Tangled In Strings

Chapter Seven

"Ah, god," I breathe as Giovanni's hands travel down my back, finding dampness coating my skin. With one hand wrapped around his neck, the other gripping the finely detailed oak headboard to remain steady in the throes of untamed passion, I move over him with weak form, shivering as pleasure continues to build. He devotes an exquisite amount of time to my breasts, his lips suctioning hotly around the pink nubs.

We've been at this for hours, each one rolling into the next without consequence. It's been so long that our gasps are hoarse, all sense of speech nearly impossible. My skin aches from his touch that once was rough and desperate, now slow and soft.

His stamina is always shocking, but tonight, he's taken me with the intent of dusk to dawn sex. He's come twice, me: countless times. And he's still going. I've found myself in awe, unable to believe that someone could want me this much, this hard.

Quicker than I expected, the months of heartache are drifting away, replaced by a security that cuts me to the quick, making me think that a life with Giovanni really is possible. A life where we are there for one another, where we believe in one another, trust one another.

I never dreamed I could love anyone like this.

I garner the only strength I have as my fingers push back the hair shielding his eyes.

"I want to move in with you," I whisper, "if you still want that too."

The fear projected in my voice is unmistakable as I realize what I said, just as he does too. I'm willingly giving up my solitude, my way of living, agreeing to one where he and I become something more than what we already are. It's a step toward what he wants and what I've always feared.

His hands have stopped moving; his eyes are intent on mine. My fingers move from his hair to the frame of his face as we stare at one another, our chests heaving still from exertion.

As I caress him, studying and memorizing the flawlessness of him, his eyes close with contentment. His face is unlike anyone else's, shaped and sculpted like a coveted medieval painting, conjured up by the fine brushstrokes of a perfectionist. No wonder the world is in love with him, programmed naturally to hate whoever he fancies.

How in the hell is that person me? How did I get so lucky?

His eyes drag open, meeting my gaze with an intense look of longing. He doesn't answer my proposition and instead takes me tighter into his grip, lifting his face to meet my mouth again. He teases my lips apart, startling me with the gentle intimacy of his kiss. He licks deep into my mouth, consuming me with a possessiveness that is powerful enough to transcend mere physical pleasure.

I know without a doubt I'd do anything for him, without a second thought. Good or bad, easy or hard. If I knew the moment I'd given myself completely, heart and soul to someone, I'd have to say that moment was right now. His tender assault on my mouth matches his hands, which begin to explore me again, descending to my bottom to rock me into him again.

A sigh leaves me as his cock stretches my softness, bludgeoning the overactive nerves that became dormant in our stillness. He fills me, inch by inch, hot steely girth causing friction as he guides me onto him and off. As the sound of my arousal mixed with his, lodged deep within me, echoes throughout the room, we surpass our exhaustion, attacking one another with renewed vigor, revived by the possibility we've silently agreed to.

He makes it so I have to take him to hilt and then heaves me upwards to do it all again. There's a loud crack of lightning, then a rumble of thunder, the rain pouring down over the sea outside. The fact that neither of us speaks, neither of us feels the need to urge each other onward is not lost on me.

I'm obsessed with him, and he seems just so with me. It's not long before we're both gasping for breath that is impossible to suck in. We've used it all up. I begin to pant against his mouth, beads of sweat sliding over the length of my body. My hands spread over his misty shoulders, appreciating the solid muscles beneath them.

He's throbbing within me, being coaxed to his peak of pleasure by my greedy sex clenching tightly around him. His mouth no longer hovers but devours mine with a violence as both of us are brought to the height of passion. My moan into his mouth is wet and dragging, an octave lower than my normal voice.

I'm so caught up in my orgasm I don't notice Giovanni's hand leave my back. When it slides between our abdomens and makes immediate contact with my aching clit, I flinch in shock and discomfort.

"Agh, no," I breathe, dropping my head to his shoulder. "No, I can't."

But he kisses my neck, biting down gently, sending chills up my spine– the best kind. And slowly but surely, the discomfort begins to fade and my swollen, delightfully used nub begins to tease again to awareness. Unable to lift my head, I hold onto his shoulders for support while his fingers circle me with a quickness, to drag on my current fading orgasm.

"Giovanni," I whisper as my chest begins to tighten along with the rest of my body, my hips unabashedly rocking onto his fingers and cock that's still within me. "God, Giovanni."

With one hand placed in the middle of my back and the other working me to oblivion, he says nothing, just offering me a truly unhealthy amount of pleasure. My body is nearly resistant to overwhelming me, bringing me to the brink excruciatingly before it fades. I groan into the crook of his neck, frustrated. As if he were able to sense my insides better than I can, he applies pressure to a different area of my sex, further from the vortex, sneakily finding the solution to the problem.

"Oh my god," I breathe against his damp skin in amazement as the exquisite pull of an orgasm suddenly takes over every stretched-out nerve within me. I crush myself to his hard chest, his muscle-bound arms, shuddering with a violence that physically aches to experience.

"Oh my god," I repeat when I can, burned as his hand on my back travels downward, exploring the smooth canvas. I reach down between us, placing my hand over his pleadingly.

His lips are in my hair, soft. When I remove my hand from his, he brings it up to push back my crazed mane with a sweet gentleness. I still cannot lift my head. A small smile lights my face as his fingers comb through the locks that are in desperate need of a haircut, his lips pressing down on the sensitive skin just below my ear. They move to my jaw lovingly as he urges my face back to him.

"You've made me so happy," he whispers, just below my ear.

My embrace tightens on him at his words, still joined in the closest way possible, soaking in his words, his gratitude.

"We can do this, Scarlett. We're going to be okay."

I nod against him, somehow believing it.