“It deserves to be captured,” he said with some difficulty. “Naked and flushed, your flesh bruised with my kiss, my seed still drying upon your lips as you lay resting on the bed, too exhausted and ravished to rise…”
Lena shuddered, pressing her chest insistently against his side.
“Your words and your body are not in agreement, sweet one,” Cesare teased. “Or am I misinterpreting that delicious little shiver of excitement?”
“You could not paint that anyway,” Lena said at last, gazing up with him with her eyes half-lidded. “Nobody could - I’m not nearly exhausted yet and I most certainly haven’t been ravished.”
“An oversight I plan to correct presently, girasole.”
-~-
Lena understood that she ought to be more afraid, that this was the sort of thing her mother would scream at her over. She wasn’t married, she wasn’t even betrothed, and there she was, lying prone and bare beneath a man she had once professed to despise. Those feelings of hatred and mistrust were distant now, hardly a nasty shadow on the horizon. No man of evil intent could treat a woman so kindly when he might simply take his pleasure and be done with her. Lena didn’t say it, but the fact that he had mentioned a future - a future in which they had a home and a study, a future in which he learned to paint – made her just as excited as the sight of his naked body.
And what a sight it was.
She banished all thoughts of doubt, of motherly scorn, focusing instead on the hot plains of muscle rippling beneath her hands. Cesare was almost feverish to the touch, a faint sheen of sweat covering his entire body as the candlelight caught him and held him like a jewel under glass. The strangest part was how many contradictions he offered – rock hard sinew beneath the almost feminine-softness of his skin; dark, dark freckles and hair on pale skin, freckles that she now knew were not confined to his cheeks; and the biggest surprise of all - the sensation of touching his manhood, hot steel encased in velvet, simultaneously intimidating and vulnerable, responding to every one of her lightest brushes.
Cesare kissed her, prolonging the moment when he at last took her virtue. He tasted familiar now, no longer a shock but a comforting familiarity. Lena wrapped her arms around his neck, unwilling to let him go and lose the intense sensation of his wiry chest hair tickling her breasts. Every part of her ached for him, though the greatest pang of all had made its home in her belly, a forlorn emptiness driving her curiosity and her fear. Would it hurt too much? He looked far too… too… enormous to enter her comfortably. Lena whimpered aloud.
“Sh-hh,” he whispered, dragging his lips from her mouth to her ear. His warm breath ignited the sensitive shell of her ear. “Gently… You have only but to ask, and we will stop.”
Lena nodded, worried that if she cracked her lips something embarrassing and weak would come tumbling out. His eyes sought hers out, the deep brown of his gaze soliciting a wan smile. Cesare prodded his nose against hers, licking sweetly at her lips before kissing her more resolutely. His teeth clacked against hers as he pushed against her in a sudden surge of passion. Lena gasped, fingernails digging into his shoulders as she felt one long, thick finger drag up and down the soaking cleft of her sex. His thumb teased that marvelous little nub at the apex of her folds, shivery excitement overtaking her fear. Lena couldn’t help but grind against him, moaning as first one finger and then two stroked deeper into her, a small frisson of pain bubbling below the pleasure as her untested body stretched for him.
The feeling of emptiness in her gut redoubled as Cesare continued to ease his fingers in and out, in and out, the rhythm becoming faster and more deliberate until Lena arched and bucked, desirous of more but uncertain of how to go about getting it.
“Soon,” Cesare whispered into her hair, kissing her ear soothingly. His thick fingers scissored in her channel and she cried out, tossing her head.
“God,” she moaned, delirious. “Please, Cesare…”
His other hand molded around her breast, squeezing roughly.
In Name Alone 84/?
Lena shuddered, pressing her chest insistently against his side.
“Your words and your body are not in agreement, sweet one,” Cesare teased. “Or am I misinterpreting that delicious little shiver of excitement?”
“You could not paint that anyway,” Lena said at last, gazing up with him with her eyes half-lidded. “Nobody could - I’m not nearly exhausted yet and I most certainly haven’t been ravished.”
“An oversight I plan to correct presently, girasole.”
Lena understood that she ought to be more afraid, that this was the sort of thing her mother would scream at her over. She wasn’t married, she wasn’t even betrothed, and there she was, lying prone and bare beneath a man she had once professed to despise. Those feelings of hatred and mistrust were distant now, hardly a nasty shadow on the horizon. No man of evil intent could treat a woman so kindly when he might simply take his pleasure and be done with her. Lena didn’t say it, but the fact that he had mentioned a future - a future in which they had a home and a study, a future in which he learned to paint – made her just as excited as the sight of his naked body.
And what a sight it was.
She banished all thoughts of doubt, of motherly scorn, focusing instead on the hot plains of muscle rippling beneath her hands. Cesare was almost feverish to the touch, a faint sheen of sweat covering his entire body as the candlelight caught him and held him like a jewel under glass. The strangest part was how many contradictions he offered – rock hard sinew beneath the almost feminine-softness of his skin; dark, dark freckles and hair on pale skin, freckles that she now knew were not confined to his cheeks; and the biggest surprise of all - the sensation of touching his manhood, hot steel encased in velvet, simultaneously intimidating and vulnerable, responding to every one of her lightest brushes.
Cesare kissed her, prolonging the moment when he at last took her virtue. He tasted familiar now, no longer a shock but a comforting familiarity. Lena wrapped her arms around his neck, unwilling to let him go and lose the intense sensation of his wiry chest hair tickling her breasts. Every part of her ached for him, though the greatest pang of all had made its home in her belly, a forlorn emptiness driving her curiosity and her fear. Would it hurt too much? He looked far too… too… enormous to enter her comfortably. Lena whimpered aloud.
“Sh-hh,” he whispered, dragging his lips from her mouth to her ear. His warm breath ignited the sensitive shell of her ear. “Gently… You have only but to ask, and we will stop.”
Lena nodded, worried that if she cracked her lips something embarrassing and weak would come tumbling out. His eyes sought hers out, the deep brown of his gaze soliciting a wan smile. Cesare prodded his nose against hers, licking sweetly at her lips before kissing her more resolutely. His teeth clacked against hers as he pushed against her in a sudden surge of passion. Lena gasped, fingernails digging into his shoulders as she felt one long, thick finger drag up and down the soaking cleft of her sex. His thumb teased that marvelous little nub at the apex of her folds, shivery excitement overtaking her fear. Lena couldn’t help but grind against him, moaning as first one finger and then two stroked deeper into her, a small frisson of pain bubbling below the pleasure as her untested body stretched for him.
The feeling of emptiness in her gut redoubled as Cesare continued to ease his fingers in and out, in and out, the rhythm becoming faster and more deliberate until Lena arched and bucked, desirous of more but uncertain of how to go about getting it.
“Soon,” Cesare whispered into her hair, kissing her ear soothingly. His thick fingers scissored in her channel and she cried out, tossing her head.
“God,” she moaned, delirious. “Please, Cesare…”
His other hand molded around her breast, squeezing roughly.
“Please what?”