Page 11 of I Think Olive You

“You wear hard work on your hands.” I glance up to check Giuliana’s reaction only to see her lids lowering, absorbed in our touch. “And walk like you command the earth. As if it will mold itself to your step.” I tease my touch against her skin, and she curls her fingers into her palm to stop my light touching.

“My maternal grandmother is English and always hated how my hands looked and felt. She thought it was ‘unladylike and uncouth.’” Her grip tightens into a fist, and I lift it to my lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles and coaxing her fingers open again to thread between my own.

“Is that why your English is so good? Your grandmother?” I ask and she nods, stuck somewhere in her mind, so I keep talking. “Personally, I think it shows strength and perseverance. I think there’s something beautiful in a physical manifestation of effort.”

She squeezes my hand in hers, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it from her face. I know what it feels like to believe the worst in yourself. Perhaps she experiences that to some degree.

“Yes, she stayed with us for a few years when I was younger, around the time my mother—” She breaks off and I wonder what it is that taints those spiced rum eyes with sadness. “—and we see her every Christmas. She insisted on us learning. And about my hands—you’re sweet for saying so, but you don’t have to work so hard to give me a compliment.”

“No one has ever accused me of working hard in any capacity but one.” My voice is husky—mind muddied by the food, the drink, and her. I let the insinuation linger, knowing I’m being forward while not having the luxury of my reputation to do the work for me. New York is soulless, but at least the name Palmer gives me a head start there.

“And you feel the need to prove yourself to me?” Her gaze softens, heat filling the space where our skin touches.

“You don’t seem like the kind of woman who is easily fooled. My words wouldn’t be enough, I fear.”

There’s precious little space between us, our bodies canted toward each other. It’s not until she takes a deep breath and it tickles my cheek that I take in the closeness. I wait, perched on the edge of something desperate.

Initiating these kinds of affairs isn’t new, but I’ve never felt the need for it this keenly. Something about her calls out to me. It’s as if she won’t merely dull the demon within me but instead bring it to heel. Selfishly, I try to convince myself she might benefit from our encounter as well. Giuliana looks stressed when she isn’t joking; she said she was here for a break. And I am the king of distractions.

Night swallows Gravina and the glittering lights within the buildings above us lend an intimacy to the air that hadn’t been as evident at sunset.

I wait, watching as she mulls it over, hoping beyond what I’ve allowed myself for a long time for this moment with her.

“Actions speak louder than words, after all,” Giuliana whispers and we close the distance between us until our lips meet in a tentative kiss.

Although I want nothing more than to devour her, I keep my attention light to enjoy the tart taste of her mouth. Giuliana deepens the connection, threading her hand into my hair as the kiss turns greedy. I can’t say how much time passes when my heartbeat is too frantic to count and she’s pulled me so deep into her orbit I can think of nothing but her.

“Matteo?” Giuliana whispers against the shell of my ear.

And god, if that doesn’t make me fucking clench my jaw, muscle there jumping with the strain. I have to remind myself not to tighten my hand, not when hers is within my grasp and my other cradles her cheek. Is it a denial? An invitation?

“I don’t have a place to go for the night yet…” Had the mood been anything but hungry, my statement would have been innocuous. But our appetites aren’t sated yet.

“I have one for tonight. But I leave for home tomorrow,” she warns and stands, tugging me up with her. We make quick work of our meal, tucked back into her bag. The steps are harder to find this time.

I hold onto her free hand as she leads me toward the Vespa.

Settling my body around hers this time is different. The smoldering ember from earlier turns to flames licking at me, driving me to distraction. She tucks away the kickstand so my shaky leg is the only thing keeping us upright. The keys slot into place as my mouth finds the sensitive skin at her neck and I trail a blaze of kisses down the side. Giuliana sucks in a gasp that stretches her ribcage, its sharpness evident in my arms. The bike ignites, rumbling beneath us. My fingers skim over her soft stomach—thumb tracing the underside of her breast.

“Matteo.” It’s a warning. It’s a plea.

I heed her. For now.

I wrap my fingers around her hand instead, feeling her turning the throttle. I lift my leg and she sends us surging down the street. Giuliana gathers herself enough for me to go back to my exploration, and the bike wobbles a little when my thumb finds the hardened tip of her nipple straining through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“Ti ammazzo,” she growls, her tone irritated, and I know I’m in trouble. But I can’t quite bring myself to care, not when I can feel how tight she’s wound.

The need to have her, to sample her and feel her body relax, is a physical ache. I’ll be sure she gets to let go. Tonight, I want to give her pleasure. She’s already helped me escape, helped me forget, without me having to sink into her body. I’ll repay that kindness.

The Vespa winds through town—Gravina much quieter now. The air blows cooler and fraught with what sizzles between us. We pull over outside of town, a small place that looks more like a home than a hotel but could be an Airbnb. I’m beyond caring. It’s doubtful I could even scrounge up questions with my cock pressed to the generous curve of her ass.

We stumble from the bike, mouths on each other as soon as our feet are on solid ground. Feasting on her lips, I gather her close. Giuliana winds her arms around my neck. Deft fingers weave into my dark curls, devouring me with as much intent. She walks me backward until my back hits the wooden door with a light thud. Her hands snake down my body as she tries to extricate herself, pushing against my chest for me to release her.

The growl coming out of my throat when she breaks our kiss is shameful—insatiable.

“Keys. I’m trying to get inside.” It’s a frustrated grumble as she digs through her jean pockets for a keyring—upset when she remembers it’s still in the bag dangling from the handlebars.

Inside. Inside is good.

---