I’ve always been confident around women, and I’ve never had any problems attracting them. I think my appeal isn’t just my looks, but that I never seem to need anyone. And this is true. It’s not an act. I don’t play hard to get, per se, but my heart never seems to follow where my body does.
As a result, I’ve had just a few long-term relationships. I’m not even sure Jana counts, to be honest. She got pregnant with Vanni after that one night I had with her. I got a phone call from her six weeks later, telling me she was going to have an abortion.
I’ll admit, my first thought was of relief. I was twenty-six and just coming into my own as an artist. I was afraid I would lose momentum if I got together with Jana, if she had the baby (though now looking back, perhaps this is what Grace feels when she thinks about us. The loss of her momentum).
But then the guilt set in. Good old Catholic guilt. I thought about my parents, and as complicated as they are, they’ve always made me strive to do more with my morals. There was definitely some pressure as well, when I broke the news to them. I would persuade Jana to have the baby, then I would marry her. It was the right thing to do, and I was raised to do the right thing. I’d just never been tested like that before.
So I convinced Jana to have the baby. I asked her to marry me.
And while our marriage was brief, it did resemble a relationship of sorts.
But my heart never opened for her. It opened for Vanni, of course. The love I felt for my son when he was born blew me right open, like it brought me into another world I didn’t even know existed.
That love was enough for me. The romantic, obsessive, head over heels love that I should feel for a woman? That didn’t interest me anymore. And when Jana and I divorced, I carried that preference with me. Even with Marika, I loved her company, loved the sex, but I didn’t love her. I didn’t need it. My art was enough to keep me challenged and whole and happy.
But now? Now … we’ll, I don’t know what’s happening, but my art is starting to feel like it’s not enough for me anymore. My art has always been about control. About creating an outcome with my own skill and persistence.
The way I feel about Grace? I have no control here. All I have is persistence, and the hope that however I feel about her, she might feel the same way. Right now we’re at that stage where the sex is amazing and I’m overly infatuated with her, but I’m balancing on the edge that separates the now from the future, ready to fall for the first time.
She glances at me, her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. She grins. “You’re thinking about me.”
I can’t hide from her. That’s the other thing.
“I’m always thinking about you,” I tell her. “You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. And you’re in every single thought in-between.”
She swallows, her shoulders relaxing. I know I come on strong. I wear my heart on my sleeve, I say things that perhaps are better suited to poets back in the day. But this is all part and parcel of me. I can’t change that. I don’t want to.
And it hasn’t scared her away. Yet.
The drive through the interior of the island takes a while longer. Grace gasps appreciatively when slices of the Tyrrhenian Sea start appearing beyond the hills. Soon, the car is coasting along the bays that make up the south side of the island, the sea an ombre of colors from deep, jewel-like navy blue, to turquoise and pale azure.
The sea breeze sweeps through the open windows, blowing Grace’s dress up just enough that I catch a glimpse of bare flesh.
“Mio Dio,” I say, my throat already hoarse at the sight. “Please tell me you’re wearing underwear.”
She clamps the skirt of her dress down and gives me a sheepish smile. “We were in such a rush to catch the ferry … I guess I forgot.”
But from the way she’s biting her lip, I know it was no accident.
I’m immediately hard.
Fuck.
“Show me,” I tell her, my eyes going from the winding road ahead to her lap.
“Nooo,” she says with a sly laugh. “You need to keep your eyes on the road.”
“I know this road and this car like the back of my hand. I can see it with my eyes closed. Your pussy, however … I’m afraid I need a little more experience.” I lick my lips, feeling my skin buzz with power. “Show me.”
She looks away, eyes on the cars ahead. Then she slowly slides her hands up her inner thighs, pushing her dress up until her pussy is bare for me to see, the sun coming through the windshield and hitting it just right.
My god.
I grip the steering wheel, bringing my eyes to the road as we handle another turn.
“Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice hoarse with want. Traffic starts to get heavy coming toward us, so I keep my attention focused straight ahead for a few moments, until we turn around a bend and the blue expanse of the sea appears again, sailboats bobbing in the distance.
But the view does nothing for me.
I look to Grace, and to my surprise, she’s leaning her seat back, her legs spread wide, the fingers of her right hand sliding up and down over her clit.
I didn’t think she’d do it, but now that she is, I realize what a mistake this is. This is pure torture, having to watch her do this and not have her myself, and I’m most likely going to drive this car right off a cliff.
I clear my throat. “Okay, you can stop,” I tell her. “This isn’t fair.”
“It was your idea,” she says. She opens her legs wider now and starts inserting her fingers inside. The sound is wet and lewd inside the car, her fingers shining. Her head rolls back against the seat and she lets out a low moan that I feel in the marrow of my bones.
I’m dead.
I tear my eyes away from her, my breath coming harsh now, while my cock is straining against the fly of my pants, growing tighter, bigger, and begging for attention. Heat courses through my veins, the temperature rising with each passing second.
“Oh,” she moans.
My eyes pinch shut for a moment, opening in time to take another curve.
I steal a glance at her again, watching as she fucks herself with her fingers, the sight, the sound, her wet and open mouth, all of it about to make my heart explode.
“I’m so close,” she says breathlessly, dragging out each word. I don’t care if she’s putting on a show or not, it’s dangerously hot all the same.
“Fuck it,” I growl.
I see a sliver of space on the side of the road, right below a rough cliffside of rosemary, and I yank the car over, slamming on the brakes. A cloud of dust rises up around the car, as other vehicles whiz past us, probably wondering why I would make such a harsh landing with a vintage Ferrari.
Because of Grace Harper, that’s why.
“Claudio,” she says, looking around.
I waste no time. I reach over and quickly unbuckle her seatbelt, then do the same to mine. Then I unzip my pants, my hand taking a firm hold of my cock as I pull it out, thick and hot in my grasp.
“Take off those sunglasses and come over here,” I tell her, slamming my seat back to give her more room. “I can’t stand another minute of this.”
She’s twisted in her seat to face me, but she doesn’t move. Her mouth is open in shock. I reach out and take her sunglasses off her face, tossing them into the back seat.