As I stood in front of her, her eyes wandered from mine, down my chest, and rested on the erection tenting my slacks. She bit her lip again.
“Come here.” I extended a hand toward her, and she accepted, placed her small palm against mine, and crawled across the bed toward me.
Emmy knelt in front of me, those large blue-gray eyes watching my movements as I freed my belt buckle.
She licked her lips as I unbuttoned my pants and then slowly tugged down my zipper. Leaning up on her knees, Emmy’s hands reached forward to help. I clasped her hands in mine, placing them firmly by her sides. “Behave.”
Her eyes widened at my warning, but she obeyed. She was naturally feisty yet so submissive in the bedroom. It was a big fucking turn-on. I pushed my jeans and boxers down my legs and then gripped my length. Her pulse fluttered erratically in her neck and her eyes zeroed in on my cock. I lazily stroked my length, slowly drawing my hand from base to tip. The desire in her eyes made me rock fucking hard.
I cupped Emmy’s cheek. “Come here, pretty girl.”
Looking up at me with complete lust, Emmy leaned forward and opened her mouth.
Fuckkk.
The warm caress of her tongue was fucking bliss. Emmy opened wider, her eyes still locked on mine as I pushed forward, filling her. When the head of my cock hit the back of her throat, she gagged slightly and I retreated, reluctantly dragging myself out. Still covered in her saliva, Emmy stroked me, her little hands massaging and caressing me. It felt amazing. It didn’t want to stop her but she still had far too many clothes on. I wanted to see her beautiful tits, to kiss her all over, to make her come, to fuck her senseless.
Grabbing the hem of her shirt, I lifted and she obediently raised her arms above her head, allowing me to remove it. She wore a lavender lace bra I hadn’t seen before. I liked that there were so many things to discover still. It was a pretty, frilly thing, but I wanted it the fuck off her body. Reaching behind her to free the clasp, the bra dropped down her arms and I removed it slowly while leaning down to kiss her full mouth. I didn’t think I could ever get tired of kissing her mouth. The little breathy sounds she made, the way her hands restlessly tugged me, trying to get closer. She was so sexual and sweet at the same time. It was heaven.
Emmy
Several weeks passed and Ben and I continued seeing each other regularly. I knew I was being delusional, I knew we weren’t dating. You didn’t date a man like Ben Shaw. He couldn’t be tamed. He was like Clooney. But we’d been having regular sex, enjoying meals together, and talking; he shared things with me, as I did with him. I had no idea what all that added up to. The question was, did it matter? A man like Ben had the potential to destroy me. I knew from that first time he’d been inside me, moving above me, his stubble scraping against my neck, his warm breath on my shoulder. We were closer than I’d been with anyone. My body was addicted, my heart was engaged, but my head knew this would probably end badly.
I had a weakness where he was concerned. I couldn’t stay away. His relationship with Fiona still worried me. We’d never spoken about that teary moment in his hotel room. Ben didn’t offer up the information about what Fiona was doing there that night, and I never asked.
Whatever their history, I wasn’t sure, but he was her golden boy and I was her country-bumpkin assistant. She freaked if he overlooked taking his vitamins. She’d no doubt think me touching him tainted him in some way.
Ben had casting calls and fittings during the day, which was fine, because Fiona kept me running. He sent me unexpected sweet texts while I was at work to let me know he was thinking of me. In one he grumbled about an outfit a designer had put him in. After some prodding, he’d sent me a funny picture. The outfit looked like a lampshade. But he still looked hot. My lampshade hottie.
Paris Fashion Week was coming up and I knew Ben was going to walk in several designers’ shows. I was excited to see him on the catwalk, with all eyes glued to him and knowing he was mine. I felt like Cinderella who’d somehow captured Prince Charming’s attention.
I glanced down at my watch; I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and see him. It was ridiculous how attached I had become to him.
• • •
Ben waved an airline ticket at me. “Milan tomorrow. Wanna come?”
Fiona hadn’t mentioned anything about Milan, which I took to mean I wasn’t invited. “I can’t just go to Milan with you. I have to work.”
He crossed the hotel room, his warm hand coming around me to cup my backside. “Oh, I’ll put you to work.” His hand caressed my bottom, pulling me closer so he could plant a soft kiss on my lips.
Pulling back before I got lost in his kisses, I placed a hand on his chest. “Fiona won’t just let me go with you guys for the fun of it.”
“She’s not coming. It’s just me. And you, if you’ll join me. It’s only one night.”
I looked at him skeptically. She wasn’t coming?
“She has doctor appointments. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Fiona,” he said.
The fact that he was willing to discuss me with Fiona was a big deal. He planted a soft kiss against my forehead before stepping away and pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed and resumed packing a small brown leather bag that sat open on his bed.
“Hey. It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Fine, and you?” He continued shoving items into the bag while I paced the room. Fiona was going to freak. “I’d like Emmy to join me in Milan. Can you do without her for a night?”
He paused, listening, while I held my breath.
“Thank you, that’d be great.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. “Go pack, babe.”
I stood there, dumbfounded. “She said yes?”
He flashed me a gorgeous smile. “She’s calling the airline now to get you a ticket.”
Fiona was calling to arrange my ticket? Had I entered an alternate universe? Clearly Ben had powers of persuasion with her. Something about the blind way she obeyed him didn’t sit well with me, but I nodded and ventured to my room.
When we arrived at the airline ticket counter Ben’s cheerful mood disappeared. The agent told him my ticket had been booked in coach, back of the plane, middle seat. With him sitting in first class, we wouldn’t be sitting together. It looked like Fiona had exacted her revenge.
Ben began conversing with the woman in French while I stood uselessly beside him. His jaw tensed while she clicked away at her keyboard.
I tugged on his arm. “It’s okay if we’re not together. It’s a quick flight.”
“I’m seeing if I can get you a seat in first class with me, and if not, I’m getting moved to coach.”
“Ben, no, that’s silly. I’m fine in coach.” It was Fiona’s way of pointing out my place.
He and the agent exchanged a few more tense words and then he pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card.
“You don’t have to do this; first class is expensive.”
“I want to, baby. Let me do this.” His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together.
I nodded, seeing that he wasn’t going to be deterred. It did feel nice to be looked after like this, though. And I’d never sat in first class before.
Soon we were seated in the wide, leather seats of the plane’s first tow, sipping champagne from crystal stemware. First class blew my expectations out of the water. Instead of having a cramped, smelly seat with someone bumping my arm and stealing my armrest, Ben and I lounged and chatted, sipped champagne, and nibbled on salted almonds. Before I knew it, we were deplaning and en route to our hotel.
• • •
“There’s someone I want to introduce you to,” Ben said, kicking off his shoes.
I’d envisioned a romantic candlelit dinner in the heart of Milan, but I nodded. “Okay.”
“Angelo and Rosa own a winery just outside the city. I haven’t seen them in years. We’ll have a tour and dinner, if that sounds okay to you.”
“Yes. Of course. I just need to shower.”
He nodded. “Will an hour work? I’ll call ahead.”
“An hour’s fine.” I’d have to hustle; I needed to shave, too.
Fifty-seven minutes later, I emerged from the marble bathroom showered and made up, dressed in a black pencil skirt, strappy heels, and a silver beaded tank top. Ben was lounging across the bed, reading a novel he’d picked up at the airport. I grabbed my little diamond-studded earrings left to me by my grandmother and stood in front of the bureau mirror to put them in. Ben rose from the bed, coming up behind me to sweep my hair over one shoulder, and planted soft kisses against the back of my neck.
“Mmm, that feels nice.” I dropped my head to rest against his shoulder and his arms came around me.
“You look beautiful.”
Our reflections staring back at me were a study in contrasts. Ben was a foot taller than me and strikingly handsome. The plain brunette I saw with him wasn’t beautiful to me, but I was glad he thought so.
Ben slipped on his loafers. His two-minute getting-ready ritual left him looking amazing, as usual. He was dressed in dark chinos and a polo shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looked casual yet still gorgeous.
We hailed a cab and were en route to the countryside, holding hands in the backseat. Homes and buildings dotted the rolling hills, which soon turned into an expanse of leafy green trees unlike any we had back home.
“So how do you know Angelo and Rosa?” I asked.
“Rosa is a friend of my mom’s from a long time ago. They used to model together during Milan Fashion Week. And now she runs a winery with her brother. I usually try to visit when I’m in town.”
I turned to face him. “She’s not the one you . . . lost your virginity to, is she?”
Ben laughed loudly, catching the attention of our cab driver in the mirror. “No.”
I wasn’t sure what was so funny about that, but when we arrived thirty minutes later and Rosa greeted us in the driveway, I understood. She was roughly fifty years old and time had not been kind to her. She was a large woman. She’d probably been quite attractive in her youth, but her face was now lined with deep wrinkles from working in the sun.
She pulled me into her arms while speaking in Italian to Ben. He laughed and conversed with her, though you could tell the language didn’t come as naturally to him as French. He struggled for words and nodded along. I worried that I’d be left out tonight if she and her brother spoke only Italian. Extra wine for me then. Rosa held me at arm’s length, surveying me from head to toe.
“So nice to see Ben with a real woman,” she said at last, her English heavily accented.
I wasn’t sure if I should take offense or thank her for the compliment. I chose the second. Ben’s arm looping around my waist sealed the deal. He was proud to introduce me to people he considered family friends.
“Emmy’s as real as they come.” He pressed a soft kiss to my temple.
Angelo came strolling out of the house, a straw hat atop his head, and joined us, hugging and kissing both Ben and me.
His English wasn’t quite as clear as Rosa’s, but at least I wouldn’t struggle tonight.
“Everything set up?” Ben asked, nodding toward a barn in the distance. I wondered what he had planned.
“Yes, please, go, enjoy,” Angelo said. “And we’ll see you for dinner in an hour or so.”
After greeting us, they shuffled back into the winery to attend to their customers. It was a beautiful day and there were several cars in the parking lot. Ben said we’d have dinner with them later, once the winery tours were done for the day. He took my hand and led me toward an old barn on the edge of the property.
The barn appeared to be several hundred years old. It was dimly lit and cool inside. Ben brought me to the back, where we walked down several steps to a rustic wine cellar. Stone floors and shelving units stacked with wine bottles lined the walls. There was a small round table set up in the center of the room with two bar stools, and the soft glow of white Christmas lights strung from the ceiling made the room romantic and alluring. On top of the table were a bottle of chilled white wine resting in a marble ice bucket along with a platter of assorted cheeses and sliced meats. It was a lovely, romantic gesture.
I glanced back at Ben. “Did you arrange this?”
He nodded, silently watching me. “Sort of a private tasting. I thought this might be more relaxing than joining one of their tours.”
Very thoughtful of him. He pulled out a stool and motioned for me to sit. Once we were both seated, Ben uncorked the bottle and poured us each a glass of wine.
“Cheers.” He clinked his glass to mine, his dark eyes still watching me.
“Cheers,” I murmured, bringing the glass to my lips. It reminded me of our first date, sharing a bottle of wine and some polite conversation. Of course, now we were much more well acquainted. And I felt slightly more comfortable around him, though he still sent my pulse spiraling out of control.
We sipped our wine and nibbled on delicious cheeses while Ben told me some of the vineyard’s history. It had been in the family for sixty years and run by the various relatives during that time. I liked that family values seemed to be alive and well in Italy. Big family dinners and running businesses together were the norm. It reminded me of the South in some ways. Soon the bottle was empty and Ben rose from his seat to select another from the hundreds surrounding us in the room.
I ventured over to where he was closely inspecting a bottle. “I’m guessing you’d like this
rosato
.” The word rolled from his tongue with his Italian pronunciation. “It’ll be fruity and light.”
“And it’s pink,” I added, brilliantly.
“Yes it is.” He smiled at me sweetly. “My favorite color.”
I raised a brow. “Pink is your favorite color?”
His hand pressed between my thighs, stroking delicately. “Pink is definitely my favorite color.” He smiled devilishly.
Whoa
.
Setting the bottle down on the shelf, Ben leaned in closer, bringing his hand to the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. He kissed along my mouth, jaw, and cheeks. Feeling lightheaded from the wine and the rush of blood pounding in my ears, I clutched his bicep. It was warm and solid under my palm.