Love on a Lark: an Italian love story Read online

  “Bill and Bob,” Lark repeated as she looked over at Channing. She gestured in their direction, smiling, as though their aliases were convincing.

  “Dio mio,” the handsome stranger muttered. Lark looked over to see what garnered his reaction and found that he was looking at her.

  It was her smile, she realized, after a long moment. She chuckled a bit.

  “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Vanessa,” he confirmed as he held her gaze.

  Channing and Teresa at the table couldn’t help but giggle. Lark smiled. No game in the world like Italian game, she thought.

  “Coming from the most beautiful man in the world, that is high praise indeed,” Lark said with a subtle toss of her hair.

  “Where are you ladies headed tonight?” ‘Bill’ asked. Meanwhile ‘Bob’ still had his gaze on Lark, one that she confidently returned.

  “You tell us,” Channing replied, smiling.

  Two

  Chapter 2

  “So how do the two of you know each other?” Lark asked, striking up a conversation as they walked.

  “We are family. Brothers,” ‘Bill,’ the dark-haired one answered.

  “We. Are. Fam-i-ly…” Channing absent-mindedly sang. Lark’s admirer looked over at Channing and grinned like he recognized the song. Lark melted like an ice cream cone. He was being awfully chaste with his words and it was killing her. She wanted to hear his voice again.

  “What do the two of you do?” Lark inquired. The men laughed a bit.

  “Why do Americans ask every man this?” the dark haired one asked.

  “What, they don’t ask that in Italy?” Channing grinned.

  “No, it is considered rude. We listen to your accent. We watch your mannerisms. We can tell where a person is from, if they are rich or poor, from this. Which is really what you are after, no?”

  “Well in America, everyone works. And the kind of work you do says a lot about you.”

  “Allora, we work, we just don’t talk so much about it.”

  “What on earth do you talk about if you don’t talk about what you do?” Channing wondered.

  “Life. Love. Food.”

  “But for real though, what do you guys do,” Lark said. The girls all laughed. Her companion was still admiring her as much as he could while they walked.

  “We are in finance,” he answered.

  “The both of you?”

  “Si.”

  “Beel and Bobe, the finance brothers?”

  “Si,” he said again. The girls laughed again.

  The ladies didn’t balk at their vague description. They got the sense that it was more because they were indeed wealthy, and found it genuinely rude to talk about.

  When they walked a single block to their destination in the heart of the city, within sight of the Duomo, their suspicions of the two men’s affluence were confirmed.

  On the outside, it was a somber-looking stone building with scaffolding on the front. Then they were buzzed in and entered the double doors, a foyer, and through the second set of double doors, french doors that led to an elaborate soiree in a gorgeous stone courtyard. There was a beautiful old fountain in the middle, and they were surrounded on every side by tall ancient arches that supported the balconies and terraces of various apartments.

  At some point, Lark realized that this elaborate apartment building was, in fact, someone’s house, that everyone at the soiree was filthy rich, and could likely tell that they were not.

  “Would you like a tour?” the handsome stranger asked Lark.

  Lark looked over at her friends who were pretending not to know what he was asking.

  “Go, Alouette,” Teresa absolved her with the French version of her name.

  “We are not interested at all in the tour,” Channing grinned as she kept her eyes on her friend. Lark was sending her a “don’t wait up” look when she felt the handsome stranger grab her hand.

  She was caught off guard as she turned to look down at their meeting hands, arousal radiating through her as if he were transferring it through his touch.

  She could feel his eyes on her and she didn’t dare look up.

  Trouble.

  She had a bad feeling, even though she’d already conceded that he was probably getting some tonight. Perhaps it was a warning, an omen. It was her first night in Florence, after all. She was jet-lagged, in no emotional state for intimacy that’s for sure, and she didn’t need any bad mojo hanging over this new job. She needed every shred of confidence she could muster.

  But she couldn’t stop her feet. She was magnetized by his touch, his scent, his every move and the low hum of his voice, his thick accent like musical notes skimming her eardrum. They walked slowly hand in hand as they made their way up the stairs, the night air on one side through the courtyard’s many archways. Lark held the hem of her dress up as they climbed the stairs, keeping her eyes on the exquisite tailoring of his suit jacket framing his broad shoulders and back. Her slightly darker hand still in his. My word.

  Don’t fall in love, don’t fall in love, she chanted in her head. Stop saying ‘love’!

  He took her through a traditional Tuscan living area to a more modern kitchen and finally to a terrace that overlooked the labyrinth of terra cotta roofs of the city.

  “Gorgeous,” she said.

  “Eccome,” he said, his eyes on her straight hair caressed by the wind. He tucked a piece behind her ear and she was utterly lost. That he seemed to be as smitten with her was the stuff all dreams are made of.

  “Is this your house?”

  “My family’s,” he answered.

  Dammit.

  Lark, you idiot. This guy could be a Di Rossi!

  She snapped out of it a bit, trying to remember if she saw any telltale markers: a family crest, coat of arms, anything she could loosely try to decipher.

  She was too afraid to ask. The illusion was fragile enough as it is, just knowing that he had a family of any sort. Did that mean he had a wife? Enough questions.

  “Is there someplace more… private we could go?”

  “Such as?” he raised an eyebrow.

  “Such as… someplace where we won’t be disturbed? Where we can’t disturb anyone else?”

  “Why would we disturb anyone else?” he asked.

  “I tend to be… loud. When I fuck. I can tell just by being with you that I won’t be able to keep my wits about me,” she said.

  The handsome stranger searched her eyes, a slight furrow in his brow. He kept his eyes on her as he spoke.

  “Mira, Vanessa. I respect your wish for privacy. But this is not why I brought you here.”

  “But it’s why I came. So what do we do?”

  Her eyes were gentle, yet piercing. Not at all confident, yet resolute.

  The stranger gave a deep sigh as if wrestling within himself. He leaned in, placing his big hands on her bare shoulders.

  Slowly her eyes closed, she took a deep breath. Her limbs were lifeless at her sides when he linked a single long arm around her waist. She gripped him for dear life and let the low tones of his voice caress her ear.

  “Lo senti?” he began. He continued to caress her, to speak to her in a language she wasn’t supposed to understand.

  It was the first time she wished that she could go back to age 14, when it was all just gorgeous, melodic syllables. She tried to empty her mind as he spoke. Tried not to hear the verb conjugations that became whole sentences, the gerunds and their direct objects— and good heavens the possessives. She tried not to hear Sicily, tried not to know how well educated he was.

  But it was no use. She’d learned them all too well, too precisely, her methods too effective. She was surprised to hear the interpretation was equally as poetic as the unintelligible words might’ve been.

  That he truly meant any of it was probably doubtful. She had a feeling this brand of seduction was preserved exclusively for non-native prey.

  Nevertheless, she was unraveling, panting and wincing
at the sudden and fierce sensations of need pulsing through her at his words.

  “Please…” she moaned. She wanted to know his real name. No way was she calling him “Bob.”

  But she was afraid. Afraid to burst this gorgeous illusion as fragile as a bubble. One friend or family member coming around the corner was enough to shatter it. If life wanted to hurl her back to Earth, let it do its own dirty work.

  “I think… I know a place,” he sighed, sounding resigned. Defeated.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered. She took his hand and they walked as if they’d known each other forever, she lagging patiently behind as he faithfully led her down another set of steps, back through the large state of the art kitchen to a small door that looked like it led to a basement.

  “Careful,” he said. She held onto the narrow edges of the wall until she could feel around in the dark for the banister. When they got to the bottom of the stairs a single lightbulb with a pull chain revealed a dank cellar filled with wines, tilted and stacked neatly in tall, pristine fridges like the fanciest gas station in the world.

  She followed him a little further to the end of a hallway where there was a dead end, more shelves of wine and a bar-sized table and stools for tasting. She was surrounded wall to wall and head to toe by ancient looking and curved brick, like catacombs.

  There she spotted a family seal: “Bennetto.”

  Of course.

  Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief.

  No doubt he was still in some way acquainted with the Di Rossis. These wealthy families always moved in close-knit circles.

  Nevertheless, she felt reasonably safe. If word got around about the loose American whore named Vanessa, she would deny all knowledge.

  She leaned against the bar table, the slit down the side of her mustard colored dress revealing a long, shapely leg.

  “Bene?” he asked, speaking of his choice of venue.

  “It seems… only deceptively private.”

  “Vero. But no one will hear your screams.”

  She had to laugh at that one. He grinned as he watched her.

  “Until they open the cellar door, that is.”

  “And then they will likely proceed with extreme caution.”

  “Fair enough,” she smiled.

  “Vanessa,” he appealed to her, “I don’t like what you’re asking me to do, and I think you know that,” he began as he sauntered over to her. “But I think you also know… that I’m in no state to refuse you.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” she panted as she watched him trail a long finger down her breastbone, “And I’ve never met a man that made me feel the way you’re making me feel,” she confessed, locking eyes with him to convey her seriousness, “but this can’t go any further than tonight.”

  The handsome stranger thought for a moment and then spoke.

  “Then I will do my utmost to pleasure you.”

  “Is that a promise?” she grinned.

  “Si.”

  “Then I will relish it with abandon,” she grinned.

  The handsome stranger shed his blazer, laying it on a stool. But not before retrieving a condom from his breast pocket.

  “I believe, Vanessa, that you and I have a deal.”

  “I thought you said this isn’t why you brought me here?” Lark grinned.

  “It isn’t.”

  “You simply like to be prepared?”

  “Si. Now you know more about me than I know about you.”

  “Not true. You know that I need to fuck,” she smirked, embracing her inner femme fatale.

  Lark snatched the condom from his fingertips. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a once over as if he adored her.

  He pulled her close, tight enough for her to feel his erection near her middle. She let out a moan as his lips lightly trailed her collarbone, up her neck. By the time he got to her jawline he was licking, tasting.

  Her lips rushed to find his and once they connected it was a like a live wire between them. She moaned again, quickening her pace against his mouth, but he gripped her face between his hands. Gently. Slowing her down again until it seemed time itself had slowed down. His tongue crept between her parted lips. Eagerly they met.

  Lark was in a daze, almost in tears at this man’s touch. He was so fucking gorgeous and sexy, she was ready to abandon all rationale and decorum just to be intertwined with him for a few glorious minutes.

  Maybe she should go to therapy, she distantly pondered. Addiction to sex with strangers was not something she wanted to find out she had. But the pain of the past was all so minuscule compared to this moment, the thrill of this handsome stranger’s fingertips gliding up her thighs.

  He moved behind her so that he could easily slip his fingertips up her dress and beneath her thong underwear, where she was slick and fuzzy, and he let out a string of Italian curses.

  Ti piace? She nearly answered him. She caught herself before she could blow her cover, threw her head back and smiled instead as he held her. He began to rub her and she could no longer focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her at his touch, his pace, the carnal knowledge of her body that she was handing over to this man.

  She didn’t even know his real name but he knew her better than any man did now, even more than her ex-boss who couldn’t find her g-spot with a map.

  But this stranger was unlocking her, unraveling her as she quickly came apart in his arms. He held her up as her knees began to buckle and she leaned into him. His back jostled the shelves of wine bottles behind him a bit as he quickened his pace, trying to bring this gorgeous ethereal creature the release she seemed desperately to be seeking. Her cries became sobs, her brow deeply furrowed, her mouth went agape as her climax seemed to go higher and higher with no end in sight.

  “Yes! Yes!!” she was crying, shrill, primal, all control completely abandoned. He started to worry maybe the cellar wasn’t safe enough as her orgasm shook the walls. She spasmed and quaked against him and he continued to touch her, until she was resisting him and wincing, yet she seemed to want more. Her mouth found his jaw and he couldn’t help the pre-cum that was already escaping him in the inside of his trousers.

  Not only was this woman incredibly beautiful but she was brimming with sexual energy. He felt like he would rather spend his entire life in bed with her, yet he knew that she was not to be held on to. Like a miracle. And he felt cursed knowing that on the other side of his release there would be satisfaction, and desolation quickly on its heels. He had to prolong the moment.

  Suddenly she whirled around to look at him, her light brown eyes ablaze as she adeptly began unbuckling his belt, then his trousers. He was rock hard and her discovery only made the fire in her eyes burn hotter. In a flash, she was down on her knees in front of him.

  “Vanessa wait—” he began, but it was no use. Once he looked down he was defenseless. His heart went to lightning speed and he couldn’t move, as if frightened, as if being held at gunpoint.

  There she was, this beautiful girl with her sensual mouth caressing the head of his penis, the flaming gold dress fanned out all around her and accentuated the toasty brown of her skin and eyes. And holy shit the sensation.

  “Vanessa,” he sighed, his breath staggered as he watched her devour his length with her mouth again and again with desire and determination.

  “Basta!” he cried out, grabbing her forcefully by her silken hair.

  She smiled devilishly as she looked up at him, panting. His cock pulsated with need, with the shock of cool air and the loss of her mouth.

  “If you still want to be fucked you have to stop,” he warned her in English, trying to occupy his brain as much as he could.

  Lark raised herself up and onto the bar, handing him back the condom clutched in her hand. She crossed her legs and waited patiently for him to finish easing it onto his member, elbows at her sides leaning back onto the bar top counter.

  She was quite a few inches higher
sitting on top of the bar so that he was nearly eye level with her cleavage. He uncrossed her legs and stood between them.

  The plunging neckline allowed him easy access to her breasts and he exposed one of her ruddy brown nipples and then the other, licking and teasing while she arched her back. His hands found her thighs again underneath the slit of her dress and he parted her legs, raising them up slightly before he dove head first into her sex.

  Lark hooked a right leg over his shoulder and a hand into his hair as he licked, slowly at first and then with fierce, measured strokes that sent her into moaning raptures.

  She just felt so good she marveled, reaching for one of her nipples as best she could with her elbows resting on the bar. Her head went back as the need to come again rose and rose.

  “Fuck yes,” she kept saying. She wanted him to stop so that she could come while he was inside her. She’d never before had an orgasm that way, but she had a feeling this guy could be the exception. She wanted to have the memory forever, because she’d lived long enough to know she may never again feel this level of chemistry with anyone else.

  “I wanna come on your cock, baby,” she eagerly confessed. He let out a delicious moan that shot up her spine.

  Holy shit, she felt like she was on drugs. He seemed to feel it too because suddenly he had her thighs in a death grip and began flicking at her clitoris furiously.

  “No no wait, I wanna come on your cock!” she panted as she watched him bringing her to orgasm for the second time. But then she couldn’t watch anymore. Her head and eyes rolled back and the most syrupy orgasm she’s ever had washed over her.

  She lay there almost comatose, her elbows still somehow holding her up as he continued to lick and suck, moaning and groaning as his desire was reaching fever pitch.

  “Now, we fuck,” he growled. Gruffly he wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her tensionless body down from the bar, spinning her around and pulling her dress up around her waist. She was limp to the point that her legs were shaking as she stood bent over in her strappy heels. He started to enter her and she flinched, the discomfort reaching unbearable levels.