Page 56 of My Dark Fairy Tale
I wanted to tattoo the word on the inside of my mouth because it tasted just as good as that wine and my sex.
My arms collapsed, dropping me to my elbows on the table, my bare feet—sandals long dropped to the floor—pressed to his broad shoulders. I was more exposed than I’d ever been in my life, and as I fought to find earth again, I wondered vaguely if my slight curves and skinny ribs could be attractive enough to him.
But then he was rearing up, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand before he tore his belt open, his zipper down, and pulled out his cock.
I’d only ever seen one in porn or anatomy classes, and they certainly didn’t look like this.
Vivid purple red at the broad, leaking head. The shaft so thick and long even his big bare hand seemed insufficient to handle it. The skin looked soft as silk, the precum pooling in the head creamy.
My mouth watered, and before I could think to stop myself, I begged softly, “Can I taste it?”
Raffa’s groan vibrated his entire tensed body. “Certo, piccola.”
His thumb swiped over the head as he stepped closer. One hand pressed down on my belly to lay me flat against the low table, and the other, salt slicked, painted my panting mouth with his seed.
My tongue darted out instantly, tapping the sharply saline, faintly bitter taste of him. He was watching me with burning eyes, one handfisted at the base of that big dick like a vise, precum leaking down onto my thigh as he loomed over me.
“Come una droga,” I told him honestly. I licked my mouth clean, already thinking about drinking straight from the source.
“Sei un sogno erotico,” he rasped. “You are already covered in wine, but I want to make you filthy with cum.”
It was an expression of desire and a question. His entire body was coiled tight enough to snap, the muscles in his exposed abdomen and forearms corded, tendons and veins popped. If I told him no, I thought, he wouldn’t. If I told him he was scaring me, that this was too much, he would put that painfully hard erection in the cage of his zipper and belt and walk away.
It made something real, something that had lain in the center of my chest since he’d taken care of me through my sickness and concussion, germinate and take tentative root.
I reached for him, wrapping my fingers in his shirt to tug him down so he had to brace a hand on the table, his hair falling from his forehead into his eyes, tangling with his long lashes.
“Come for me,” I said as I pulled the front of my dress down, the loose straps sliding down my shoulders so most of my breasts were exposed. “Vieni per me. Vieni su di me.”
Come for me. Come on me.
Raffa loosed an animalistic rumble as he started to jack off his dick over my torso, his eyes pinned to my face as if the sight ofme, Guinevere Stone, was enough to make him climax. Not my body, even. Just my eyes, locked to his blown black gaze as he furiously striped his cock and then came a minute later with a muted roar. His eyes squeezed shut, his full, kissed-pink mouth falling open as he came all over my skin.
I could have climaxed again from the sight of him and the feel of his hot seed marking my flesh like a brand.
I’d never felt so connected to anyone in my life, and for the first time in a long time, I was grateful for my virginity so I could have this first experience with him.
In the cellar of a vineyard in a €1,000 dress we’d destroyed because it was fun and sexy to do so.
I laughed, a high, bubbling sound that trickled out of me like water from the cupid fountain in the garden. Raffa opened his eyes, looking down at me as they creased at the corners with his small smile. In answer, I shook my head and pulled him down so I could share the laughter on my tongue.
“Tears after our first kiss, laughter after our first orgasms together,” he murmured against my mouth, but his tone was playful. “You could give a man a complex.”
I laughed again, then framed his impossibly beautiful face in my hands just because Icould. Just because I somehow had license to touch this man all over.
“Well, I think you’ve destroyed mine,” I admitted with a cheeky grin. “Goodbye, Madonna. Hello, whore.”
“Vera,” he said, eyes flashing. “I will not have you saying that. Enjoying pleasure should be a fact of life, not a sin or an insult.”
“No,” I agreed. “I’m saying I see that now. Thank you. You made me feel invincible even as you took me apart. I’m not sure how you did it.”
He nosed at my cheek before pressing a kiss there. “In English or Italian, you are nothing short of brilliant. So bright, I could not ignore your light even when I wished to. If I made you feel that truth for a moment, I am happy.”
“Sweet,” I told him as I had in the car earlier that day.
He grunted a rejection, but I noticed, as he pulled away to reach for a hand towel meant for the wine-bottle condensation and started to clean me with it as best he could, that there was a smile tucked into one cheek.
“Um, Raffa,” I said after he’d wiped the cum from my belly and helped me sit up. “What are we going to do about my dress?”
