Page 41 of Italy Can Bite Me

The next ten minutes is a frenzy of me doing tour guide triage.

Chester can’t read the street signs? Take this map with my signature stick-figure landmarks.

Stan’s knee acting up? I bust out a folding chair stashed on the bus for exactly this scenario.

One by one, my seniors disperse into the gathering dusk, armed with personalized directions and my cell number “just in case.” And then it’s just Katie and me.

“Matteo?” She fidgets with the red fabric around her neck,twisting it nervously between her fingers. “Would you… would you take my picture? In front of the cathedral?”

“Of course, principessa.” I take the cap off my camera lens,the familiar weight of it grounding me. The late-afternoon light bathes the square in a golden glow, highlighting the full glory of the cathedral. And looking at Katie, with her body filling out that sumptuous dress—it’s a scene that demands to be captured.

So why do I feel like this is a terrible idea?

Katie steps into position, glancing over her shoulder at the towering structure behind her. Her first attempts at posing make me wince. She stiffens, tilting her chin too high, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides like she’s not sure what to do with them. Then comes a forced smile—tight and unconvincing, like a kid at school picture day. Everything about her screams discomfort.

I show her the initial shots. They’re… nice. Not exactly ‘Gram-worthy but still cute.

“Could we maybe…?” She swallows hard. “Try for something… sexier? For Jared?”

His name is like ice water down my spine.Right. The fiancé.The lucky jerk who gets to unwrap this breathtaking present every night.

“Tesoro, you’re thinking too much. You’re posing like someone’s holding you hostage. Let me help you.”

“I just…” Those green eyes dart away. “I don’t know how to be sexy.”

“That dress says otherwise.” I deliberately drop my voice to that register that makes women’s knees weak. “Turn around. Face the cathedral.”

When she hesitates, I add, “Trust me, per favore. I will bring out la tigre that you are in this dress.”

The moment she turns I start shooting, but this isn’t about the photos anymore. This is about making Katie Crawford realize exactly how fucking gorgeous she is.

“Now imagine hands sliding up those perfect curves, touching all the places you dream about late at night…”

Her breath catches.Perfetto.

“Good girl. Let your head fall back. Like you’re remembering the best orgasm of your life.”

“Matteo!” But her body betrays her, arching like she’s already feeling phantom touches.

“That’s it, bellissima. Look over your shoulder at me—like you’re deciding which part of me to explore first.”

The sound she makes—this tiny, desperate whimper—does dangerous things to my self-control.

“Fantastico.”CLICK.

“You are temptation itself in that dress.”CLICK.

“Those legs make men beg for mercy.”CLICK.

“And that mouth… Dio mio, the filthy things I’d teach that pretty mouth to do.”

Each word strips away another layer of her inhibitions. Her hands glide up her sides like a lover’s touch, slow and seductive. Those exquisite breasts beg to be freed with each breath, straining against the fabric. She’s radiant in the fading light.

“Show me what you’re thinking about, principessa. Let me see those dirty thoughts you hide behind those innocent eyes.”

“I’m not—” She bites that full bottom lip, and my control snaps.

“No?” I move closer, drawn by a primal force I can’t fight anymore. “So you’re not imagining rough hands replacing that silk? A wet tongue licking every curve you keep hidden?”

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