Love on a Lark: an Italian love story Read online

  “You are not a virgin, piccolina??” the handsome Italian wondered, somewhat horrified.

  “No, it’s just… it’s been a while,” she hastily summarized. She tried to put the embarrassment out of her mind as she adjusted her posture, finding a position that worked. He slowly eased himself in and out as she held herself still, her legs together and perfectly straight.

  “Okay?” he asked her. She nodded. Instantly he pumped harder, quickening his pace. Her eyes were again rolling shut, her mouth agape, a pained, apologetic expression bloomed across her face as the perfect dick invaded her body again and again. She couldn’t make a sound.

  “Is this what you wanted, cara mia?” he teased her. Silence. When she didn’t answer he asked again. A tiny whimper escaped her.

  “So good,” she whispered as she lunged forth and back each time he pounded her.

  Their flesh made loud clapping noises as they lazily met over and over. He gripped the sides of her buttocks, willing himself to keep a consistent pace. He gritted his teeth, laboring in wait for signs of another orgasm.

  “I think I’m gonna come,” she finally announced, panting like a woman in labor. At that, he quickened his pace. Lark let out an aggressive groan.

  “Fuck yes,” she moaned excitedly.

  Her assertive reaction to the fierce beating he was giving her sex was not helping his control at all. He was certain he was about to wake up and find this was all a wild dream.

  “Should we come together?” he gently asked her. Something in his gorgeous velvety tone made her want to purr like a kitten and so she matched his when she replied, “oh yeah, baby, I wanna come all over your dick.”

  “Fuck, baby you’re incredible,” he purred back in his heavy Italian accent. Suddenly the two of them began to moan even louder as if on cue. They really were about to come together.

  Lark let out a long moan of “oh God” that ended in a scream, drowning out his staccato groans as orgasm plowed through his body long and unrelenting. Drunkenly he teetered forward a bit, panting for air as the remnant of his release continued to wash over him.

  Lark couldn’t help but smile as he held her close, his exaggerated sighs sending aftershocks to her groin.

  She gave a laughing moan as the collective effects of a triple orgasm had their way with her body. She was like a long undisturbed pond, mentally serene and feeling better rejuvenated than any spa treatment. He’d fucked the cares of the world right out of her.

  And at just the right time. She didn’t even care that she was still hunched over a bar stool, or that her thin straight hair parted down the middle was sticking to the sides of her face and starting to frizz.

  He let out another big gust of air, as if having just confessed his deepest secrets. She laughed aloud and he relinquished a small chuckle as he righted himself, disposed of the condom and walked lazily around the bar and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He gave a gesture of offering once she, in turn, was sitting comfortably at the stool she was just bent over. She made a shooing gesture with her hand.

  “That’s a nasty habit you know,” she smiled with a fist under her chin.

  “Not a habit,” he corrected her as he reached for a light, the cigarette between his lips.

  “But the occasion demands it?”

  He took a drag and didn’t answer, eyeing her carefully as he gave her a toothless grin.

  “So… how did I do?” he asked crudely.

  She took a deep breath as if to assess his labor. “Better than I’d hoped so… thank you. ‘Bob,’” she pronounced his name with the same long ‘o’ sound.

  “You’re most welcome. Vanessa,” he said quietly, in a way that had her nipples taut.

  Settle down, you, she said to herself. She should be more than satiated after that for another six months. At least.

  “We should probably um… get back. Is there a place where I could…” she stammered. The release of all the sexual tension had left nothing but her usual awkward demeanor.

  “Follow me,” he said, disposing of the cigarette and leading her by the hand out of the cellar and back up the stairs.

  Three

  Chapter 3

  “We were about to send a search party,” Channing chastised Lark when they finally made it back to the courtyard.

  Teresa and Channing were sitting with “Bill” and a gaggle of Italian family members along a massive white table full of food and wine— clearly family since they varied in ages from teen to old age, and they spoke cordially to one another with that deep sense of knowing that Lark sometimes sensed between families. She felt as though a dull knife were stabbing at her insides.

  Her friends got up from the table and stood next to her as if willing to leave with Lark, but not ready.

  “What’d I miss?” Lark innocently asked. Her friends looked at each other and smiled while “Bill” made his way over to “Bob.”

  “Caccola!” the dark-haired stranger greeted his brother with a kiss on a cheek followed by a light smack.

  “Scuzi,” he said to the table. He put his arm around “Bob” and led him to away from the girls to a group of older men in the middle of the courtyard. Lark forced a smile and took a deep breath.

  “So it turns out ‘Beel’ here is married,’ Channing sneered in a hushed tone. “I think his name is Stefano, but everyone is using nicknames here. He’s staying mum ever since he introduced us to his wife.”

  “And they seem to indeed be actual brothers?”

  “Yes. I suspect the moment your handsome admirer saw you, he formulated a plan with Stefano to get you alone with him. So they brought us here,” Teresa surmised.

  “Well, it worked. It worked a lot,” Lark whispered as the girls snickered. “Did you find out anything about him?”

  “Why, didn’t you find out anything?” Teresa asked mischievously.

  “Nothing that’s appropriate to talk about.”

  “I think his name is Roberto,” Channing said.

  ‘Bob,’ Lark thought. Technically, he wasn’t lying.

  “What do you mean ‘you think?’”

  “I know I’m a dumb blonde, Lark, but even I wouldn’t openly admit to not knowing the names of the two strange guys that brought us here.”

  Lark sighed. “Sorry, ladies. You know I’m the last person to hang you guys out to dry—”

  “It was an emergency. We understand,” Teresa smiled.

  “Honestly, I’m just not myself at all tonight.”

  “I take it he gave you the extended tour?” Channing gave Lark a provocative eyebrow.

  “He did.”

  “How was it?”

  “…Thorough.”

  Channing dropped her jaw while Teresa merely laughed.

  “One more thing off the bucket list, ladies,” Lark smirked.

  “I can’t believe you’d give a man like that a fake name, you ungrateful slut,” Channing whispered.

  “I’m really glad I gave him a fake name, after what he made do.”

  Channing gave a squeal of delight.

  “Details,” she said.

  “Marry him, you idiot,” Teresa chastised her.

  “If by some bizarre chance I run into him again after tonight, I’ll consider it.”

  Suddenly the handsome stranger known as “Bob” re-appeared, his gaze intense, nearly possessive. Her heart went into overdrive.

  “Come, meet my family.”

  Lark seized up.

  “Actually, I was just telling the girls that I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “We’ll walk you home,” Channing said.

  “No, you guys stay. I’m not far.”

  “Va bene. Vanessa, I will walk you home,” “Bob” replied. “It’s far too dangerous to walk alone at night in that dress,” he said, only half joking. “Your friends may stay as long as they like.”

  Lark didn’t like the idea of spending any more time alone
with this guy. He was already discombobulating her with one look. He was going to persuade her to do things she didn’t want, things that would steer her off course and make her late to work on Monday.

  He read the apprehension on her face. She looked like she was afraid of him. His heart throbbed. What was she hiding?

  “Um…sure,” she finally said with a flippant air, as though it struck her as a good idea. But her demeanor was that of disapproval. The night went how she’d wanted, but somehow it still felt as though it had gotten hijacked. Damn. Always a man getting in the way of her emotional healing.

  “Ladies, I’ll see you… later? Don’t stay out too late.”

  “We won’t,” Channing said in her sing-song Southern voice.

  The handsome stranger escorted her past the courtyard entrance back through the double doors and out into the oblivious night air of the city, the moon high in the sky.

  They garnered looks from bustling passers-by in the opposite direction as they walked slowly hand in hand down the ancient sidestreets. The names of the avenues went by, carved in the stone of the buildings as they passed. He started to wonder if she was even taking him to where she lived.

  “Dimmi, Vanessa. What brings you to Firenze?”

  “Nothing, really. I suppose you could say that I’m running.”

  “Running? From what?”

  “The past,” she answered cryptically. “The present as well.”

  “You run in vain if you are trying to outrun the present.”

  “Perhaps. It seems I can’t help myself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tell me about your family,” she deflected.

  “What is there to tell? It is large and wealthy. And inescapable.”

  “It sounds like a dream.”

  “Does it?” he said, sounding intrigued.

  “Everyone wants to be part of a large and wealthy family, don’t they?”

  “You forgot the inescapable part,” he said. She laughed.

  “I imagine the close-knit can be a little… confining.”

  She was not speaking from experience. In fact, she seemed to be speaking from pure assumptions. As if the concept of family was entirely a foreign one.

  She must be a goddess, then, he presumed. She sprung up out of some pool or a fountain. The cumulative fantasies of men.

  “Where do you stay?”

  “Not far.”

  “Are you some kind of outlaw?”

  “No,” she smiled.

  “You are very secretive.”

  “Am I?”

  “Are you married?”

  “No,” Lark answered, somewhat despondent.

  “May I ask you something personal?”

  “It must be very personal if you are asking first,” she mused.

  “You said you tend to be loud. When you fuck.”

  “Yes,” she grinned.

  “How do you know this?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she shyly laughed with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Vero, but… how would you know the difference?”

  Lark’s mouth drooped at the corners, a discernible furrow in her brow. “I don’t understand. The difference between quiet and loud?”

  “Someone must have said to you, ‘you are too loud.’ Otherwise, how would you know? It would be normal.”

  “Ah,” she smiled, suddenly enlightened. She nodded, as if there was such a worthless human.

  “Allora, who is this rottinculo, this brutto figlio di puttana bastardo who shames your glorious cries of passion?”

  Lark dissolved into laughter at his dramatic distaste for her ex, words which she secretly understood.

  “My… I don’t know what to call him. He wasn’t really a boyfriend. We used to work together. He was afraid others would hear and that he would get fired. It only happened once, but I remember how angry he was. You could say he gave me a bit of a complex.”

  “You must have worked in very close quarters. Military?”

  “Shit!” she cried aloud, genuinely rattled. It was a knee-jerk response.

  Shut, the fuck, up, she warned herself.

  She thought she was being discreet enough, but clearly, she wasn’t. She knew she should’ve walked alone.

  “I’ve said too much,” she giggled nervously.

  “You are far too beautiful for the military.”

  “Whatever that means, ‘Bob,’” she replied, letting him follow the faulty trail.

  “When we get to your house, I want to make love to you again.”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid one time must be the last time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are… far too distracting.”

  “You are afraid you will stop running?”

  “No, not of that. I don’t know how. To stop.”

  He knew he could be the one to make her stop.

  He knew nothing else about her, not even her real name, probably. But somehow he knew that.

  But did he want that?

  “I suppose I am running too.”

  “From what?”

  “Non se. You are running from the past, I think I may be running from the future.”

  “How do you manage that?”

  “Not very well,” he said, slowly grabbing her wrist and suddenly trapping her against the corner wall of the small cafe, where they first met. He kissed her intently as he cradled her petite face in his hand.

  “It’s insane how gorgeous you are,” she whispered her confession.

  “Once more and then I will leave your life for good,” he whispered back.

  “I warned you. In the cellar,” she breathed.

  “You said this could not go further than tonight. You did not say how many times.”

  She grinned. Not entirely sure of her exact wording.

  But she trusted him. He was convincing. She sighed.

  “You can’t stay overnight.”

  “Macche.”

  “I don’t know when my friends will be back.”

  “Certo.”

  “Does that mean you agree?” she said, smoothing out the wrinkles in her facade.

  “Si. Yes.”

  They went down a small quiet street just outside the piazza that housed the cafe. They passed a park on their left as they went into a building on the right-hand corner. Borgo Allegri, he stored in his mind.

  They went in through the building’s front entrance, up the narrow winding stairs to her apartment. It was clearly a rental, he thought, trying to glean the information that she wasn’t giving.

  It was quaint, painfully so. Clay tiles, uneven plaster walls and dark wood beams lining the tall ceilings. The quaint dining room window was still open, with linens hanging on the line. Old world Italian fixtures and an oversized fireplace with modern amenities. An American tourist’s dream.

  Everything was relatively pristine, her bags were still packed in a corner. She hadn’t been in town long. She didn’t look to be staying long either. No more than a week, he assessed. Her coffee cup sat abandoned at the dining room table.

  She turned and led him backward by the hands and into her room, as if she knew he was doing detective work. Her room was small and narrow with two double beds and a small table between them. It was like fucking in a child’s closet.

  He enjoyed the challenge.

  He sat down on the bed and reclined against the wall. Lark switched on the small table lamp, hiked up her gold dress and straddled him, placing her hands on his shoulders and down his chest. He gazed into the amber of her eyes, subtly glowing by the light of the dim lamp.

  “Occhi mandorle,” he said. It meant “almond eyes.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked anyway.

  “It means that I’ll never forget tonight. Or you.”

  She nearly admitted the same, but instead, she slowly leaned over him to kiss him again and again. She wriggled her dress off at the shoulders and let it hang at her waist, her braless chest exposed. He traced
her form with his fingers as though they were his eyes— her nipples, her waist, the small of her back.

  This was a bad idea, she thought as she traced the outline around his gorgeous lips with her fingertips.

  “I don’t know how much time we have,” she whispered, reminding him of reality.

  “Neither do I,” he said, continuing the slow pilgrimage around her form with his hands as their lips again met.

  They continued this tug of war for what seemed like an eternity. They shed random pieces of clothing. They changed positions again and again like wrestlers in the small bed, she trying to keep their union from seeping into the dawn, he trying to prolong his pleasure and somehow keep the dawn from coming. She dug her nails into him, trying to hold back for the sake of her sleeping neighbors. Her dull whimpers only excited him more, knowing that if she could, she would be shouting her ecstasy until she went hoarse.

  He suddenly became conscious at the sound of Lark’s roommates coming in through the front door and shuffling down the front hallway. He startled fully awake.

  Merda. He’d fallen asleep.

  From the look of the light through the transom window, it was still night. No later than 3am he guessed.

  Instinctively, he attempted to ease out of the tiny bed without waking her. He succeeded and dressed as well as he could in the dark. He heard a muffled commotion in the kitchen, stifled laughter as they tried to keep it down for the sake of their sleeping friend. Then, a closed door, followed by total silence.

  Vanessa remained asleep as though a rock. He felt around for the pull chain on the small lamp. Dim yellow light illuminated the dark while Vanessa continued to sleep.

  He studied her quiet face, the combination of her dainty features and her full pouty lips that were sure to haunt his dreams forever.

  He felt an anchor on his spirit as he resigned within himself to leave her be. It had been a long time since he had tried to woo someone.

  If he tried harder, as hard as he could, she could be his.

  It stirred him, but the sadness it evoked was profound. Who was he to have this gorgeous thing all to himself? How long before some other man would have the same notion? How could he pretend to have any right?

  It would take some discipline, but he would pretend that he did not know where to find her.