Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“I can see how anyone would love it here and have a hard time leaving.”
We gaze out at the sea for a while. Boats bob in the distance, some of them heading in as the sun goes down.
“Have you seen Fiero?” I ask.
Giovanni chuckles. “He’s still in his studio. He didn’t even come in for lunch. I took a plate to him, too. ”
“I’d like to see him. Can I go out that way?” I indicate a set of steps at the other end of the terrace.
He leads me over to the steps, gesturing as he answers. “Yes, down this path and to the left. You’ll see the way from there. I look forward to seeing you tonight, Daniela.”
He makes my name sound just as lovely as his brothers do. When I look at him to tell him I’ll see him later, he holds my gaze for several seconds, until I have to look away so he won’t see my cheeks redden.
I hesitate at the studio door, wondering if I should disturb Fiero. My desire to see him wins out, and I knock, tentatively at first, then a bit stronger. The door opens, and when he sees that I’m alone, Fiero pulls me inside and wraps himself around me.
“Bella, I’ve missed you.” Before I can respond, he kisses me, reminding me how much I’ve missed him too.
“I heard you were hard at work all day.”
“And I heard you were sleeping, or I wouldn’t have left you alone.”
Keeping my hand tucked warmly in his, Fiero leads me into his studio, a large room filled with work tables, pedestals, several shelving units and cabinets, and in a corner, a couch and low coffee table. There are forms of both stone and clay that appear to be in progress.
“What are you working on?”
“Several things, actually.” His voice has an energy to it that’s new to me. Despite having been in here all day, he doesn’t sound fatigued or frustrated at all, as I’ve sometimes seen him in his temporary US studio.
He indicates a few small clay works – studies, he calls them – and leads me to a larger, stone sculpture. It’s abstract, as most of his work is, but somehow it conveys something feminine. Without there being any particular detail I can point to, it reminds me of the beautiful, rolling hills that surround us here.
“It’s looking really good,” I tell him.
He squeezes my hand. “Thank you. I’m hoping to be able to finish it while I’m here this week.”
“Will you have time to join us for dinner tonight?”
We’d both been looking at his sculpture, but now he gives me his full attention. “Yes, of course. In fact, I have time for you right now.”
He takes me through a doorway at the back of the studio, pausing to push me against the doorframe and taste my lips, while pressing the length of his body into mine.
Though his kiss is passionate, there’s a different energy to it also. He is still very much Fiero, but there’s a sense of peace and groundedness to his movements that was missing when he was in the States. He clearly belongs here, and he’s obviously inspired by being home.
We continue past a small kitchen and bath and a bedroom, and then into a second bedroom, where he pushes the door closed behind us and brings his mouth back to mine. He interrupts our kiss only to pull my shirt over my head before removing the rest of my clothing, and has us down on the bed in mere seconds, again locking his lips to mine as we tangle together.
His hands smooth over my thighs, my back, my hips. “I’ve been dreaming of these curves all day. It’s been too long since I’ve had you, bella.”
“Yes, too long,” I agree. When I reach for his belt, he helps me, and soon he’s gloriously naked, mine to explore with hands, mouth, and lips.
When I stroke my hand over his already-hard cock, he groans. “I need to be inside you.” Finding that I’m as wet as he is hard, he moves over me, lines himself up and pushes inside.
My breath catches as he fills me, slides slowly out, and pounds back inside. The bed knocks against the wall with the power of Fiero’s thrusts, and I cry out, glad that we’re not in the main house and I don’t need to censor my pleasure.
He has me calling his name and digging my nails into the muscles on his back as he pistons in and out, demonstrating the truth of his claim that he missed me. He may be passionate about his art, but he makes me feel like his muse as he savors my body, both inside and out.
His cock strokes my pussy as his hands and mouth possess the rest of me. He reaches between us and presses my clit, making me see stars, and fucks me harder, harder, harder.