Strokes (4 page)
Darcy burst out laughing and just like that, everything fell into place. The second she loosened up, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to take a chance. She wanted to be with this man—to fuck with him and make toast together in the morning. She did not, however, want to fuck toast.
Reaching behind her, she gently cupped his smooth sac, loving the way the breath rushed from his lungs in an audible whoosh. “I don’t want to make toast.” She lifted up and sat back down lower, directly over the length of his straining cock. “I want to make love.”
“
Ah, cara, si…si,
” he groaned, reaching for her hips as he arched beneath her.
“But first we play.” She leaned forward again to lick and nip at his broad chest. “So have you ever heard of the term sixty-nine?”
“
Si.
”
She looked up to find him nodding. Desire poured off him in waves.
“Good,” Darcy said. That would save time. “We’re going to do it a little differently, though. The muse in me is inspired. I’m going to get into position and get started but you have to count to one hundred first, nice and slow.”
She didn’t even have to touch him before he groaned with anticipation. She knew how he felt about looking at her pussy. Hell, he wanted to paint it for a living! Still, he groaned and trembled as she positioned her pussy over his face, which stroked her ego—big-time. He deserved to have his, er, ego stroked too.
“Are you counting?” she asked.
“
Si. Sei, sette, otto…
”
Darcy had no idea what numbers those were but in Italian, it sounded funny as hell. She doubted he even realized it. She would have laughed again, except there was nothing funny about the delicious treat laid out in front of her.
Paolo’s rock-hard cock quivered, shiny from arousal. He fell silent again but she trusted that he was counting in his head, considering how much he wanted at her pussy. Just to be a cruel tease, she lowered her hips even farther over his face and leaned down to lap the entire length of his cock.
Paolo gave up his silence. He had also figured out that she hadn’t forbidden him to use his fingers. He spread her wide. She knew he was deciding where to target his tongue when the countdown ended.
Ha! She could top that. Resting herself on her elbows, she took one more giant lick and switched her focus to lave every inch of skin below his cock before returning to the head. Time was running out, so she opened wide and took him to the back of her throat.
“
Figlio di puttana! Aaahh! Cento! Cento!
”
Darcy would have smiled but his cock was a mouthful and she didn’t want to catch him with her teeth. She had no idea what that first thing he’d yelled meant, but it was a good bet that cento was hundred. It was her only warning before he wrapped his arms around her hips and hauled her pussy to meet his tongue.
He set the voracious pace. Darcy held on, determined to give as good as she got. It was a battle with no losers, only the thrill of a wild ride. Paolo’s cock leaked like crazy, his sweet taste coating her tongue and throat, but she broke first.
Paolo didn’t let her go. He held on tight to her bucking body even when her climax forced her to release him. No sense damaging the man. She pulled herself up on her arms as her orgasm hit full-force, and reveled in every exhilarating second she rode it out on his dancing tongue.
Oh man!
Paolo was saying something but she was still too rattled to make any sense of his words. His tone sounded as if he was barking rapid-fire instructions.
Crap.
He was probably bitching her out for leaving him high and dry. His cock vibrated with need, his breath harsh against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Then she realized the problem wasn’t the orgasm rattling her brain. She couldn’t understand him because he had spoken in Italian. Again.
“English,” she reminded him. That word might come out of her mouth often. One could only hope. Of course, she could always learn Italian, especially if he reverted to his native language in anger. She couldn’t let him get away with saying anything he wanted with a smile on his face.
Speaking of having something on his face…
“On your back. Now!” he barked in English, which contained considerably fewer syllables.
“Well, okay!” She was no longer in control and surrendered happily. Except for one thing. She leaned over, grabbed a condom from the pile on the nightstand next to the bed and flicked it at him as she did his bidding.
Oh yes
. She watched as he expertly sheathed his eager cock. She quivered with anticipation. That first big thrust would probably do them both in and she was fine with that too. As long as it happened
now
!
Paolo lowered himself over her, a perfect fit between her spread legs. Darcy grasped his biceps in preparation for that launch to heaven but it didn’t come.
She
didn’t come. What the hell? She opened her eyes and was instantly pinned by his dark chocolate stare.
“Darcy,” he said.
That was it. No “
cara
”, no moans or groans, just her name breathed in that precious accent of his as he slowly pushed inside her and held her gaze.
“Paolo,” she returned, and damned if it didn’t bond them in a way that had nothing to do with his entry into her body.
“I love you,” he added as he pushed a little farther inside, then farther, until she felt the silk of his balls press against her. “You are my woman. I was meant to come to America, to find you, to fill you here.” He withdrew and slowly entered her again. “And here.” His voice cracked as he rubbed his thumb over her heart.
“Say my name again,” she demanded as his thrusts increased.
“Darcy.”
She flew apart in his arms, his name wrenched from her throat as she watched him watch her. She couldn’t look away as his orgasm overtook him, mesmerized as those beautiful chocolate eyes melted in bliss.
He didn’t look away either and didn’t pull out after a final shudder racked his body. His cock remained hard enough that she didn’t worry about the condom leaking. What scared her was the look of determination that joined the ecstasy in his gaze. It clearly stated he would have her, on his terms.
“I love you,” he said again. “We can buy the farm. We can live there to fuck the toast and I will cook the lasagna and paint your pussy every night.”
Darcy laughed. “I love you too. And I
do
want those things, except the toast. It’s kind of scratchy. But Paolo, if we both want the same thing, why don’t we get married and start now?”
His chin lifted and his eyelids fell to half-mast. He got his point across as if he’d taken out a two-hundred-foot billboard ad and written
stubborn
across it.
“No.”
“I promise I’ll never buy another jar of spaghetti sauce or instant coffee,” she coaxed. “Don’t you want to be together?”
“Of course. You know I do,
cara
. I want to remain with you forever.”
“Then marry me, you stubborn Italian alpha dog!”
His eyebrows rose. “You call me a dog?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means you always want to be the one to make the decisions. Even important ones. There are times when we should make decisions together.”
“Like now?”
“Yes, like now.” She stroked his stubble. “If we love each other so much that we want to be together forever, what does it matter if we get married now or a year from now?”
She watched him mulling over her words and just as she was believing that he would agree, he shook his head. He also pulled out of her and disposed of the condom. Fortunately he gave her a kiss right beforehand and let her know he wasn’t using that excuse to walk away from her and conveniently drop the conversation. Smart man. Smart man to avoid her knee. Smart stubborn Italian alpha dog who liked to bark in a low voice.
Sure enough, he did come back to the bed and gathered her close before speaking. “I hear your words,
cara
. They are true and getting married would work, but what I have been through with my family—it has changed me. I do not want there to be any other reason to marry than love. Not for my green card. It would look like I’m using you. I also do not want to prevent marriage to Sophia by marrying you first. It would insult them even more and they would never accept you.
“So I ask you the same question. If we love each other so much that we want to be together forever, what does it matter if we get married now or after I am allowed to stay in America on my own? And I would like to introduce you to my family. I know they would fall in love with you too if we give them the chance.”
Darcy sighed. Damn the man, he was making sense. “All right, we’ll wait a bit. But I’m not waiting until you become a citizen if it takes too long.” She gave him the obey-or-else index finger. “You get up to one year to secure your work visa and then you’d better get down on one knee.”
He threw her a suggestive look. “I can do that now.”
“Proposing!” she amended.
“Woof.”
* * * * *
At the end of the month, Darcy’s body was both sated and made immortal in an array of sensual positions. Paolo’s first showing met with huge success, every painting brought top dollar except the last one he’d painted. She’d taken a picture of him ready to fuck her mouth after endless teasing from her fingers and tongue. He’d painted it for her and it hung proudly over her bed as inspiration and fodder for her battery-operated fantasies when he was unavailable.
Her fantasies wouldn’t have to sustain her for long, though. Paolo had only returned to his village to tell his family in person that he was coming back to his life in America. The government extended his visa when he had landed a second showing at the gallery, along with offers from several other galleries in the area.
Paolo was due back at the end of the week. He had a lot of painting to do and Darcy couldn’t wait to show him her new idea for his favorite subject matter. Vaginas from around the world. She already had her appointment set up to ready his favorite part of her for their first sitting.
She had a feeling Paolo was going to go nuts for the Brazilian.
About the Authors
Ashlyn Chase:
Kidnapped by gypsies as an infant, Ashlyn was left on the doorstep of the Massachusetts home in which she grew up—at least that’s what her older siblings told her. It seems that storytelling runs in the family.
Ashlyn worked as a psychiatric nurse for several years, holds a degree in behavioral sciences and has been trained as a fine artist, registered nurse, hypnotherapist and interior designer. Writing is one career she wasn’t formally educated in, yet by sheer determination she’s become a multi-published, award-winning author.
Most writers, whether they’re aware of it or not, have a “theme”, some sort of thread that runs through all of their books, uniting the whole mishmash into an identifiable signature. Ashlyn’s identified her theme as involving characters who reinvent themselves. It’s no wonder, since she has reinvented herself numerous times. Finally content with her life, she lives in beautiful New Hampshire with her true-life hero husband and a spoiled brat cat.
Dalton Diaz:
If a story doesn’t have romance, it isn’t worth it. If there’s hot sex, it’s extra worth it.
Let’s face it, fantasy is usually a lot more fun than reality. Not always, but usually. As a writer, one can be anything, do anything, say anything that comes to mind. There are a thousand and one ways to make things happen, each one more exciting than the last.
This is the best job in the world.
The authors welcome comments from readers. You can find their websites and email addresses on their author bio pages at
www.ellorascave.com
.
Tell Us What You Think
We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at
[email protected]
.
Also by
Ashlyn Chase
&
Dalton Diaz
Also by Ashlyn Chase
Also check out Ashlyn’s book at Cerridwen Press (
www.cerridwenpress.com
).
Also by Dalton Diaz
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