Page 92 of The Slug Crystal
"I want to see you," he murmurs against my neck, his voice rougher than I've ever heard it. "Want to observe every microexpression when you come all over me as I slide inside you."
His words push me to the edge, the deliberate crudeness from his usually proper mouth unexpectedly erotic. I clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the pressure builds beyond bearing.
"Marco," I cry out as the dam breaks, pleasure washing through me in pulsing waves.
He watches my face with reverent attention, his rhythm faltering only slightly as my body tightens around him. When I come back to myself, he's still moving inside me, his pacemore urgent now, but never losing that fundamental control. I reach up to touch his face, to trace the tense line of his jaw.
"Let go," I whisper. "I want to see you too."
Something breaks in his expression, the last wall of scholarly detachment crumbling as he thrusts once, then twice more before burying himself deep inside me with a groan that sounds like surrender. I feel him pulsing within me, his body shuddering against mine as his climax overtakes him.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, careful even in his undoing not to crush me beneath his weight. One arm wraps around my waist, drawing me against him as our breathing gradually slows. The night air cools our overheated skin, raising goosebumps along my arms that Marco soothes away with gentle strokes of his palm.
"That was..." he begins, then shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I find myself without adequate vocabulary to describe the experience. A rarity, I assure you."
I laugh softly, nestling closer into his embrace. "I've rendered the professor speechless. I should mark this day on my calendar."
His fingers trace idle patterns on my bare shoulder, scientific precision giving way to dreamy abstraction. The intellectual connection between us remains, but it's transformed now, deepened into something more complex and intimate than either of us could have predicted when we stepped into the garden.
"We should return to the villa," Marco says eventually, though he makes no move to disentangle himself from me. "Tomorrow's journey awaits."
"In a minute," I reply, unwilling to break this perfect moment. "Some data points deserve extended observation."
His smile in the darkness is worth every shiver that racks through my body.
Thursday, 7:24AM. Morning arrives much too quickly. The sounds of activity already buzzing through the hallways registers in my brain before I’m fully conscious. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented until my bedroom comes into clearer focus. I’m in Italy and today we head to Milan.
By the time I make it downstairs, luggage in tow, everyone is gathered in the kitchen, maps spread across the island, and coffee cups littering every surface. Alex's terrarium is sitting off to the side, carefully secured in a special carrier Jake designed through a few strategic purchases.
"She lives!" Ben announces, sliding a mug of coffee in my direction. "We were about to send a search party to make sure you hadn't been carried off by Italian garden sprites."
My eyes dart to Marco, who stands by the window, his expression giving nothing away except for the slight softening around his eyes when our gazes meet. He offers a small nod, professional and discreet, though his fingers tap a restless rhythm against his coffee cup.
"Sorry," I mumble, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Rough night. Didn't sleep much."
"Thinking about Milan?" Jake asks, his concern genuine as he checks Alex's terrarium, making sure the snail has fresh water for the journey.
"Something like that," I reply, hiding my blush behind my coffee mug.
Luca clears his throat, commanding attention with the ease of someone accustomed to being listened to. "I've been thinking about our transportation options," he announces, leaning against the counter with calculated casualness. "And I have a proposition."
"If it involves another rental car and you driving, I'm out," Ben interjects, earning himself a glare from Luca.
"My plane," Luca continues, ignoring the interruption. "It'sstill at the airstrip. I can fly us directly to Milan, cutting our travel time significantly."
The offer hangs in the air, unexpected and enticing.
"Your plane?" I repeat, remembering our trip to Italy. Disbelief floods me as I realize we probably could have been flying around in Luca’s plane instead of driving all over Italy.
Jake frowns, ever the practical one. "But it's in Venice. We'd need to get there first."
"There's a train leaving for Venice in twenty-five minutes," Marco interjects, his tablet already displaying the schedule. "If we leave immediately, we could make it."
“Let’s do it,” I say, glancing around at each of the men surrounding me, until my eyes land on snail-Alex.
“Okay,” Jake responds with a nod.
A whirlwind of activity follows as we hastily gather our backs and scuttle around the villa to ensure everything is packed. Luca refuses to leave behind fifteen croissants that he baked, so those get shoved into my backpack while he calls to arrange for the plane to be fueled and prepared for our arrival.
