Elsa
“This might be a problem,” I say, making myself comfortable in his arms.
He hangs above me, propped on his elbows, with his body pressing against mine, covering it all, and his eyes searching for answers in mine.
“You see,” I continue, ashamed. “I’ve never made love to anyone. I only fucked. And I liked it. No man has ever taught me how to make love. So… there you are. You might be disappointed,” I finish and turn my head away, embarrassed.
“Hey, bella,” he says gently, turning my face back toward himself. “You’re so vulnerable. I haven’t seen you like this before. Don’t be afraid. This will be your first time, but it will be a first one for me too. Don’t go. I’m being serious.”
“Ask me. Say please,” I suggest, turning onto my belly. “You only need to ask. You don’t have to command.”
Marcello hesitates for a moment, watching me. His stare isn’t cold this time. It gives way to desire and passion.
“Please, stay with me,” he bursts out, and laughed.
“Not a problem,” I reply, rolling over on the carpet. I was told there was a room booked for me beside Marcello’s. That would have as well been an obvious waste of time and money.
Curious, I watch, waiting for his next move. He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the armchair, unclasps his cuff links, and rolls up his sleeves. He is getting ready for something big. I giggle quietly. When Marcello disappears behind the door, the only thing left for me is to scan my surroundings. The thick bright rug on which I am lying neatly harmonized with the rest of the huge room. The only other furniture are the two soft armchairs and a small black coffee table. The door leads to other rooms-probably the living room first-but down on the floor I could only see the tall windows obscured with heavy drapes, and a wide terrace behind them, followed by the sea in the distance.
Waiting expectantly for Marcello, I am suddenly struck by a worrying thought.
I have a couple of pounds of fake hair on my head! I start to pluck out the hundreds of pins holding my hair in position. For a long while I keep tugging at the elaborate chignon, praying that Marcello does not catch me like this. When I am finally free, my eyes start darting around, looking for a place to stow the bundle of hair. The rug! I sit up and stuff it all under the heavy thing, and brush my fingers through my hair, letting the wavy strands fall over my face. I pushed myself up, looking in the mirror, which takes up most of the wall behind the armchairs. Surprised, but also quite satisfied, I realize I still looked attractive. I let myself drop back to the rug.
“Close your eyes,” I hear from the next room. “Please.”
I roll over to my back and do as I am asked. With no idea what position to take, I feel Marcello standing above me.
“You look like a body in a coffin that way, Elsa,” he says, laughing.
Right, those hands lying on my chest with fingers knitted might look a bit like that.
“I’m not here to talk about death,” I retort, opening one eye and smirking.
He bends over and takes me in his arms. As always, he does it so easily making it seem that I weigh next to nothing. He carries me down a short corridor and soon I feel a blow of warm air carrying the smell of the sea.
He puts me down and gently takes my face in his hands, kissing me softly.
I reach out with my arms to touch him. He does not resist. I start unbuttoning his shirt while his lips wander up and down my neck.
“I love the smell of you,” he whispers, pinching my chin between his teeth.
“Can I open my eyes now?” I asked. “I want to see you.”
“Yes, you can,” he replies, and his hand hovers toward the zipper holding my dress in place.
I raise my eyelids, revealing a stunning vista. We are on the terrace of the top floor of the hotel and can see most of the beach. Flickering lights illuminate the night, shining over the waves breaking on the beach. The terrace is enormous-it has a private bar, a Jacuzzi, a few chaise longues, and a canopied gazebo with a bed inside, which made me think of the one in Marcello’s garden. The difference is that the interior of this one is completely covered by canvas walls, and the mattress itself has a full set of sheets and a couple of pillows on it. I am pretty sure we will be spending the night right here.
My dress slips off and slides silently to the floor. Marcello’s hands slowly trace a path along my naked skin, and his tongue lazily slide between my lips.
“You’re not wearing underwear again, Elsa? ” he breathes, his lips still close to mine. “And you haven’t done that for me. You couldn’t know I’d be here.”
There is no anger in his voice now. Only surprise and amusement.
“When I put the dress on, I thought you had picked it for me. I had no idea I would be going with Gabrielle,” I reply, pulling off his shirt and falling to my knees.
Steadily, I unbuckle his belt, glancing upward, looking for a reaction from that magnificent man. His hands are hanging limply beside his body. He doesn’t resemble the man who had so terrified me just a few weeks ago. With a quick, confident motion, I pull his pants down, revealing an impressive erection.
Slowly, I reach around his hips, placing my hand on his buttock and pulling him toward me. I am only inches away from his penis now. I gently grab the base and kissed the tip. Marcello moans, the fingers in my hair drawing circles. I caress him softly with my tongue and my lips until he grows steel-hard and swollen.
I opened my mouth and he thrust inside, the warm salty taste of him gliding across my tongue. Fuck, I like that. I close my eyes, but he snaps, “Eyes on me. Clasp your hands behind your back.”
My clit pulses in happiness, my body drinks on him, completely turned on by his dominance. I comply, keeping my gaze on his and putting my hands behind my back as he started to tunnel in and out of my mouth. I try to keep my jaw and throat relaxed, and Marcello takes advantage, thrusting deep until I gag. “That’s it,” he says. “I want to see tears streaming down your cheeks from having your face fucked.”
I couldn’t help it-I moan. His nostrils flare. “Tu sei perfetta. Cristo santo, tu sei perfetta.”
He doesn’t hold back any longer, fucking my mouth with rough strokes, his hand still on my head, guiding me. “Relax your throat, bellissima. Let me in.”
He pushes and I gag, but he doesn’t withdraw. Instead, he waits until I recover and takes another breath. Then he advances a tiny bit more. Tears spill over my lashes and I struggle to breathe.
“I won’t choke you. Take another breath then let me in. We won’t stop this until my pelvis meets your nose.”
Oh, God. Can I do it? I am not sure. Marcello is bigger and longer than Sergio, and sometimes that had been a struggle-and I never deep throated before. I started to shake my head no, but Marcello just smirks down at me as he holds me in place.
“You can do it. Fill that filthy mouth with my cock.” He shoves in deeper and I try to relax and breathe through my nose. “Sí, sí. Swallow if you can.”
One more flick of his hips shoves him all the way into my throat, and my nose presses against his skin. He holds my head, his fingers tightening as my throat flexes involuntarily against the intrusion. I could hear him moaning and talking but I couldn’t pay attention. My entire focus is on not panicking and staying relaxed. I can do this.
He drew back to allow me to take a grateful breath. Then he returned to my throat and my ability to breathe departed me again. I stayed there, my nose against his belly, and tried to swallow. It sort of worked, and then I felt him swell even more. He shouted and I could feel him pulse as he came down the back of my throat, until I feel the sticky fluid seeping down my throat. Marcello watches me the whole time, panting heavily.
“Good girl.”