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)
When he slows his feverish pace, I wonder if he’s holding back so he doesn’t come too soon. All of my men always make sure I come first, and usually more than once.
Instead he stands, and I wrap my legs around him. “Come join us, brother.” Matteo gathers the fabric of my skirt around my waist, baring my backside to Fiero.
Fiero disappears for a brief moment and returns with a small bottle of lube; we keep extras around the house for opportunities just like this. Moments later, he rips the thin lace of my panties so they fall away, and the thick head of his cock pushes at my back entrance.
Once the head makes entry, the rest of Fiero’s long length slips in easily, and I moan at the unbearably blissful sensation of fullness. I cling to Matteo’s shoulders as the two men get into a rhythm, one fucking in as the other pulls out.
Fiero reaches between his brother and me to find my clit, and as he rubs it I let out a stream of expletives, some of them Italian that I’ve picked up over the past year. Soon, I can’t form words at all as I start to come apart. I fall to pieces, knowing that both of them have me. They surround me with their love, and keep me coming and coming and coming.
The two brothers soon join me, reaching their peaks together just moments later, coming deep inside me, filling me full.
Afterward, they collapse onto chairs, Matteo still holding me in his arms. We rest for a while in contented silence before Fiero stands to leave, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I want to get a little more work in before dinner.”
His show last year in the US went very well. He has a steady stream of commissions, though he also makes time to explore new directions when inspiration strikes.
The style of his art has gradually shifted from solely abstract works to more figurative pieces, especially feminine forms, which always manage to convey a shy sensuality. He never gives the figures distinct features, though, and always depicts them in at least some clothing, adding to their air of almost innocent seduction.
I know I’m his inspiration, and I’m incredibly flattered, but also a little embarrassed. The newer pieces have proved very popular in galleries in Naples and Rome, and his agent has been making arrangements for a show in Paris next year.
Later in the evening, the three of us go to the restaurant, where Giovanni’s already at work. Signora Bestia and Nonna Sofia are there, too, but Giovanni gets me alone shortly after we arrive, inventing an errand and leading me out the back entrance.
“You look beautiful tonight, dolcezza. There’s a glow about you.” He brushes hair back from my face and cups my cheek, searching my eyes.
“Mmmm. Is that right? Maybe it’s the moonlight.” I have my own suspicions about the reason for the glow, but for now, they are only suspicions. “Maybe it’s you and your brothers making me so happy.”
“Then we must be glowing too.” He gives my lips a little taste, then a longer exploration. “Have you ever seen anyone as happy as the four of us?”
I don’t answer, because my mouth is otherwise occupied. He presses me back against the brick wall of the building, and pushes his hips to mine as his hand strokes up my side. “I wish the restaurant wasn’t so busy.”
“That’s the price you pay for making such good food and wine,” I murmur between kisses.
“I think they’re all here because they heard rumors about the American’s soft bread rolls.” He squeezes my ass, making play of his words.
“You’re funny.” I pull back from him, then lean in for one last taste. “You’d better get back inside. I don’t want Nonna coming after me.”
“She loves you, you know?” He takes my hand and leads me back into the building as my heart expands to twice its size.
I don’t know if that’s quite true about Nonna, but she bosses me around like she does everyone else, so in her own way, she makes me feel like I’m part of the family. After warning me off her grandsons last year, she never brought up the topic again. For a while, she made it clear without words that she didn’t approve of our arrangement, but eventually she softened, if you can use that word for Nonna. At Christmas, she gave me a sweater that she knitted especially for me, and I had to wipe away tears when I unwrapped it.
Signora Bestia and I had a conversation when I returned to Italy after my graduation. She didn’t understand my relationship with her sons, but she acknowledged that the younger generation is modernizing the country’s old ways, as it should be, she said. She expressed the belief that people should do what makes them happy, as long as they’re not hurting others. I had a few tears that day, too, when she told me that her sons were the happiest that she’d ever seen them.