tipped the pink flowers, he felt his flesh increase. This reaction
caused him to suckle a little more, tug a touch harder, and squeeze
to gain further traction.

“
Stefano,” Anastasia exclaimed.
“Inamorato . . . inamorato.”

Her declarations drove him wild. He gripped both
breasts, pushing them inward, milking their goodness. He moaned in
his efforts, she continued to call out his name. And only when he
received a significant fill from one toy did he move his fingers
lower. Stefano’s hands shook. His limbs felt mushy, his private
part firm, and his entire resolve thrilling. He was on the verge of
officially entering manhood, yet that achievement was minor in
comparison to the thought of solidifying his connection with his
creamy princess.

So when he used his fingers to tease at her insides,
Stefano became an experienced lover. His actions reflected
maturity. He instantly knew that in extending and contracting, in
expanding and decreasing his fingers, he would be able to pleasure
Anastasia. Although his flesh extended straight out and upward from
the bedding, he need not make himself a priority. In fact, he
rather enjoyed her reaction. While still engaged with her flesh, he
used his free hand to travel up her thighs, resting on her breasts.
No sooner was contact made with his palms, he wrapped barely
visible lips around her skin and nibbled.

Anastasia squealed. Her hips jolted back and forward
against his wrists. Her hands traveled downward to encourage his
entrance, demanding a deeper force. When his fingers could no
longer sustain the job, she forced him away.

In full view of his private salute, she wrapped her
fingers around his growth, pushing him toward a heap of
pillows.

“
Stefano,” she blushed,
“perfetto.”

Studying the glimmer of her blue pupils, he nodded.
Anastasia speedily embraced his slender member. He could tell that
her urges were increasing when her grip tightened and massaged.