I’d never known lemons could be erotic until I nodded breathlessly and he brought a morsel of the yellow flesh to my mouth. The Italian fruit was so sweet, you could eat the rind, and I closed my eyes as he fed it to me, little piece by little piece.
“Now, me,” he stated, squeezing the other half of the lemon between my breasts.
The cool liquid made my flesh pebble as it travelled down my trembling belly to my groin trailed and down one inner thigh.
Dante hummed as he got to work, his tongue hot and lashing against my flesh as he licked me clean, tweaking my nipples as he worked. When he dropped to his knees in the grass and collected my thighs to put them over his strong shoulders, I let myself go limp, supported entirely by my tied hands and his broad back.
He licked up either side of my thighs, sucking at the skin until not a trace of sweet lemon remained.
“Lemon with honey is the best combination,” he murmured almost to himself before nosing the top of my pussy, taking in a deep breath of my scent.
Dio mio, it was sexy as hell that he loved the smell of me like that.
A moment later, he parted my swollen folds and dipped his tongue inside me.
My womb coiled tight like a spring instantly.
“Fuck,” I shouted coarsely.
Dante moaned in response, the vibration sweet agony on my clit as he took it between his lips and assaulted it with his tongue.
This was sex.
This was pleasure.
This was what I’d been missing my entire life.
I felt no shame as I rode Dante’s talented tongue, as he slid one then two then three fingers into my sex and pumped them until I writhed and moaned.
I had been naked before. I had fucked before.
But I had never let another person into my body and mind to fuck them both.
Not until Dante.
He was under my skin and in my blood. His aroma was the only thing my nose could scent even in a lemon grove. There was no night sky above me, no ground beneath, not even any gravity except the magnetism exerted by the man eating like a glutton between my thighs.
I was nothing but his and he was nothing but mine.
It was that thought that alchemized my body from solid to gas, my limbs dissolving into smoke that threatened to carry away on the breeze.
I came and came and Dante ate and ate until all I could do was fight to get breath in my lungs.
When he stood up, his mouth and chin glistened with me. He didn’t wipe it off when he took my lips in a savage kiss, eating at me as he’d eaten at my cunt.
There was no gentleness left in him, only hot need and fierce aggression. He grunted as he lifted my thighs over his forearms and notched his thick shaft at my center. His sweaty forehead was pressed to mine as we both looked down at where our bodies joined.
A second later, he thrust into to me to the hilt.
I screamed, but it felt like a hallelujah.
He fucked me hard, like I was vessel and not a woman. Like I was built for this, for him to fuck me and use me and fill me up with his cum.
It wasn’t debasing or wrong.
It was so hot, it melted my insides, turned my brain to goo.
“Dai!” I urged him. “Di più.”
Harder.
My teeth clanged as he took my ass in his broad hands, pinning me mid-air so that he could do as I bade.
He fucked me so hard his cock met my cervix with a bite of pain.
But it was pain that bloomed into bone rattling pleasure.
I gritted my teeth to absorb the shock and fisted my hands in the rope that held me up so I could try to fuck back against him.
“Cazzo, come sei bagnata,” he growled over the wet slap of his balls against my drenched core.
Fuck, you’re so wet.
I was. The sloppy sounds and smooth, liquid glide of his hot length inside me was almost too much to bear.
“I’m going to come to so hard,” I whimpered, a little scared by the looming weight of my climax bearing down on me.
“Come with me,” he ordered, taking my mouth for a moment even though we were both breathing too hard to make it last. “Milk my cock with your sweet, tight cunt.”
Dio mio, I mouthed on a silent screen as he bent his head to bite at the junction of my neck and shoulder while his cock hit a spectacular angle inside me that set something off like powder keg in my gut.
I burst apart with pleasure, coming on his driving dick in a rush that soaked his groin and my thighs. He cursed in Italian as he felt me clench almost painfully all around him, as bucked my hips fruitless both trying to increase the sweet agony and end it before I died.
Moments later, he seated himself at the very end of me and whispered my name like a final prayer before he came. He came so much it leaked out around his thick cock and dripped down my thighs.
It was messy and loud, utterly filthy.
“That was incredible,” I croaked into his damp neck as he held me up though I didn’t know how he had the strength.
“Completamente,” he agreed on a hoarse whisper.
Completely.
“Let’s do it again,” I said, not even sure how much of it was a joke and how much of it was a rabid, reckless wish.
He was my drug. Even after taking a hit, I craved more with an intensity that was next to madness.
His laugh stirred sweat-wet hair. “Do you know how it makes me feel to see you as the ice queen for everyone else and the fiery temptress for me and me alone?”
He pulled back, letting my legs slide to the ground so he could untie my hands. His strong thumbs worked the stiffness out of my joints before he raised each palm to his mouth to place a kiss in the center the way he was making a habit of doing.
“It makes me feel like a king,” he confessed.
“A Don,” I corrected, gasping as he bent to collect me in his arms to carry me back to the house. It was archaic, but I was grateful because it seemed my bones had melted. “A Don and his Donna.”
Thirteen
Elena
One week in Italy felt like an entire lifetime.
For the first time since I was fourteen, I didn’t have a job to occupy my time, but that didn’t mean I was lazy.
To my surprise, Tore ran a business out of his steeply terraced lemon orchard and olive grove. He made boutique olive oil that sold for over one hundred euros a jar and limoncello so bright and creamy, I found myself liking the liquor for the first time in my life. He took me with him to tour the processing house where the olives were pressed and I helped a group of workers pick Meyer lemons one day, collecting them in old school huge wicker baskets the women propped on their hips like babies and the men on their hatted heads.
Dante was in and out of the house planning with wedding with Mirabella and taking meetings with Rocco to plan a two-pronged assault on the Cosa Nostra, in America and in Italy. I tried not to think about what would happen if we didn’t come up with a plan to pull off the wedding without Dante having to marry her. Mama’s words echoed in my ears. If anyone could fix this problem, it was me or Dante.
News from New York was grim. Marco had survived his first week post-surgery, but there were any number of complications that could arise and he was still in a medically induced coma. The di Carlos had ambushed another deal with the Basante cartel and set fire to a construction site owned by one of Dante’s shell corporations that set them back millions of dollars. I’d Facetimed with Aurora and Bambi once, but even the little girl seemed tense and frightened. They didn’t say anything about Marco and when I asked about Bambi’s boyfriend still scaring her, she clammed up. I was desperate to get back to the city, but I hadn’t figured out yet how to do so without Dante going to jail.