The Morning After (and the Game Begins)

Candice's P.O.V

I woke up with him on my tongue, and sore between my legs, as though I had been possessed in a dream.  

When I tore my bikini in the shower it was still wet, and the slightest drop of water on my breasts caused me to say his name in my thoughts.

I had practised a hundred cold, ungrateful phrases by breakfast. Nobody managed to live long enough to see me enter the terrace and encounter him.

Mantovani was at the balustrade of the stone, holding black coffee in one hand, the phone, in the other, the white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. Wilhelm stood in the sunshine in the same way that he looks untouchable. As his eyes jerked up and his eyes met mine the cup paused half-way to his mouth.

Just a second.  

Less than a second.  

But the fire of that look burned right down my back and into the pit of my stomach.

I compelled myself to continue walking. Conti was there at the table already, both delighting Mom and Sanna with tales. Bianca was sitting next him and she had enormous sunglasses, her lips closed like she had sucked a lemon.

Good morning, Candice," Conti smiled, and drew out the chair beside him. "Sit. The cornetti are still warm."

Knuckles of Mantovani whitened round his cup.

I sat opposite him instead. Safer distance. Or so I thought.

His knee was touching mine under the tablecloth. Once, twice. Then remained thus, a conscious tugging that caused spurts along my thigh. I nearly fell on the sugar tongs.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Mom asked. "You're flushed."

Yesterday is too much sun, I lied, and grabbed orange juice. My fingers shook.

The foot of Mantovani swam down my calf--slow, jealous, never revealed to anybody. I moaned in my inside.

The whole breakfast was overture covered with small talk.

Mantovani's P.O.V

I was going to hell.  

Express lane, no stops.

Whenever she raised her glass I recalled the way her thighs had given her rear about my head last night. Whenever she laughed at anything of the jokes of Conti I would have pulled her over the table and told her whose name she had screamed.

I maintained even features, replied in monosyllables and instead tortured her below the table.  

My brush of shoe along the inside of her ankle. The agonizing scraping of my knuckles on the nakedness of her sundress. As my fingers at last slipped under the hem and rubbed against the back of her knee, her fork fell rattling on porcelain.

Bianca raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Candice. The silverware is antique."

Scarlet flushed Candice and her cheeks. "Sorry."

I almost smiled.

Conti style.

P.O.V Candice - Afternoon, wine cellar.

Conti now determined that we needed family bonding, and sent us out to get bottles to eat. The cellar was cool and dim and smelling of oak and earth. The shelves of pale bottles had gone on and on into the darkness.

Mantovani came to my assistance, and closed the door with a gentle click.

We didn't speak.

He pressed me against the shelves, sliding up the sides of my body, pushing the thumbs along the bottom of my breasts with the thin cotton dress. I arched into him on instinct.

You are killing me in that dress, you are killing me, Tiaadh, said he, against my ear.

At breakfast, I said back to you, you began.

My throat was met by his mouth which is moist and open-minded kisses that left my knees weak. One of my hands was found creeping under my skirt, along the line of my lace panties.

Say I would end, he said, and then I would.

I replied by tossing my hips against his feel.

He swore in Italian and fell on his knees once more--this time quite dressed, civilized, lethal. He pulled my dress to my waist and pressed his mouth through the lace on my legs. I could feel his tongue through the cloth, and had to put a hand over my mouth to keep quiet.

Two big fingers pulled the lace and suddenly slipped into me. I run disgracefully quickly with shaking thighs and his name smothered by my palm.

He got up, wiped his fingers with his tongue and stared at me, and then adjusted my dress as though nothing had occurred.

Barolo, 2006, he said, without much emotion, drawing out a bottle of a rack. "Conti will like this one."

He walked out first. Another five minutes passed before my legs came into action.

P.O.V -Mantovani, Late night, outside her room.

Everyone had gone to bed. The house was very quiet except the wind in the cypress trees.

I said I was only checking the guards of the hallways.  

I was lying.

Before I could knock her door opened. She was there in her bigshop silk shirt,--my shirt, I suddenly realized with a shock--with bare legs, unruly hair, and great eyes.

She heard your footsteps, I espied, I whispered.

I went into it and closed the door.

No lights. Moonlight only by the shutters gleaming silver on the bed.

We didn't make it that far.

I nailed her against the door, and kissed her as I were drowning. Her legs were round my waist and the shirt was up and no underclothing. My cock ached on her slick heat, and was only separated by my trousers.

I want you inside me, I want your mouth against my mouth, breathed she. "Please."

I groaned. "Not here. Not like this. When I have you, I will have you in my bed where I can keep you all night and make you scream like you have to.

Grinding against me, she whimpered.

I kissed her again, forcibly, and then put her down as I still could.

I will, I will, I vowed, my voice tinctured. I am going to take you out of this house to-night. Be ready."

I did not wait to change my mind and I was pumping her against the door in front of the entire villa.

Who I really was she did not know.  

She did not know what I could do to retain her.

But she would.

Very, very soon.