He pulled out and yanked me up. I saw us in the reflection in the window.
“Look at you. That face. I want to see you when you come.” He growled it. “Since the minute I saw you, I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted to open your legs and take you.” As if his words were fingers, they drifted down my body, fondling me, arousing me. “I’ve seen women come. They forget to look beautiful. They forget who they are. I want to see you when you lose yourself and all you know is my name.”
He sat on the windowsill, holding his hand out for me. I straddled him, lowering myself onto him. He guided me by the hips.
“This is good?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.
“So good. Fucking you is so good.”
“Look at me.”
He pressed me down, pressing my clit against his root. I gasped, trying to keep my eyes on him.
“Let me see,” he whispered over and over. “Let me see you come.”
He fucked harder and faster, and I lost myself.
“Oh God,” I gasped. “Coming. Coming.”
“Give it to me, Contessa. Show me.”
He put his hand under my chin, pushing it up until my vision was filled with him. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My lungs constricted around my heart, and my joints stiffened. I felt held up by his dick, but his arms and hands bound me to him as I came, watching him.
I pressed my forehead to his shoulder and put my hands on his biceps, and without an ounce of tenderness, he pulled my hair back and down until I was on my knees with the slick head of his cock against my cheek, and he stood over me.
“Take it. Now.”
He pulled the condom off. I opened my mouth, and he guided himself in. I choked, and he pulled out. I prepared myself, holding down my reflex and pressing the back of my tongue down. I put my hands at the base of his shaft and put his cock in my mouth, sliding the bottom of it against my flattened tongue. As he slid it out, I sucked, tasting my fluids on him.
“Yes, Contessa, that’s it. Suck my cock. All the way.”
I took him into my throat as far as I could, making up the rest with my hands, and sucked as he pulled out.
“Look at me,” he said.
We made eye contact, and he pushed forward. I opened my throat, but he was a lot of man for one mouth. I paused and, again, took him far down. His lips parted, and I knew I’d done it right. He thrust into me. He felt good, tasted good. I wanted him to come hard, and my desire to please him rattled the back of my throat.
“I’m coming in your mouth.” He grunted. “Take it. Take it all in your throat.”
His eyes closed tight, and I watched him as he thrust and came, flooding my tongue and throat with bitter, sticky lava. He muttered something in Italian, spitting curses through his teeth. I’d never seen anything so hot, and I swallowed every drop of him.
When he opened his eyes and saw me beneath him, he took a sharp breath. “So sweet.” He brushed my hair away from my face then pulled my head to him.
I didn’t even understand my reactions. “Not casual. I know what you mean.”
“But no questions. It means I have to defend myself. I don’t like it.”
“Okay. No more questions.” I didn’t know if I could keep that promise, but I could definitely put it on hold to have sex like that again.
I turned, wrapping my arms around his legs, and I turned to watch the image of us, me on my knees before him, with his hands at my back, in the window.
I screamed. Like a glowing mask floating in the night, a woman’s face sat framed in the window.
fourteen.
Antonio had me behind him so quickly and smoothly I didn’t even realize he was protecting me until I tried to stand. My pants restricted my thighs, and I nearly fell.
He held me up. “Marina!” he shouted.
I straightened my shirt and pants. Antonio zipped himself up and ran for the door.
He turned and held up a finger to me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
And he was gone. I still had the sting of his spunk in the back of my throat.
I straightened, breathed, and went outside. His admonition to stay put had fallen on Teflon ears. I didn’t know who Marina was or what she was doing outside his window. She could be a sister or cousin or the local convent rep, but she was young and attractive, and my blood went a familiar shade of green. I didn’t like feeling that way, especially about a man I had no claim to.
I intended to get in my car and drive away. Around the bend, I found the balcony. I knew how to get back to my car from there, but I heard voices. A Mercedes was parked in the rear drive, lights on and engine running. The woman stood by the open driver’s door. She was upset, hands flailing, voice squeaking. Antonio shouted recriminations in the spaces between hers.
That wasn’t a fight between cousins. I stepped back, and my foot shifted a loose tile. The scrape was louder than I would have imagined. They looked up at me. I backed away then turned and ran to my car. I managed to get in my car and get it started before he got to the window. He knocked on the glass. I waved good-bye.
He got in front of the car. “Open up.”
I cranked down the window. “That only works during, not after.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Is she a blood relation?”
He came around to my side of the car.
“Yes? No? What is it, Antonio? Oh, I’m sorry. Did I phrase that as a question?”
I put the car in gear, and he threw himself through my open window. I screamed from the shock of having him between me and the windshield. He yanked the emergency brake.
“Don’t make me drag you out of this car,” he said.
“If you have something to tell me, just tell me. I’m not asking anything.”
“Come inside.”
“No.”
Still leaning through the door, he held the bottom of my face. “I want you. First, I want you.”
“Thanks. I’m glad I’m not a second. You know what? I’m tired of playing in an orchestra. I want to go solo. Now.” I pulled the brake down. “Get out of my car, or half of you is getting torn off when I drive away.”
“It’s not what you think.”
I put the car in drive. “You have no idea what I think.”
I let go of the brake, and even though I couldn’t see through Antonio’s gorgeous body, I drove. He cursed and pulled out of the window. I turned onto the street and left him behind.
fifteen.
"What’s your problem?” Katrina asked three days later.
We were on set in Elysian Park from seven a.m. to three p.m. on a weekend, and the light had been consistently softened by clouds. I shrugged. I had no idea what she was talking about. I still had to go through the other script supervisor’s notes.
She put her knee on the park bench where I had set up my files. “You got a frown.” She formed her hand into a claw and pivoted her wrist as if turning a knob on my face. “It needs an inversion.”
Pam had called it a sourpuss, and I’d given her the same answer. “I’m fine. Just a cold.”
“Bullshit.” She was fatigued. The days were very long, and she had confided that she was losing faith that it would ever be a movie. It was a common malady at the seventy-five percent mark. “I don’t have time to needle it out of you because in two minutes, someone is going to come here asking me which shirt Michael should wear, and I’ll have to convince them I care. So tell me.”
I slapped the clipboard on the table. “The Italian guy. He gave every indication he didn’t want me close. I slept with him twice, neither time in an actual bed, and I’m an idiot for being shocked that I wasn’t the only one he was with. So no, I expected nothing from him. But maybe once, for kicks, I’d like someone to be exclusive for fifteen minutes.”