Carpe Diem - Jesse 3 (3 page)

An unruly lock of hair hung down as he towered over me; that sexy lock of hair, it drove me wild. I bit my lip. He pushed it back with one hand as he fondled my breast with the other, pinching my nipple up to a hard point. His lips came down on mine and I melted into his authority. I was in heaven. My heart was dancing and every nerve ending was vibrating in a euphoric buzz as I moaned against his lips.

“See how hard I am for you, baby.” His voice was a breathy growl. His clothes were in a pile on the floor and he hovered above me, taunting me with his cock, massive and hard, blue veins bulging. As he pressed the length of his body against me, I could feel it; hard as steel. He took a breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled and flicked over the bud of my nipple, pink and puckered with excitement. I whimpered and arched my back, thrusting it deeper into his mouth, wanting him to have all of me. I wanted his tongue down there and my body shuddered as his free hand complied and slid down my stomach to caress my hot spot. I gasped with pleasure when his fingers touched it, lightly at first, just a tease for now. He knew how to work me and I loved it.

I reached my hand down between our bodies to caress his hardness. It felt good in my hand, it belonged to me. I was the one who controlled this. He groaned with pleasure as I increased my pace, jacking my hand up and down his shaft. He snaked his way down to my crotch, feathering kisses along the way and, with a warm hand on the inside of my thigh, he spread me apart for his pleasure. I wanted his touch badly - I was addicted to him.

I opened my legs and whimpered for the second time, begging for a stronger touch, his magic touch, the one that had the ability to send me flying into outer space. His mouth hovered over my bare mound and his eyes twinkled when he said, “I’ve been waiting to taste your sweetness.”

He slid his fingers inside me at the same time that I felt the warm wetness of his mouth descend on me. I sucked in air through my teeth. My entire body trembled and jerked with delight as he began to lick me with his tongue and stroke me which his fingers at the same time. His tongue twirled and swirled my hard nub and I arched my back in response. Waves of pleasure crashed over me as he continued; hungrily making up for lost time from when we had been apart. His hands gripped my hips as he buried his face in me. I thrust my hips forward, meeting his advances, trying not to smash his face, but I had been aching for his touch for so long that I could hardly control myself. Goose bump tingles blazed over every inch of my skin and my pussy felt like a forest fire of hot wet licks. My climax was coming fast and furiously. He increased the intensity, stroking inside and flicking my clit until I was on the verge of exploding. Then he pulled back for a moment and I just about screamed, “Don’t stop now!” No sooner had the thought entered my mind when he applied one last flick of his tongue on the most sensitive spot and a flood of endorphins crashed through my body, seizing it in a savage shudder and I came, releasing my juices.

But Jesse didn’t stop there. He grabbed me by my hips and flipped me over to take me from behind. I felt the tip of his cock tracing up and down the length of my dripping slit. He stroked himself a few times with his own hand and I turned my head to take a look. I loved seeing him holding this shaft in his strong hand, poised, ready to enter me. The sight of it sent my pulse skipping along. He pushed a hand up, over the rise of my rump, and smoothed it down my back, pressing me further into the bed as he thrust his cock inside of me. This time Jesse was the one groaning with delight, fulfilling his primal need.

“Oh baby, you’re so tight.” He hissed through his teeth. “I’ve been waiting for this. You were made for me, you fit me so good.”

Using his hand, he moved me on and off his cock, pounding and thrusting, shouting out my name and how he was going to fuck me so hard all night. With each of his movements my excitement rose until I was in a state of frenzied passion. I wanted to go to paradise again.

Just when I squealed his name, “Jesse...” he pulled out, panting, and flipped me over onto my back to drive into me from a new position. With one leg straight and the other one bent at the knee and crossed over my body, he fucked me like a stallion. Then he maneuvered my legs again, to yet another position, to give me the ride of my life. Waves of pleasure tore through my body for the second time and I was begging for him to make me come in a sharp, shrill tone. I was delirious to my surroundings. My heart was racing and I was gasping for air, as my body rocked with the rhythm of his. Every nerve in my body was strung as tightly as a violin, until the crescendo arrived and we both came together; Jesse growling a guttural sound of pleasure and me hitting a glass-shattering high note as I squealed. I was sure the people in the next hotel room had heard our love noises, but seriously, the sex was so good, I didn’t care if all of Milan heard us.

Jesse collapsed onto the bed and I was beaming as we rolled our bodies together to snuggle. “Welcome to Italy,” he teased.

I pulled myself up against his muscular physique and lightly stroked the tattoo on his arm.

“Carpe diem,” was all I said and we smiled at one another, with big stupid grins.

Niki

B
laring car horns intruded in my sleepy brain, jarring me awake. Who changed the chime on my alarm to that ungodly sound? I stretched my arm toward the side table, searching for the off button with my eyes closed. My hand hit the table but there was no alarm clock. As I slowly opened my eyes, I realized that I was not in my bedroom in Santa Monica, but six thousand miles away, across the Atlantic, in a small hotel room in Milan. The car horns were not my alarm but were the result of the usual morning gridlock in the street below. The abrasive tones were amplified as they bounced off the buildings which sandwiched a narrow street, echoing up to invade my sleep.

I sat up straight in bed and turned my head, expecting to see Jesse next to me, looking all sexy and hopefully ready for some morning bedroom exercises. To my disappointment, his side of the bed was empty. He must have gotten up early to avoid the worst of the traffic. His commute to the training camp took nearly an hour at the best of times, but in rush hour, it was likely to be two hours or more.

The raucous sound had now reached a deafening level and I stumbled out of bed to shut the window. The air conditioning in the room was broken, so we’d had the window open all night; it was unusually hot for November.

After forcing it shut and blocking the outside noise, I called room service to order bacon and eggs, complemented with a big pot of strong coffee. Nobody makes coffee like the Italians and I was sure I would get addicted to their flavorful brew. I had a feeling I would be headed for some serious java withdrawal when I got back home and no longer had access to the good stuff.

After breakfast I went into the bathroom to get ready for a meeting. Soaps flew, makeup was whisked on and the curling iron sizzled my hair into long bouncing curls as the excitement of the day built up. Before I left home, one of the teachers at my fashion school had promised to set up a meeting with a prominent Italian fashion photographer she knew in Milan. Yesterday, after we had landed, I’d received a text from her saying that Giovanni Cavallini could meet for coffee after lunch today.

I wasn’t sure what this guy could do for me. He was a photographer, not a designer, but I wanted to make a good impression anyway, especially since my teacher made the effort to help me out. My ultimate goal was to be introduced to some of the local designers, but why would they even bother wasting time on me? My confidence was waning and I wasn’t sure my designs were good enough. I was just a nobody from California, trying to rub elbows with some of the best designers in the world. What could I possibly offer them?

I cast my doubts aside as I laid out all the clothes I had brought with me on the bed, hashing out in my mind which outfit to wear. Should I be casual or dressed up? They say that ninety percent of selling a product is in the packaging, so if I wanted to impress Cavallini, I decided I had better look my best. I stood with my hands on my hips, surveying the choices. My shoulders slumped. Suddenly, they all looked dowdy. None of them were chic enough for Milan, but finally I made a decision and picked a hot dress I had bought only a few weeks ago. It would have to do for now; besides, what was that saying? Fake it until you make it? That would be my plan.

~*~*~

“B
uongiorno.” A young Italian girl behind the counter greeted me.

“Caffe Latte, per favore.” Thank God the word for coffee was similar in any language.

“Grande o piccolo?” she asked.

I had downloaded an app with an Italian dictionary to my phone and I had practiced a few words earlier, but just to be on the safe side I added a few hand gestures to indicate that I wanted a “small.”

“Grazie.” I thanked her as she handed me my change and dumped the large unfamiliar coins into my purse. Maybe I could use them later, once I figure out the currency over here. With my coffee in my hand I headed to a small table with two chairs, situated in a prime position for Mr. Cavallini to spot me. I wasn’t sure how he would know me and I wondered if I should hold a sign with his name printed on it in big black letters, like you see at the airport. How ridiculous would that look? With a smile, I brushed the thought from my mind and took a tentative sip of my drink. But, chances were, looking like a typical American, I’d stick out like a sore thumb and Cavallini would have no problem spotting me.

I kept my eye trained on the door as I settled into my chair. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for. How old was this Mr. Cavallini, anyway? I had a picture of what a famous photographer might look like in my mind; older, maybe a little gray around the edges, slender yet a little pouch at the belly where his camera hung down from a strap around his neck, wearing a black beret. Okay, that’s not an Italian look – the beret is French. I was getting my images mixed up. Anyway, when Giovanni Cavallini walked through the door I was not prepared for what I saw. My mouth opened and my eyebrows rose slightly, then I realized I must have looked like an idiot so I bit my lip to keep my jaw from hanging. Mr. Cavallini was...in a word...hot as hell. Yes, I said one word but used three because one wasn’t enough to capture his stunning good looks. He glanced around the café, his eyes sweeping the room like a radar and when they got to me, he stopped. Our eyes locked and in the next moment he flashed a beautiful smile at me, a smile of recognition, intimate and endearing, although we hadn’t even met yet. It was the kind of smile that makes you think you just saw a long lost friend — or someone returning from war, or some crazy long absence like that. It was indeed a bizarre first encounter, one that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I swallowed hard as I watched him move in my direction. He strolled over to my table wearing a black leather jacket and jeans; he
did
wear a camera, just as I had anticipated, but his was in a case slung over his shoulder. The hue of his jacket accentuated the color of his jet black hair. He wore it in a modern style, like someone of his age group — he was young, very young. No bristly gray hairs, no pot belly, just sleek, slender and oh-so fine. Giovanni Cavallini was a hot Italian stallion.

“Buongiorno, you must be Miss Milani.” The words poured out of his mouth, smooth as silk, with a creamy Italian accent that was music to the ear.

“Uh...”

“An American with an Italian name, I see. I like that.”

“Uh...” I picked my jaw up from the floor and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me, where are my manners? Yes, I’m Milani, Niki Milani, from the U.S. You can call me Niki. Please, sit down, Mr. Cavallini.” Red in the face for acting like such an idiot, I pulled myself together and gestured for him to have a chair.

“Thank you, Niki, and you can call me Gio. Do you speak Italian?” He raised a brow hopefully but I think he knew what my answer would be.

“Oh, no, Gio, I’m a typical American, don’t know any other languages...but I think the Italian language is beautiful and I have an Italian dictionary app on my phone, just in case...”

He smiled that charming smile again and as I looked across the table at him, a chill ran up my spine and I had one of those weird deja vu feelings.

“That is fine. I speak English. It is a necessity for my profession.”

“And you speak it very well.” I rubbed up and down on my arm, though it wasn’t cold in the cafe at all. “Would you like to order... a coffee or something?”

I shifted in my seat as he continued to study my face. It was a little unnerving, but I had heard these Italian men were big flirts. They didn’t give a second thought to whistling or giving a “cat call” when a woman walked by. I had told Kat before I left that I wouldn’t come back without at least one swat on the butt. Though, on second thought, if Jesse saw some Italian guy swat my butt he’d deck him for sure. Scratch that idea.

A waitress came to our table and Gio put in an order in his lyrical sounding Italian. When she walked away he turned his attention back to me. He took the camera bag off of his shoulder and set it on the table. As he noticed my eyes following his movements he said, “I never go out without it. This is how I make my living and I must be prepared...” He rested his elbows on the table. “Prepared to capture beauty when I see it. Moments in life spring out on us like stars in the night sky and you never know when a new one will appear. Don’t you agree?”

I blinked. Was he talking metaphorically or was he talking about me? “Yes, life is like that... unpredictable.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Ms. Milani, Niki, you are an exquisite beauty.”

I ducked my head and looked down at my coffee. Oh shit. This guy was flirting hard, but I was here for professional reasons. He was good looking, that’s for sure, but my heart belonged to Jesse and this relationship was purely for business purposes. I didn’t want to offend him; he had gone out of his way to come and meet me and I was sure he was very busy, but still, I needed his connections in the fashion world so I compromised. Who said using my womanly ways couldn’t be used in business dealings? We all knew someone who had shown a little cleavage in an interview to get the job.