lovin’ it

 

Have you ever seen a man who was so gorgeous that he should have the words I can fuck the living daylights out of you stamped across his forehead? If you have, that would be Orlando, my husband. No man anywhere was that fine…I thought!

The alarm went off, and Orlando clumsily hit it in a sleepy stupor, stopping the aggravating noise before it awakened me. Too late. I rolled over and stared at the flaming red numbers—5:00 A.M. “Damn, baby! Why are you getting up so early?”

The love of my fucking life rolled on top of me, casting his wicked smile against the streaks of hot Florence sun already on the horizon. “Today’s my first day at work for Water-Vision. It’s not every day an engineer from Boulder gets the chance to help build new waterways in a place like this, baby. I just want to keep celebrating.”

“But five in the morning?

“Sure. Why not?”

“You don’t have to be in until nine.”

“Exactly my planning, sweet cheeks, and I mean that literally.”

I smiled and caressed his soft brown skin. “I guess you do mean that. You squeezed them enough last night.”

“A butt as juicy as yours, girl, a guy can’t help himself. That’s why I set the clock; I didn’t get enough last night. I think that damn champagne got the best of me.”

“But you’ll admit the pre-anniversary festivities were on jam.”

“Right on.” He rolled over on his back and pulled me along. “You ready for me, baby?”

“I’m a constant inferno and always willing to be melted down.” I smiled into his already blushing face. “Do it.”

“Your wish is my command, Mrs. Candy.”

He lifted me onto a rod so hot and thick that I thought it was the middle of the night again. One that hard and high was usually too worn-out the next morning to rise and shine. Not his, the rise was so there and the shine was all mine.

The minute his tip met my already wet flesh, my world shook, my body trembled, and I let him slide so deeply into me that I could feel him in my thoughts. There was only one set of thoughts on a one-track mind—how my baby could jam.

First his rhythm was slow, sliding with friction in and out, teasing me as he gripped my hips and made me suffer in slow motion. He spread his legs farther apart, sliding in a little deeper. By that time, smoke seemingly came from my ears and eyes, and I could barely stand the pressure. I kissed his wonderfully hungry lips, nibbling first his bottom lip, then his top. The more he pressed into me, the more eager my tongue became, tasting hints of last night’s champagne, until his rhythm beckoned for deeper pleasure.

I rose up, stroking such wonderful pecs that ached to be rubbed, palmed, and teased. The thing about my husband, his body was so smooth and soft, yet hard in all the right places, and I loved the hell out of touching any part of him. My fingernails grazed his nipples, leaving streaks of love across them. The feel of his erect nipples against my hands made me pound harder against him, grind him like metal against metal. I had to taste him, feel those hard pecs against my tongue and lick him in quick laps. My tongue against his sweaty flesh did it for him; his back arched, and his eyes now more exposed to the sun, quickly squinted shut. His incredible lips murmured the most erotic words, making me want more of what he was already doing, meshing deeper and deeper into me.

I was so full of him that I nearly felt like exploding, shattering bits and parts of my body across the room. The cops would have found my DNA all over the apartment had I let go the way I really wanted to. With Orlando, I had to take it slow, rock him until he sprayed. A man like him came in such erotic ways, his love potion flowing into me, filling me, boiling hot! I took my time and inched farther south, methodically, expeditiously. He had awakened my wrath at five in the morning and now he had to suffer the consequences.

I slid from him, feeling so hot and hollow without his flesh pumping inside me, but it would be worth the temporary separation. He begged me not to leave him hanging, but my tongue had a mind of its own as it trailed the length of his chest and stomach. He soon clammed up and let me work my damn magic. My tongue traced the definition of his well-proportioned six-pack, darting into every single crease, then licking down to his navel. His muscles tightened, and he spoke as best he could during the delightful torture. “What the hell kind of a tongue do you have, girl?”

“One that can set the world on fire, but I’ll start with you.”

“Damn straight you will.”

The game was a good one to be played, and I played it well, making him my personal Strip Monopoly board, allowing him to drive his hot, slick convertible right into my hotel…the hotel of desire. When my tongue licked his tip, I thought he’d lose it, but he remained as calm as possible; what a good boy he was.

Devilish tongue swirls against that skyscraper of an erection almost took me to the limits, but he needed my total attention, and I couldn’t help but focus. I licked in upward strokes, like he was a rocket ice-cream cone with creamy filling. I devoured him over and over, seeing his face tensing, knowing his end was near…so was mine. A knot continuously coiled tighter and tighter inside of me, winding me until I thought I’d pop! And I did; he could see it on my face as well, felt my slick skin, and he asked, “Are you doing it?”

I couldn’t talk, just shook my head, and in one swift move, he pulled me back on top and squeezed everything into me. One quick jam and he could feel my muscles tightening around him, squeezing him like an anaconda. He reached back, grabbed the side of the headboard, and rocked. We banged so hard that we knocked a hole in the wall, but I didn’t care. I wanted mine and that’s all that mattered to me.

The rush came again and my body constricted around him so wildly that I thought I’d kill him. I did, and he loved it. Still, I wasn’t done. I’m never done until the volcano erupts. I got everything I could get because my baby poured into me, squeezed every thick, creamy drop into me, and I gladly drained him.

We rested in complete euphoria for moments before one of us had the strength to speak. “Happy anniversary, girl.”

I smiled into his dreamy eyes. “That was the best gift yet.”

“Wait till’ later. You’ll be steam-pressed.”

“Can’t wait. It’ll be a long day until you return to me.”

He kissed my forehead. “I’d better get into that shower, girl. I could stay in this bed with you all day.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Baby, it’s my first day. I can’t call in sick. Don’t you want daddy to make you a lot of money?”

I made my own money, always had, but that sweet question deserved an answer. “I could live off your love.”

“Sure, for two days max, then that stomach of yours would start growling. Can’t have that.” He kissed my stomach in circles, beginning to get excited all over again. “Hmmm, maybe I can stay a little longer.”

I looked over at the clock, nearly six-thirty. Knowing he had to make it across town and try to find his way in a new country, I nudged him, realizing he was right in the first place about getting out of bed to start his day. “There’ll be plenty of this for you tonight.”

He slowly slid from the bed, casting his shadow against the walls. Goodness, my baby was so well hung, making me hungry again as I daydreamed of him mixing with me, and he’d just left my body. There was something about him that I simply couldn’t get enough of. Maybe it was the way he loved me—deep, sincere, totally in love with me, as much as I was with him.

Orlando was something new and refreshing to me. He inspired me to be my best in everything I did, from loving him to loving myself. That was so unlike what I had in Boulder. I’d wasted too much time listening to my family badger me, rehashing my past and I’d had enough of it. When I met Orlando, I knew he was the one for me; no more men who were already involved with other women. The stress of eight solid years getting my DDS made attached men look like the solution. Just sex, no commitments. But that quick fix had cost me.

Getting the hell out of Boulder with him and a wedding band on my hand was the best thing I could have done. I was no longer the family’s example of who not to be like. I was now the married one, doing it right and making it last. That actually killed my sisters and cousins, that I was proving them wrong and actually making a good life for myself. The fact that I was starting my career in a fabulous foreign country added to my self-confidence. By the end of the month, Candy Buchanan would be the new dentist in an established practice in Florence. An expatriate friend had helped me with all the red tape. For people who hate bureaucracy, Italians sure do have a lot of it.

Between sleeping around with men who didn’t belong to me, I managed to get an education. See, there’s more to me than a slamming body. The really good part is Orlando respects both aspects of me. He saw my potential the day he brought his cousin into my office on Columbia Street in Boulder. I fixed Tyler’s cavity and got a date for myself with the very attractive man who brought him in. It’s been smooth sailing ever since.

I watched Orlando slide his robe on and tie a knot in front. That bulging erection parted it, making me lucid again. With hunger still in my voice, I said to him, “I sure wish you could come back to bed and spend another hour playing around.”

“I need to shower, get you off my skin.”

That perplexed me. He never wanted my aroma anywhere else than on him. I had to ask. “Get my scent off you? Why?”

He leaned over, kissed my forehead. “Because, darling, if I walked into work smelling of you, every man in the vicinity would bust his ass to get to you. You’d have to use that wicked little drill to defend yourself.”

I laughed. “You really feel that way about me?”

“Baby, I love you. You’re so good to me, damn!—how you look. Even at six in the morning, you look like a sex kitten. Every time I sex you down, you get prettier. How do you manage that?” He kissed me again. “Now, let your king take his shower and set off to make you a bunch of money.”

“Can I shower with you?”

“That won’t help my cause, Candy girl. The reason for the shower is to smell like a man, not like sugar…and your sugar would be all over me, like now.” He tightened his robe, then left me in the middle of the bed to think over what we just did. I don’t know, there was something about that man that could make me implode, willingly, morning, noon, or night, 24-7. I lucked out with him, and because of that, there was a constant smile on my dark brown, considered pretty face.

Once I heard the shower and him splashing around in there, I laid back and imagined exactly what he was sudsing up in there. The thought of his sponge soaping the length of his massive rod killed me; the idea of gentle sprays of warm water trickling down on it, making it harder and harder, stiff as iron, made my thighs open again. The idea of being in that shower with him made me fantasize.

Within minutes, I was screaming out his name, but he couldn’t hear me and rescue me, so I rescued myself, straight into the Climax of the Month Club. I was so into it that I hadn’t heard the shower shut off or him fishing for a dress shirt in the other closet. When my eyes finally opened, there my beautiful husband was staring at me with the most enticing smile on his face. The enormous tenting in his sexy suit pants totally put me away, though the right words always found a way out. “Come on and get in the bed with me. What else can you do with that thick, dark snake in your pants?”

“Pray that it’ll slither away and let me work the rest of the day. Don’t stop on my account, though. I could see everything straight up to a heart I know pumps only for me.” He checked his watch; mouth now dry, words hardly able to come forth. “Save some of that for me tonight. I swear I’ll make the wait well worth it.”

“I know you will, baby. You want breakfast before starting your day?”

He winked at me. “I already ate, and it was mouthwatering. Girl, how you cook!”

I wasn’t exactly the domestic type. But in Italy the food was so fantastic, it was actually fun. I almost wanted to cook dinner every night after doing root canals. Almost!

“You’ll need something more to sustain you before you eat that lunch I packed for you last night.”

“Yes, Dr. Buchanan. Whatever you say. How about eggs and pancakes?”

“You have time for it?”

“I’ll make the time, baby.” His eyes had a look of euphoria.

“What’s on your mind, Orlando, other than sex?”

“Just smiling at how miraculous you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“You managed to make an incredible dinner last night, make love to me and still have the time to pack my lunch.”

“Of course. How many husbands do you think I have that I’d do anything for?”

He took me into his arms and kissed me with hot, burning lips. “I really lucked out, didn’t I? Good thing my sister was in the hospital having their second child and couldn’t take Tyler for his dental appointment. I’d have never met the love of my life, would I?”

“I’d have found you, Orlando. You were meant for me one way or another.”

He planted one more kiss on my lips before releasing me. “What did you pack?”

“Something you would look forward to—garlic bread and spaghetti carbonara.”

“I didn’t smell that cooking yesterday.”

“I made it while you were out and put it away before you could eat it. Besides, if you recall, I had something else planned for dinner last night.”

“Indeed.” He tapped my behind. “Let’s eat that breakfast. I’m suddenly so hungry. I think it’s that workout you gave me forty-five minutes ago.”

 

He sat across from me eating a stack of pancakes and pouring gobs of syrup over them. I couldn’t help but smile. “Orlando, you must want cavities on every tooth. Besides that, you’re going to get sick from all that syrup.”

“I like sweet, sticky things. That’s why I married you.” He poured a little more on while I watched and listened to him. “So, what’s planned for you today? You’re not going to stay around here when a beautiful city awaits you, are you?”

“No, I plan to get out, and see a few things; maybe a few museums, do some shopping. I hear they have really good meats at the market square.”

“That’s a bit of a trip.”

“I have the time. Besides, I want tonight to be extra special for you. I’ll buy the meat, marinate it, and make it nice and juicy for you.”

“I’ll do the marinating, girl—on you tonight when I come home.”

“That’s sweet, but you’ll need sustenance before you get royally laid.”

“True, so what else do you have planned other than buying meat and museum hopping?”

“Lunch with Denise if she can make it.”

“Wish I could come along.”

“You’d get bored listening to Denise and me over lunch. Since she moved here three years ago, all she’s done, other than work at the embassy, is proceed to screw every Italian man who’s willing to spring for dinner and a show.”

“She gets away with it.”

“She is gorgeous, but she reminds me a little of myself before I met you. As you know, I did the same thing.”

“You were just killing time before meeting me.”

“It was a little more than that, and you know it.”

Orlando shook his head. “Is that why that expression is in your eyes?”

“What expression?”

“You look sad. I saw it early this morning after you awakened. I thought making love with me would have taken that away. What’s really on your mind, Candy? I know it’s got something to do with your family, this day of the month, and this anniversary. Spill the beans.”

“I’m okay, really.”

“Candy, I’ve known you for over five years. By now I know when something is wrong with my wife.”

“It’s just that their expectations of me haven’t changed.”

“How do you know that? You haven’t actually spoken to them in months.”

“Right, months. They didn’t even come over to say good-bye to us before we left for another country. Another country, Orlando!”

“I know that hurt you, and it apparently still does. What have I told you before? Fuck them! They’re not worth the effort of stressing over.”

“They’re my family. They could have called to see how we’re doing.”

“The day is still young, Candy.”

“I know, but they won’t call. They never have wished me a happy anniversary.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You’re still trying to prove something to them even though you’re Dr. Buchanan now. You don’t have to prove a damn thing to anyone but me, Candy. Even at that, you have nothing to prove.” He took my hand into his, kissing it, rubbing it across his cheek. “Baby, what really matters is that you have been a dream come true to me. Remember, you saved me as well. Before you, my love life was nothing but one meaningless encounter after the next, wondering if this or that one was the one, but no one was it for me, Candy. I wanted a wife.”

“My escapades were for the hell of it, Orlando. I wasn’t looking for commitment, just a good lay. Wild, crazy medical students who’ve been deprived for too long sometimes fall into that trap.”

He devoured the last of his drippy pancakes, swallowed his coffee, then smiled at me. “That life is over now. You have me anytime you need me. Hell, I’d lay you every day if you’d let me.”

“And I’d be a widow before the age of thirty-five. I’d wear you out.”

He stood, taking my hand. “I’d be glad to oblige, but don’t worry, I’ll be around for a long time, Candy girl.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better go and find my way around. Do something fun today; have a ball with Denise, and don’t worry about your family. They’re the ones who need to wise up, you already did by walking down the aisle with me five years ago.” He kissed me once again—a long, drawn-out, lush kiss. “A little something to keep you warm and toasty for me, baby. Cook me something good, now.” He winked, playing the role of traditional husband to the max. “I need strength to fulfill your favorite fantasy.”

“And what would that be?” Delivering a devious smile.

“I think you know the answer to that!”

 

I watched my baby throw a leg over his new Vespa and pull away from the parking complex. After the front door closed, I leaned against it, thanking God for sending me such a magnificent husband, and just in time before I went stone nuts.

I sat at my dining room table to plan my day. The first thing on my list was getting my darling husband off my mind long enough to think. I needed wine, flowers, salad fixings, and meat…there I go again, because the only meat I was thinking about was Orlando’s. No, what I needed was fine Italian meat for the most scrumptious veal parmigiana I’ve ever made. The market square would definitely be the place; Denise told me it was the best place for good meat. At that, I showered.

It was a particularly hot day, the kind of hot that’s hazy, humid, and bright before 10:00 A.M.; the kind of hot that makes you sweat like crazy and want to pull off everything and walk naked through the streets of beautiful Florence, Italy. Who would care? People are free here and are always ready to admire a lovely work of art. Even I must admit that I have a body to kill for—long, lean, and tanned, everything an Italian man would look to the heavens and give thanks for. However, getting arrested wasn’t my thing, and I wasn’t daring enough to go nude, so instead I put on my crepe red-and-white polka-dotted sundress that hugged every curve, dipped into a vicious V, and stopped at midthigh—downright scandalous. The matching red open-toed stilettos added more mystique. The thinness of the dress’s material was airy enough to keep me cool—for a minute!

I checked the mirror once more before leaving just to make sure I was as fly as ever. I’m the kind of woman who has to look damn good before I go anywhere, whether it’s to the store or the trash can, doesn’t matter. I’ll take a compliment from anyone, anywhere. That’s just me, and it works like a charm. Orlando already told me that I’m beautiful. Husbands are supposed to give those compliments, but it never hurts to hear it again and again from strangers. When I hear it from my baby, however, it’s all good!

My first stop was to pick up a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers and prosecco from the local shops to have on the table that night; next I would have a quick little luncheon, then be on my way to the square. Needless to say, I got sidetracked before I’d finished shopping. There’s a lot of things in Italy to grab a girl’s attention—and I eventually met up with the ultimate distraction…

It was only 11:00 A.M. by the time I’d purchased the wine, so I was able to take it home, refrigerate it, then go back out to enjoy more of the sights. There were throngs of people in the marketplace. Festive music filled the air, and everything was stunning, like something out of a picture postcard. I was truly glad my husband’s job transferred him here. Everything was so beautiful, fresh, fragrant, delighting my senses almost as much as Orlando had several hours before. The many varieties of flowers for sale made everything around look like an Impressionist painting—vivid and eye-catching. How could anyone not notice such beauty? That would be like walking past a field of purple and not seeing it; that’s the Alice Walker in me.

I wondered if my own husband was out somewhere enjoying the sights instead of getting to work early. Who could blame him? From the looks of the crowds on the streets, I seriously doubted that anyone did anything but shop around, buy liquor, and chill out the rest of the day. Who could blame them? The day was hot and sunny, a good day to be out and to be with a lover. Too bad for me since my lover was off making lots of money. Then something hit me—a little thing called control. I was so into Orlando that the slightest things made me think of him. I’d come a long way from that silly young woman who just wanted a lover, any lover; didn’t matter to me back then.

I hadn’t seen the right bouquet on the streets, so I ducked into Vinucci’s Milleflore to buy the perfect flowers for my husband. Carlo Vinucci himself helped me arrange the perfect mix of flowers I know back home as Red Rocket carnations and Wild Romance asters—the perfect mix to get Orlando’s red rocket in full gear, as if he needed help! And if I had things my way that night, those Red Rocket carnations would live up to their name, shooting my wicked imagination straight to the stars. I picked them up and handed them to Signor Vinucci. “Definitely wrap these up.” Even after a crash course in Italian, I still spoke English.

The elderly gentleman, the epitome of Italian courtesy, smiled at me and did his share of flirting. “Si, si. A romantic evening planned?”

“My husband and I are celebrating two monumental occasions—our fifth anniversary.”

“Many congratulations. And the other?” the eager Mr. Vinucci questioned.

“We’re living in the city of pure, unadulterated romance, and I plan to make the most of it. We moved here from Colorado, a nice place, but I like Florence better. I love the romantic flair of Italy.”

“Indeed, a lovely woman should ’ave the romance as much as possible.” He patted my hand. “And you—bella, bella. What a lucky husband you have.”

“I think so. So does he.”

“Just to talk to you does an old man good. And it helps to practice the English for me. Maybe I get lucky, too.”

“Oh, Signor Vinucci. Just wait for the next hottie to come in and steal your heart. She’ll be around.”

He wrapped the flowers and placed the wonderful bunch in my arms. I was good to go. I still had shopping to do, so I asked him if he could refrigerate them for another hour while I finished my shopping. He was only too glad to have another opportunity for me to grace his store. I promised him that I would return in an hour. With a kind smile on his face, he placed them in back and waved good-bye to me. “Ciao!”

I stepped back into the midmorning sun, and that’s when it happened. The minute I walked onto Vinucci’s flower-laden patio, I saw something so outrageously sexy that I thought I’d dissolve into the flower garden. A sexy-ass hunk of a man walked by me in pleated beige linen dress pants, creamy yellow shirt and tie. I hadn’t gotten a really good look at his face, but judging from his side profile, he was out of this fucking world!

His wavy black hair was shining so brightly in the sun that it looked blue-black. His olive-brown skin was smooth and beautiful, something I hadn’t seen much of in Italy. Sure, there were dark people here, but this man was not Italian; he was beautiful and black—and American, like me. My eyes narrowed, and I followed his scent; bet your damn ass I did.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I was trailing behind him. I mean I fixated on him like nothing else existed in the world. That’s what got my panties in a twist and made me think about my actions. I hated myself suddenly for even wanting to look at another man when I had the best husband in the world that a woman could possibly ask for. My man was hot, beautiful, and made almost as much money as I did. What else could I possibly want?

The man in front of me.

Apparently, it took only one look to sway me, and I was hooked like a fish on a line. With my strong attraction to the male sex, I wondered if my family was indeed correct about me. Did I really want something different after only five years of marriage? Or was this just a game?

After all those years, I was suddenly swayed by the first juicy man who strutted by me. I was weak. But I followed, like there was a magnetic strip across my damn forehead, drawing me closer and closer to whoever the hell this man was. I accepted my fate, acknowledged that maybe I was fated to have multiple lovers, and skipped happily along. A fool for love—or maybe just a fool.

Getting next to him, this total stranger—was a definite plan of action.

I watched how he moved, how his arms swayed as he walked, everything the man did made my nipples hard. Instinctively, I wanted to touch each hardened bud, wishing his hands were squeezing and manipulating them; sucking them…

I got weak in the knees over the thought. I hadn’t planned on letting him know I was behind him, but the very idea of his lips on my now moist skin was making me lose my grip on reality. He turned and glanced at me, but not before I saw how sexy his ass was. My husband was but a mere memory, sorry to say. I could just imagine this man’s thin mustache tickling my vulva, nipping and sucking on my clit, my slick feminine folds, all the while driving me into the most intense orgasm I could ever imagine having. I almost lost my footing when he smiled at me as I had that damn daydream. His eyes were so lovely, almond-shaped and dark brown. I wondered just what else on him was dark brown. From the looks of him, he was probably a good, healthy nine inches.

He kept walking, and I kept following. All I wanted him to do was jump into my game and play me all night long. I could imagine him sliding his fingers deep into me as well. Imagine, all that juicy rod and three of his large fingers inside of me, pleasuring me, teasing me, spreading me apart. I was so near the verge of coming again that I could feel my nectar bubbling inside of me. This stranger was tongue-dipping fabulous.

The thing about it was that, at that point, I didn’t even care that I was married; I was too involved with the vision of his tongue mating with mine. How I could just see his lips covering mine, going deep into me, then moving down to each nipple, gently raking his teeth across them. The honey really started dripping, hot, thick, and wet against my core when I imagined feeling his deliciously long tongue entering my wetness, dipping deeper and deeper, dodging in and out, swirling around inside of me until the very essence of me drenched his lips and chin.

I had to squint to keep the sweat from dripping inside of my eyes, because he was making me hotter than fire. After my vision cleared, I realized I’d been after him for six blocks. I was quite sure he knew that I was following him like a child follows the Good Humor truck. He was better than ice cream; he was a walking porno flick.

I hadn’t a care in the world where he was going. For all I knew, he could have taken me on a guided tour of hell and back, and my flames simply would have burned deeper, stoking me, scorching everything in sight—just the way I like it. He wasn’t taking me to hell; I was already there and enjoying the scenery. Wherever he was going, I was sure to be right behind him, watching his walk, his sway, everything associated with smoldering hot sex…wearing tight beige pants.

What surprised me was when he entered the Bargello National Museum. How the hell could he have possibly known the museum was on my list of places to visit? Was this man, this complete stranger, reading my mind? Whatever the case, I’m sure to him it was a good read, because he turned slightly to me, smiled, making sure I was right there with him, then entered the museum. Like the puppy dog I’d turned into, I traipsed in right at his heels.

The Bargello was magnificent, just the way friends described it and just the way the postcard depicted it. As beautiful as it was, it was still overshadowed by the man leading me on a guided tour of complete and utter satisfaction. He stopped at the internal courtyard. And me? Well, I stayed a little behind so as not to be too super obvious. Hell, I had to have a little mystery about me, didn’t I? Damn straight I did, but it wasn’t working with him. He expected me, drew me inside with the carnal knowledge of a sensual chase underway.

What a grand pursuit it would be.

He was right. Within seconds, I was there. I had to be, because there was now a hunger in my soul, primal, lustful, and nothing but setting my eyes on him could satisfy my desire. Maybe I was man-hungry, insatiable, and all those other cute words that fit my predicament, but I managed to keep it real, staying just enough behind him to make the chase more enticing. The more wild and wicked a situation is, the more uncontrollable the human mind is. I knew that was the case for me; with him, I only hoped.

He looked out at the botanical gardens, yet, from the corner of his eye, he watched me slowly approach, moving in closer and closer, as though I were a casual spectator. He knew the game, but for me, it wasn’t quite wicked enough, so I played him—well.

I approached the railing of the garden, looking into a place that looked like it could have been the actual Garden of Eden…and there Adam was standing so close to me. The only thing wrong with the picture was that Adam’s fig leaf was so not there! How he could have teased me, making that leaf rise, revealing inches upon inches of full, pulsating length, just like the proverbial snake, waiting to entice me into forbidden pleasures.

Despite the fact that my thighs were wet, sliding against each other causing the most intolerable heated friction a body could endure, I moved in closer; so close that I could smell him. I don’t know what he was wearing, but he had on enough of it. His aroma was a natural husky cologne and man-mixed. He was making me high with his scent alone. I leaned in for more of it, but he walked off, leaving me hanging, hungering for more.

A story up was one of the main attractions and something I was dying to see—other than Mr. Hot and Spicy—the room of Donatello. I knew something about the great Italian sculptor. I’d minored in art as an undergrad. I figured that would be my angle with that beautiful gentleman; get in close enough to start a conversation, make him realize that I was smart about something and not just a woman following the most sensual man ever created around Florence, Italy, hoping for a really good screw. Was I not her, though? I was, and I was fitting into my role with such ease, though there was still something in the darkness of my mind that knew what I was doing was wrong—wrong to my Orlando.

The minute Mr. Fine-as-Silk walked into the room, he made sure my bouncing thigh-high dress was fluttering behind him. When I walked in, he casually turned his head to the statue of David, my personal favorite for all the right reasons—nudity, grace, depth, and a body to liquefy for.

I knew my perfect stranger under his clothing was beyond what any statue possessed. He looked great in his clothes, however, but what an awesome power he had to be in the raw. My God, the idea of moving my tongue up and down his rippled six-pack sent chills up and down my spine; imagining how his stomach would heave in and out while my lips did their thing on the band of his Hanes. The idea of sliding my hand inside of those briefs and grabbing a cock as thick as my wrist was controlling me. You know you have it bad when the mere thought of a man’s body sends you into overdrive and spiraling down the highway to explicit nirvana. He was doing that to me, and I was but a willing participant.

Par for the course, I made my move, standing side by side with him while staring at a naked statue. Again, his aroma intoxicated me, drew me closer to him, and landed me merely inches from pleasure. We quickly glanced at each other, both too nervous to say anything, to get any real action going, but the drama was so thick and intense that we were barely seconds from getting buck wild and crazy in there on the marble floor. The other gallery-goers seemed not to be there or maybe it was because we just didn’t care anymore.

I could tell he was a little on the nervous side. He’d rub his hands together, look at the sculpture, then briefly at me. His nerves moved him from David, to Hercules, and finally to King Neptune. All nude, all sticking out to the stars and back, like he was. The sight of his clothed erection lit my fire, and I moved to him again, making him sweat like crazy.

That’s what I wanted, and I was damn sure going to get it. He wasn’t going to start anything, so I had to. I moved in on him as he stared at King Neptune, who had everything hanging out, spears in each hand, and looking like a major testosterone spill. Knowing that I was looking at engorged male anatomy only got my stranger harder. He had to have it, and so did I, so I cleared my throat. “How long have you been interested in Donatello?”

His beautiful dark eyes met mine, taking me whole, melting my heart. Please, don’t let him smile at me. His delectably thick lips and thin mustache smiled into the most orgasmic smile imaginable. My legs went weak, and the only thing holding me up was not wanting to look crazy in front of the very man I wanted to fuck!

“Quite a while. How about you?”

Christ! That voice, that wonderful, body-drenching, mouthwatering voice! Was it possible for a man to sound better than he looked? The day proved that anything was surely possible. I had to steady myself. “I know a lot about him but seeing the actual work just blows my mind. I studied Renaissance art in college for my minor.”

“Really? Someone as lovely as you could have been a model for one of these Italian geniuses.” His eyes slowly scanned me from my long dark hair to the revealing dress I was sporting. I loved how he looked at me. I wanted him to do so much more than look—touch, yes, touch, all day, all night, baby.

He continued, “What do you know about him?”

Could I speak without sounding like a gibbering fool? I had to try because first impressions lasted a lifetime, as would my memory of him if I could just have him for ten minutes. The professional in me arose with such charm and knowledge that I actually surprised myself. “I know that Donatello was born here in Florence in 1386; he never married, had no children and got his start in the shop of the very ingenious Lorenzo Ghiberti. Donatello created the shallow-relief technique.”

“And that would be?”

“Oh, that’s a way of making a sculpture seem deep but actually carved on a shallow plane.”

“You are a smart one, aren’t you? I love smart women.” A hint of tongue poked out, gently wetting such succulent lips, kissable lips, lips to suck and kiss all night long.

That kicked it into gear for me and I smiled. “I don’t know about the smart part, but I love art. This David was one of the first free-standing nude statues of the Renaissance era.”

His brow raised seductively. “I can see you like looking at him.” His wonderful deep eyes moved to the hem of my dress, scanning my thighs briefly before remembering who he was. I knew who he was—someone so hot, rich-smelling, and smooth that I was minutes from meltdown.

Before I could really move in for the kill, he smiled, gave me a nod, then headed for the Michelangelo room. I kept my distance, watching him walk the exhibits, stopping briefly at the Apollo, Ebbro, the Brutus, everything naked and taking it all in much the same way I was. Only with me, a naked Apollo wasn’t doing it. The more I stared at him watching nudity, the more I imagined it was him on one of those sculptor’s turning platforms…and I was the sculptor, molding him to perfection with my hot hands, eagerly caressing an already engorged phallus.

The idea of all that packing dark meat sliding inside of me almost gave me an orgasm. By the time the quaking in my body ceased, I was almost directly behind him, a light film of perspiration covering my forehead, my hands jittery and ready to reach for him, pull him into me and taste his tongue in circular motions. Slow, sweet, and severe! That’s what this total stranger was turning me into, something wanton and feverish, getting close to him again was the only cure.

He was studying the wealth of sculpture, the differences in Classical and Renaissance styles, and I approached again, standing next to him, saying nothing, barely breathing. For seconds neither of us knew what to say or how to say it without giving away how we really felt and what we really wanted to do. Somehow he saw me scanning him, looking at his long, slender fingers, wondering how deep he could go. Would he know what to touch and how to touch it? Then I looked at him and saw the man I knew he truly was. As badly as I wanted to experience him, I held off.

The entire time he had this odd smile on his face, one that a statue couldn’t be responsible for. No, that expression was from the scent of a woman. His fingers and hands calmed, relaxing to me, wanting me to experience more with him than just the pleasure of appreciating great art. What I knew he wanted was an overflowing dose of true nakedness, but not on a pedestal. Not still and hard to the touch. He wanted me and I knew it.

I thought again of Orlando, which brought me to the question of why I was in a museum with a perfect stranger—and I do mean perfect. What I had was called the can’t-help-its. But I was scared. Not of him. Of myself.

Just when I’d decided to go on about my business as though I’d never laid eyes on him, he spoke again. Funny how one thing can trigger you into doing all the wrong things no matter how much you want to be right with the world. For me, that was this man’s voice again.

“Which David do you prefer: Michelangelo’s or Donatello’s?”

“I like them both. Donatello’s is more human, but Michelangelo’s is heroic.”

“Which physical qualities suit you more?”

Yours. “Having both in one package is always enticing. A woman rarely gets that. It’s either one or the other. Your preference?”

“I couldn’t say. However, being everything to a woman is always a good idea, never a practical and attainable one, though.”

His expression softened, and I looked down at his wedding band. He was also married. Two of us walking wide-eyed into a pit of lust and at someone else’s expense, unfortunately. I felt bad for a minute, but this man had to be experienced. By me. In a big incredible bed, wearing nothing but a hard-on. He excited me more than any man I’d ever had. He was intellectual, interested in me, in art and in everything that was going on that day in the Bargello, at least when it came to our random meeting. Still, the incredible thing was how much he physically excited me. I knew for sure that nothing but studying art would set my world on fire that day. He was a work of art himself, a walking, talking modern masterpiece. But my worst fear was looking like a quivering pile of clothing shrinking into nothing, so I kept talking to him, hoping he’d respond. “Do you study art here?”

“Me? No! I’m a day early for my new job and decided to take in some of Florence.”

“What job would that be? Lawyer, accountant?”

“I’m a hydraulics engineer for Water-Vision. We’re developing flood control measures to keep Florence’s art and architecture safe…”

He went on, but I wasn’t listening. Safe, huh? I wasn’t but I didn’t want the game to end. It dawned on me that I didn’t even know the name of the man I was leading into infidelity, at least in my own mind. I extended my hand. “I’m Candy Buchanan.” His hand felt sensually warm.

“And I…am late for an engagement.” Quickly looking up at the clock and not giving me his name. I was flabbergasted! I wanted him, was willing to go out on a limb for him, sleep around behind Orlando’s back, and he couldn’t even give me a name? Maybe there was still one man on the face of the earth who saw a wedding ring as something still sacred and let it stand at that. That’s why it was a ring in the first place, indicative of a circle of love. I should have respected that.

Apparently, he was the kind who went home to whomever had that matching ring.

But he was the one man I wanted. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

I was not to be denied. He said his good-byes, and I watched him leave through the heavy iron doors, maybe never to be seen again. No way! I kicked into seduction mode again and casually walked out of the room.

I saw another museum door closing down the hall. My stranger was in there; I saw his sleeve just as the door closed. I picked up my pace, grabbed the door handle, and pulled it open. There my stranger was waiting inside for me. There were all kinds of beautiful masterpieces in there, but his gaze was on me. He smiled, his voice echoing throughout the room. “I knew you’d follow me.”

He was damn right about that, but I wasn’t crazy about his cockiness. I moved toward him, hands on my hips, staring that pretty dream-come-true in the face. I stopped directly before him, trying my best to ignore his sexual fragrance. “Say what?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” His tone was edgy, like he wanted to get to me. How the fuck could an insult be so sultry? His was, and it softened the blow of him being right. Still, I had to add my own edge. “Yeah, so? Okay, you’re right. Now what?”

“You tell me, darling.”

“Take it out,” I said boldly.

“Why do you think I lured you in here? No one comes to this gallery.”

“How do you know?”

“An affiliated company of ours is prepping it for renovation. And I have the key.”

“Good for you. Lock us in, take it out, show me what I want.”

He obeyed, then moved to face me. He had to be the prettiest man in captivity. Sorry, Orlando, but before reality truly struck me, I felt this stranger’s hands on my dress, palming my already hardened buds, making me scorching hot. He bent and flicked his tongue across my clothed nipples, wetting the material in exquisite fashion. My body arched to the attention, getting what I was asking for but needing more, so I said again. “Show me what you have.”

He pulled away from me. “You won’t enjoy it until I get what I want.”

My mouth went dry, my voice shook. “What…what is it that you want?”

“To taste you—my way. The minute I saw you, I knew I had to drag you back here, Mrs. Candy Buchanan. The sight of those barely-there panties under this incredibly luscious dress makes me crazy. And you know it, too.”

“Sure as hell do.”

“Then do I get what I want?”

“Don’t ask; take it.”

His lips met mine, sucking me, nibbling me into fits. His tongue snaked out, dancing with mine as his hands slid to my butt. Mercy, he squeezed it the same way Orlando did, hard, rugged, making me wet from the idea of him touching me. This stranger was making me feel like his lover by the mere touch of his large, warm hands.

The more he kissed me, the more my mind disolved. The way his mustache tickled my lips made me crazy, insane, free to be the wanton woman I wanted to be. So what? I was getting mine from the juiciest man alive, and my body was happy. My sex ached for him, practically begged for him through those tiny lacy panties. He heard it, heard me. My own voice murmured after a particularly succulent kiss. “Go deep on me, whoever you are.”

“I’m the man who’s going to burn those panties right off of you.”

One more long draw on my mouth, then he licked up and down my cleavage, squeezing my breasts up and into plump orbs, leaving streaks between them. Just as I was beginning to entertain the idea of sliding my dress straps down for better access, he kissed down the front of my dress, resting one hand on my hips as his other lifted the hem. Exposed to him were panties easily peeled away from my wet skin, but instead, he kept kissing. His tiny nibbles started at the band of my panties, kissing just below my navel and working his way around the front of them. He soon moved to the leg area, kissing in detail as his other fingers massaged the wet seat, stroking it, rubbing hard. The other side got the same erotic attention as he kissed and rubbed his hard fingers into the wetness. The harder he stroked me, the more lavish his kisses became.

By that time, my hands were full of his curly dark hair, massaging his scalp, feeling his soft cheeks, feeling them move with each kiss he nailed me with. I was so ready to come that I was fuming. He knew it and tickled my seat with feathery strokes a little more. I called out to a stranger, not knowing what name to actually call him; “God” had to suffice.

He looked up at me. “At the boiling point, aren’t you?”

“Pull them down, pretty boy, and taste me; lick your way into my body and taste heaven firsthand.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s what I need.”

“I know what you need.”

His hands grabbed my behind again, but with force, squeezing my cheeks together in vigorous motions. He enjoyed what he was doing to me, rocking my behind forward and backward, gaining momentum with his hand movements. His lips were now flush against the front of my panties, and he nibbled the center, yet didn’t remove a single stitch. He just kept kissing, squeezing my behind to the tempo his lips were making with his hands. I could feel the sexual tension tighter and tighter within my core, wanting and needing release to this wonderful new lover. I knew he was going for that, but how, what way was his pleasure to heighten?

I called out again. “Take it! Eat me, baby. Eat me well.” His tongue snaked out, licking my wet crotch through the thin material. He wanted the friction; it made his tongue hungry. The more he licked my soaking wet labia, the harder he thrust my buttocks against him. I could feel his tongue swirling around, wanting entrance, yet refraining himself from the ultimate temptation. The wet material, along with his tongue, moved into me, tickling my clit and lips, making me weak, making me so ready to deliver what I knew he wanted to take.

I couldn’t hold out any longer, but he continued to eat, and ate well. The more my nectar spilled, the more vigorous his tongue action became, stroking me from front to back as he moaned, making hungry sounds and talking as he devoured my cream. “Baby, this is so fucking good. Keep rocking against me, girl. Rock harder, let me lick more…that’s right, like that! Give it to me.”

His tongue darted across the cotton seat so fast that I screamed out, grabbed my breasts in my hands, reared back, and released more to him. My body pounded more for this stranger than for my own husband, but I was beyond caring about that. What would he be like inside of me—tongue, penis, everything? What could he make my body do that no other man had ever managed? He’d already done it, taking me to the limits without the benefit of showing me one single inch of his body.

He delivered his last lick, catching every drop, then slowly stood and faced me. We kissed once again, then he pulled away. No words, no anything. My hands hung on to his damp, sweat-stained shirt, feeling his heat but wanting to see it. After his kiss, however, he backed away from me and walked to the entrance. Before I could speak, he disappeared behind the door.

Damn! I was hoping for more afternoon delight before having lunch and going home to cook for Orlando, but I decided to screw all of that. When a man gets into your blood, you’ve gotta get ’em.

I had to follow him. I caught his scent like a tracking dog would, and nothing would do until I got the rest of what I needed to have. Whoever he was, he wasn’t finished; he knew it and so did I.

The sun baked my wet skin the minute I hit the street, but I couldn’t think about anything other than that pretty man now walking down the street and out of my life. My clit was still vibrating because of him, and I could barely walk. Adding insult to injury, the stilettos were beginning to pinch like crazy. I hadn’t planned on being in them long, only to go to the market, take in an exhibit, and lunch. I found myself doing way more, like trotting down the damn marbled streets, almost twisting my ankles just to get to a man I had no business with, but he treated me so well that I had to have more. Whoever he was, he was worth the torture. By the end of the day, I expected to be tortured in more exotic ways. He liked me, and I knew it, liked how I tasted. The smile on his face after he licked me to death told me that!

The more he walked, strutting that tight butt of his, the hotter I got. The midday sun was so steamy that I could see the print of his back against his now-wet silk shirt. Hints of tight muscles rippled everywhere; the deep curve of his back tapering down to slender hips and tight behind was hazardous to my senses.

He kept walking, and I kept pace despite shoes I was all but ready to fling into the gutter. You know how it is, the shoes can be killers, but if they look good and are eye-catching to men, the things stay on. I endured it, solely for the hunt, and what a grand one it was. The prey was absolutely mouthwatering.

On occasions, his head turned just to see if his personal sex slave was still there. I was. Where the hell else would I be, home rattling pots and pans? True enough that that was where I should have been, but I wasn’t. I had accepted my fate.

He kept walking. I kept following, and we walked right past the other place I was supposed to got to that day, another museum. I looked down at my watch, a half hour before my lunch date. I seriously didn’t think I’d be able to attend since I was following my lunch down the street. Denise would have to go it alone. If she laid one eye on the entrée I was following, she’d surely understand why I was standing her ass up.

My throat was so dry and my nerves completely shot from not getting the rest of what I needed, yet there was no fucking way I was going to stop. I was on a mission.

Finally, my stranger had mercy on me and ducked into a quaint little side bar. And wasn’t it just perfect, something you’d see in one of those artsy movies that your mother told you never to watch—especially in the company of a man. The hell with that. I wanted to star in one of those forbidden flicks with him.

La Lourage was noted for its fine Italian wines and a was personal favorite of Denise’s. She told me to check out everything, especially the cafés and sidewalk liquor houses. I’d never seen anything like them.

What I wanted was to be at the outdoor café, pretend I was an authentic Italian, sipping wine, looking fly with a carafe of wine, eyeing my stranger’s cock on the sly. Don’t all true Italians in lovely Florence get their share of wine and sex at the same time? Why not me?

My stranger went inside, as did I, chucking the outdoor daydream in a freakin’ heartbeat. The inside was just as appealing. Fine gondola paintings on the walls, chandeliers made of the prettiest cut glass, and a fat Italian man behind the bar, welcoming my stranger with a firm, friendly handshake. They knew each other, were probably best buddies. Yes, my stranger was a man about town who went everywhere, did everything—probably did every woman he could get his hands on. So what? I was glad to be a notch on his belt. I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere else in the world but there.

I had no idea what the men were discussing, didn’t actually give a damn, so I waited at the entrance in anticipation of what erotic fantasy my stranger had in store for me. He turned around and pointed to me with a delicious smile on his face. The bartender smiled as well, big and wide. The two shook hands again, and my stranger waited for his friend to pour a carafe of what looked to be sangria and crushed ice. But where were the glasses? Mr. Gorgeous walked into the back room, assuming I would soon join him.

My staying power was diminishing, though his certainly wasn’t. I wanted him to nail me and get it over with before I had to go home to a lonely apartment. I slowly pushed the swinging door open and saw him standing near in front of a table, holding the carafe. A smile as enticing as the rest of his fine self lured me.

I was standing at the door, waiting for permission to approach him when he called out to me. “What do you need, an invitation? Lock that door behind you. You know why you’re here, so come and get it.”

His words were blunt, but truthful. Yes, I was there to get fucked. No flowery words, just the nitty-gritty, getting fucked! I slowly approached him, stopping inches from him; he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. The sun was shining in from a stained-glass window, illuminating his already golden complexion, making him sexier than God had originally planned. I couldn’t wait. I knew he was going to give all that golden deliciousness to me. He was ready.

So was I.

He took my face into the palms of his hands and kissed me. His tongue entered me, wetting my dry lips with stroke after stroke, making my own tongue dance with his. It was raw, wicked and dirty, the way he danced around inside my mouth. His hands squeezed my butt again, forcing me into that fiery rocket between his thighs. He was killing me by making me wait for what I wanted, yet my arms encircled his neck and shoulders, pressing farther into him for anything I could possibly get. I rubbed against him, sliding my hand down his rippled chest and onto that giant cock. It felt good in my hands, natural, as if he was supposed to be fondled by me. Almost insane from want, I broke away from him. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Everything.”

He lay me down on the sturdy table and looked at me. “You must want a lot to follow a stranger around Florence.”

“I only want what I have coming to me.”

“And what would that be?”

“A good, stiff fuck. You started this, and now you have to finish it.”

“I didn’t start this, Candy. You started it by wearing that damn sexy-ass dress.”

“What would you prefer me wear, nothing?”

“Yes.”

“Then take care of it.”

He leaned over me with the carafe in his hands, stuck one finger into the sangria, and traced my lips with it. He kissed it off, then fingered the buttons on the front of my dress. The minute he got to the second button, my hands stopped his. “Why haven’t you told me your name?”

“Because I don’t need to. When you want raw, turbocharged sex, names matter very little, right?”

“I guess.”

“Besides, you may know my wife. She’s a pretty hot item around Italy. What I do, I do in secrecy. I do that because I’m a man of means, by no means. But I am rated M.”

“For what?”

“Massive.”

I reached down and cupped his scrotum, bounced it in my hand, feeling the weight and intensity of it. That same hand worked north, spanning the length of his shaft. A good ten-incher if I’d ever felt one. “Massive, huh?”

“Damn straight!”

“Let me see it.”

“In due time. I get mine first.”

“You got yours already.”

“I want more.” He set the carafe down and quickly unfastened the rest of the buttons on my dress, reached behind me, and unhooked my bra. He lifted the bra over my breasts and looked down. Desire filled those deep, dark eyes, his tongue gracefully moistened his full lips, and his hands automatically started massaging my breasts. He squeezed the tight, pointed buds between his thumbs and forefingers, rubbing them in circles until they stood up for him.

I continued to watch him as he manipulated my nipples. He was like a child on his birthday, smiling glassy-eyed at the biggest package. My hands covered his as he moved them across my soft flesh. “You like them, don’t you.”

“Can’t you tell by this stiff rod?”

“Then taste them. They’re reaching out to you, Mr. Stranger. That’s your new name since you won’t tell me who you really are.”

“I’m a stranger to any woman I take in broad daylight.”

“Then this is a habit with you?”

“It is, but you’re the only one I’m addicted to.”

“Why me?”

“Because you radiate sex, strong, earthy, delicious sex; the only kind of sex that sets me off.” He took the carafe and slowly dripped the sangria across my nipples, dowsing them, cooling my hot skin. The cool liquid streaked my sides as it rolled from my taut breasts. He poured more, massaging it in, watching as it trickled down my chest and stomach, dipping into my navel, wetting the band of my panties.

The feel of it on my body was delicious. I never knew wine tasted better wearing it. It got better! My stranger’s hands were full of wine and breasts, moving them up and down, toying with me as his rod got stiffer and stiffer. He leaned against me, kissed my neck and collarbone, then worked his way down. He was like an animal suddenly, licking and lapping me. His tongue and lips circled my breasts, mellowing in the flavor of sangria-painted flesh. His lips pulled and tugged at my nipples, and he raked his teeth across them, rolling them between his fingers and tongue, doing double duty on me.

My back arched to the sensations. My legs wrapped around his hips, feeling that M-for-massive hard-on as it pushed against me. I called to him, screamed for him to release it and let it play at my opening. He ignored my words and continued to work his magic on my breasts. His licks were slow and methodical. Long strokes dampened my chest and stomach, getting every molecule of sangria left on me. His tongue swirled into my navel, drinking the drops inside it.

He raised briefly to pour more wine on to his fingers, letting the liquid drip from them, long enough to engulf a hot, squirming punanny into a sensual explosion. I stared into his super sexy face. “What are you gonna do with the rest of that wine?”

“You’ll find out.”

Long fingers moved to the leg of my panties and pulled them aside. What awaited him was a quivering, feverish, throbbing sex just waiting for riotous action. I wanted that beautiful stranger to slide those fingers so deeply into me that I’d feel him invading me forever. I wanted his lips, tongue, everything pulling at me, spreading my core open and eating it tenderly, passionately.

He knew what I wanted, what I needed, and he did just that. He played my labia until it hummed. I clawed at his soft hands. “Do it! Spread me; fuck me.”

He smiled at me. “Isn’t that what you’d love? To have a big, fat, juicy rod taking you to another time zone?”

“That’s what I want.”

“It’s all about what I want. Remember that.” He dampened his fingers again, then slowly dipped two into my sex. There was a bit of a tingle but he soothed it by rocking slowly in and out. A third finger slid in, taking up the same rhythm as the other two. My clit throbbed mercilessly as his fingers slid around it. My back arched as I screamed out to a man who had no name. It was so good to me. No man had ever rocked my body the way this lover did.

I could not resist. All I could do I was go with the flow and enjoy everything I could possibly get away with. And if it was in the cards to follow this man into the wilderness of unbridled lust and downright dirty sex—so be it. The day was mine, maybe the night as well if my plan was indeed a workable plan.

My secret stud worked me hard, sliding his fingers deeply into me as I watched his face, a wildly sexy face, so beautiful as he nailed me. Sweat dripped from his smooth brown forehead and mixed with the sangria on my chest. He parted my legs farther, slamming more and more of his fingers into my sopping core.

He leaned over me again, licking and tasting my almost dewy breasts and nipples, making them wet again. My cries made him wilder, and he stroked me harder until my muscles clenched around his fingers. He felt my orgasm, tugged at me more to intensify it. His fingers squeezed my clit, feeling it tremble, and he smiled a smile of satisfaction. His voice tickled my still-perky nipples. “Girl, you come so damn good, like no other woman.”

I had to. He hadn’t even penetrated me with his shaft, yet. I was ready, willing, and able to do anything he wanted me to. “How many times would I be able to have you? Every day, every hour, or maybe once a month?”

“Every day. My wife wouldn’t care.”

“Why would she not care when she has someone as good as you are?”

“How good is Orlando? Aren’t you doing the same to him?”

I rose up and stiffened at the accusation. “What do you know about Orlando?”

He pushed me back down. “My point, Candy, do you want me enough to keep doing what we’re doing? I don’t care about Orlando. I don’t even know who he is, other than a coworker I haven’t met yet.”

“Haven’t met yet? You wouldn’t tell him if you ever met him, would you?”

“I just said I don’t care about him.”

“Well I do, but I care more about getting mine.”

“Doesn’t he give you yours?”

“Yes, but I want more, plain and simple! Give me what I want, and I’ll hang around.”

He patted his still stiff phallus. “You mean this?”

“You got it!”

“No, you got it, and if you want it, you’ll do what I ask.”

“What are you asking?”

“For the thrill of a longer chase.”

“How can I give you a longer chase, which could last months if I don’t know your name?”

“Create one for me.”

“I have—the perfect stranger.”

“Good enough, because that’s exactly what I am to you and to other women.”

“After this day, will I be your only conquest?”

He winked at me. “You are the best I’ve had. I couldn’t handle you along with anyone else. Alone you’ll probably kill me.”

I stroked his sweaty pecs. “Sexual death is a blast. You’ll eventually thank me for killing you.”

He pulled my dress apart again, exposing my sticky breasts. He moistened the cloth laying on he table next to the carafe and smoothed it against my warm skin, diluting the sangria and sweat that blanketed my body.

His soothing cloth circled my nipples, which still burned for his lips. He wiped in circular motions down my chest and stomach before wrapping the cloth around his finger. My head raised. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Something good.”

I didn’t know what to expect but, whatever it was, I was up for it. I watched as he dipped the cloth-covered finger into the water, letting it drip across my panties, sliding the leg band away. He dipped the cloth into my sex, massaged my folds and clit with it, soothing, soothing me. What was it about this man? Who was he really? Again, my head lifted. “Who are you? Tell me the truth.”

“I’m your perfect stranger, remember?”

“Don’t make me ask you again?”

“Then stop asking.” He saw my bewildered expression. “The truth? Okay. I’m someone you’ll love.”

“I already love you.”

He took my hand and sat me up on the table. “You don’t love me yet.” He placed my hand around his bulging zipper. “When you’ve had this, then you’ll be in love. Take my word for it.” He backed away from me. “Do you want to be in love?”

“Yes.”

“Then button your dress and follow me.”

“Another disappearing act?”

He didn’t answer, just left me to pull myself together.

 

Once outside, the heat baked me again. I looked at my watch again; it was almost one in the afternoon and I had done nothing but get halfway screwed by a stranger. Orlando’s dinner should have been on the stove, his wine chilling instead of his wife wearing it. Where were his flowers that the famous Carlo Vinucci had handpicked? Waiting for some lucky woman to pick them up because I wouldn’t be back for them, not that day. Someone else would be the thankful recipient.

I followed behind my lover. But where was he taking me? Wherever it was, he knew I’d follow, because I was weak for him. He had girth to kill for, divorce for. Damn, what had I become, a human sex toy? Yes! His!

The streets were now populated with working men and women out for lunch. Children were running and playing; others were going to the midtown festival to gather their flowers and wine for a romantic evening. What would I have for Orlando? Burned veal because it would have to be cooked in a hurry, if it was made at all. Would I even be home for him? I was on a journey to sex heaven, and the pilot was right before me, leading me to a big billowy cloud to await a big, thick cock!

He led me to the river, flagged down a gondola and stepped aboard. He told the navigator to wait, knowing I’d be stepping inside almost immediately.

I approached the boat, and he held out his hand and brought me over the waters of the Arno. I sat across from him, staring into his big eyes. My body was still tingling from him, aching for him, ready for whatever. “What now?”

He slid over to me and opened the door to the small cabin just right for lovers. “Arch your back and lean against the seat.”

I did it. My legs were wide open, facing him. He moved to his knees and placed my legs over his shoulders. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“More tongue, more fingers, more licking.”

“What I want is your length inside me.”

“In due time.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Don’t ask again. I told you this is my show. I’m in control here, and I call the shots. It has to be that way, Candy.”

“I suppose you are right, since beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Are you begging for it?”

“Do you want me to?”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Sure, why not? I love it when women scream and ask for it. The gondolier won’t hear or understand—this is our secret.”

“Is that what it would take to feel that hot, hard member of yours?”

“Time can only tell; now relax and enjoy the waves—both kinds.” He pulled at my panties until they slid past my stilettos. I watched as he licked the crotch over and over before sliding them into his pocket.

“A souvenir?” I inquired.

“No, darling. My souvenir is right here.” He toyed and pulled at my almost hairless crotch and rubbed his finger up and down on it. He wrapped his hands around my thigh and scooted me deeper into him, arched my back a bit more, then licked me. I knew it was going to be good. The way his tongue danced in my mouth was the same way he was dancing within my sex. He swirled, tugged, nipped, and gently bit all around my clit. I was crazy from pleasure. The man poling the gondola could have heard all kinds of sounds, shrieks, and cries, because my stranger was eating me the way he did at the café.

I was getting a French kiss from my anus to my stomach, covering every spot. I could feel his skillful mouth moving up and down on me. He was taming a wicked-wild punanny, getting me to the point where I would only do and say what he wanted. He was controlling me, turning me into someone I didn’t know, didn’t want to know. Who was I? A lover like no other.

For the fifth time since that morning, I came. I spilled nectar all over him, drenching his mouth, his delicious mustache, but he just kept eating, gripping my thigh tighter with one hand as he reached between his legs for something. He never stopped with the pleasure. The more I came, the harder he forced his lips into my labia. His fingers matched what his lips were doing, winding me, plucking me until I heard his own cries. He bucked against me, gripped me tighter, spread my thighs to either side of the boat, braced himself, then came into his hand.

I could see nothing until he rested against his seat, worn out and out of breath, his chest heaving up and down frantically. His sexy face was flushed, and smiling. I stroked his cheeks. “Was it good, baby?”

“Not as good as it will get.”

I looked between his parted thighs and saw his pants gaping open with the thickest, strongest erection standing to my attention. It was everything I dreamed it would be, and the only thing that occupied my mind from that point on was stroking it, making it bigger, stiffer, rocking my hand up and down on it. He grabbed his exposed phallus and jerked it slowly. His eyes returned to me. “Help me with this.”

“You mean you’ll let me touch it?”

“But only a certain way. Like this. Watch and take notes on how to completely please me, because you’ll be doing a lot of this.”

The faster his hand moved on it, the weaker I became. I’d never felt like that before over the mere sight of a man, but he wasn’t your average man; he was beautiful everywhere, from his eyes and dark curly hair to his fine Italian croc shoes.

I needed something to cool my senses because he sure wasn’t doing it. I reached for the water bottle in my bag, dribbled some into my hand and patted my face, letting the water refresh me before gripping his tool; a tool I knew would take both of my hands to master.

I brought him to another climax, watching thick, creamy come spurt from his hulking cock. What dazzled me was watching it run down the sides of his shaft, like erupting lava from a volcano. I wanted to taste him, lick him, but he refused me, using his same line: “Not yet. There’s more to come.”

We reached the docks, and he returned my panties and helped me to land, making sure the wind didn’t lift my dress and expose me to the world. Thus our chase continued down the streets of Florence. I was hungry for both him and food, and so was he. We stopped at a street vendor where he purchased a cream-filled pastry for himself and an Italian sausage for me. I made him watch me slowly devour the length of the hot meat. He watched with enthusiasm, licking the velvety cream from his lips while continuing to watch me. When my last inch of meat was gone, he dabbed at my mouth with a hanky, saying, “When it’s my turn, I expect the same thing or back to Orlando you will go.”

Whoever this man was, he was sure to get pleased by me and in secrecy. I was up for all the secrecy possible. It only made the game hotter and wilder. I wanted my stranger too much not to do it.

This man walked me more blocks, to where I had no idea. We passed the restaurant where I was to have met Denise almost a half hour ago. I walked past the entrance a little faster in case she was still there waiting but was not fast enough. Denise saw me as she walked out. My stranger looked back to me as if to dare me to stop and explain. He wanted no one seeing the two of us together. Neither did I. As I passed Denise, I put my fingers to my lips to hush her, praying she’d keep a secret and not let on to anyone that she’d seen me. Denise watched me traipse behind this beautiful stranger, and simply shrugged her shoulders, gripped her bottle of port a little tighter, then walked in the opposite direction. I was thankful. Denise was cool enough to keep her mouth shut.

I kept my pace with the beautiful one but was becoming weary. The coochie was still in need of deep satisfaction, but the high heels were killing me, yet I walked. Where the fuck is he taking me? To hell and back? Indeed he was. There was a smoking pit somewhere with my name on it, but I was glad to jump in the fire, so long as it was his. That’s how much release I needed and was crazy enough to attain it any way I could.

After seven long blocks of cobblestone streets, he had mercy on me and ducked into a five-story building. I lost him. Still determined, I went in and tried to find him, searching corners, stairwells, then, finally, I could hear him climbing the steps. I couldn’t reach him because he was too high up. He kept climbing, and I kept trying to keep pace while those red stilettos pinched me. I reached the top and saw a single door standing ajar. I just knew he was now in his wife’s apartment, and he had the nerve to take another woman in there. Sure, he had the guts—after all, this was a man sneaking around on his wife and in broad daylight. What made him even bolder was that he was Orlando’s coworker. One wrong move on my part and I was history.

I pushed the door open and saw him standing across the room with a smug look on his face. Man, he was godly. Had the Lord made anything prettier, he’d surely have kept it up there with him. When I stepped through the door, he was leaning on a railing with his shirt unbuttoned. Caramel-brown skin glistened against his pale yellow shirt. He was a high degree of perfection; rippled pecs with hard, dark brown nipples dotting his chest. I prayed to see more of him, wanting to stroke that gorgeous chest, but I wasn’t allowed to.

My eyes lowered to the taut muscles dimpling his abdomen, then down to the dent in his stomach that housed a navel just ready for my tongue to slide across. All I could do was stare and smile—a wicked smile that practically begged to eat him.

His voice caught me off guard, that sexy voice again; a voice a woman could fuck to every minute of the day, every day of the week. Though he had spoken to me many times before, it was something about being secluded with him, in a forbidden zone, a dangerous zone that could very possibly house a wife hidden behind any corner. Did I care? You know I probably didn’t.

He held out his hand, saying, “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to get over here and let me slide something thick and hot into you?”

“Finally.”

“You knew the rules and agreed to them willingly. Am I correct?”

“You are.”

“Then get over here and get what you’ve been imagining.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“Why do you care?”

“I care because she could still be here. I’ll admit to being your slut, but I’d like to remain a living one. Knives in my back aren’t exactly a thrill.”

“She’s in Rome for the day, checking out a new museum.”

“What does she do?”

“She gets the hell out of my face so I can have my privacy; though she actually has no idea what I do with that privacy. Does that answer your question?”

“It’ll suffice.”

“Then suffice me. I’m ready to spill the goods.”

“More than what you did on the boat? You spilled a lot.”

“That depends on you and what you do to work me.”

As I approached him, I looked around at a room that opened into a penthouse patio. The sun drenched walls were adorned with valuable, richly colored painting, all of female nudes, something I desperately needed to be, but for him only.

He took my hands and pulled me into him. I swear the closer he moved into me, the larger his shaft looked poking through already unzipped pants. The very sight of that hulking erection made me slide my panties to my ankles. He watched with wildness in his eyes, then reached down for the skimpy panties, brought them to his lips and licked the crotch again. His only words were, “Umm! You taste like vanilla pudding—rich, creamy, and lickable. Just thought I’d mention that if I hadn’t already.”

“You hadn’t.”

“You know you followed me seven blocks just to have your panties licked—again.”

“We did that, and I definitely plan to have you do more than taste panties. I plan to have you taste me again, but with that pipe in your pants. Now that I’ve seen it, you can’t take it from me. I’d have you killed.”

“I plan to do the killing. Ready to die?”

“I’ve been ready.”

He moved into the crook of my neck, tickling me with his tongue. “Damn! You’re too boss, girl. And I know for sure exactly how boss you are, especially in a certain place.”

I tipped his chin back down to meet me. “Consider me your personal Candy store.”

“And you’re open for business.”

“It’s my grand opening, and every inch of that wonderful rod you finally showed me is surely invited.”

He led me to a chaise lounge in the corner of the patio, where I proceeded to remove my dress. After it fell in a crumpled heap at my feet, I laid back on the lounge looking up at him. My hand reached out for him. “Let me do you, mystery man.”

“Sure you can handle it? It’s what you’ll be screaming for the entire night, lovely one, so get prepared.”

I wrapped my hand around the prettiest mass I’d ever seen—beautiful, thick, and ready to screw the heck out of me. I couldn’t believe I had him in my hands again, and not for just brief moments. I could take him all afternoon and night. His wife was in Rome, and my Orlando was wherever. I could play on my new playground and let him dip his shovel into my sand all night long. I was aching from the idea of it. I was finally going to get it, have him nail me in ways I’ve only imagined thus far.

My hand slowly stroked his tip, squeezing its moisture, then down to the wonderful veins rippling from it. I could come just over how it felt in my hand. The moment I looked at him, I knew he’d feel smooth and sexy like that. Someone as fine as he was couldn’t have been any other way.

When he took his shirt completely off and exposed those rippling shoulder muscles, I could feel myself slowly losing it again. I placed his hand back on my breast and uttered in a quivering voice, “Do me now. Let me slide your pants down and go for it.”

He feathered his fingers around my hardened nipples, then down my stomach, and said in a dry, seductive voice, “No. A chick like you needs to be done slowly.”

I knew I was in for it then because he got harder by hearing his own words. Still, he didn’t remove his pants. He wanted me to desire him even more, to get me to the breaking point, but the self-restraint wasn’t easy.

He retrieved his tie from the floor and wrapped it around my wrists, knotting it on the back of the lounge. I was now powerless for him to do any wicked thing he chose. I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for the punanny.

He started at my forehead and kissed his way down to my lips. He straddled me, hovering above me, yet every delicious thing on him was still out of my reach. It was frustrating, yet so provocative. He dipped into me, slowly moving his tongue across my lower lip, then my top, teasing me mercilessly.

From there his tongue made love to mine, building my intensity, making my core crave his cock, filling me completely. He licked down to my neck and breasts, sucking hard on each one, filling his mouth with my plump mounds. How I wanted him to release my hands, as well as that erotic swelling between my thighs. He kept the torture going until I was about ready to faint. His massive, hard member was pressing against my stomach as he worked his way down my body. I screamed out, “Pleeasse!” He didn’t stop until his cheek was pressed against the inside of my left thigh, getting more of what he’d had all day long.

His arms wrapped around my thighs, slightly lifting my buttocks for better leverage. I’ve never been hoisted that high before, not even on the boat. Lifting me that high was marvelous beyond human thought. He licked the sweetness away while teasing the perimeter of my labia.

My back arched from the pleasure as his tongue danced around my mound. Then he dipped inside, over and over again, licking, nibbling, tugging. He did it so perfectly, making me squirm from sheer desire. I started screaming like he said I would. And just when he thought I was wasted, he withdrew the tongue, leaving me breathless and gasping for air while talking. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Something you didn’t expect; now stay quiet.”

I watched as he left the room. Maybe he was leaving me alone to fantasize. But I started thinking instead. Suppose his wife walks in and catches me like this. Damn! She could easily return from Rome and surprise him. A man like this is worth cutting a trip short just to get back to his cock. I almost panicked at the idea of it. “Get the heck back in here. Don’t leave me alone!”

There was nothing. The place was still, and I was in there in the middle of the room, tied up and naked. I called to him again. “Where are you? This is so not fair.”

I saw a doorknob turn on the other door, and it scared me. But what the hell, life was life and thus far, I’d lived mine on the edge.

He peeked through the door. “Good, you’re nice and scared, aren’t you?”

“Why would you do that to me? Are you getting me back for following a strange man home?”

“Not exactly. I like sex that’s tight and trembling; makes for the best friction.”

“You ass! Get over here and finish me.”

He stepped through the door with something behind his back. There was a devilish grin on his face. “You ready for something cool?”

I twisted and tried jerking out of my bondage. “I hope what you’re talking about is putting on the air-conditioning.”

“Think again. I know it’s hot, baby, but I’ve got something way better than air-conditioning.”

“Like what?”

“Close your eyes.”

“No!” He was really beginning to scare me.

“Close your eyes. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I haven’t brought you this far to hurt you.”

I was reluctant but did what he said.

“Spread your legs farther apart.”

Though I was scared, that sounded way too tempting to me. I just knew the banana from his fruit bowl now had a better job than to look appetizing on a table. I relaxed my thighs and calmed down after realizing that this was fantasy, pure, hot and real enough to make me lose my mind. I felt his fingers between my legs again, separating my folds, rubbing his fingers up and down on my clit. My stomach heaved up and down; my lips got dry. “Please.”

“It’s coming, Candy.”

His juicy lips licked my punanny, sucking it like crazy. He hummed, “Ready for the ultimate?”

“From the minute I laid my eyes on you.”

He reached within his napkin and pulled out something.

“What do you have?”

“Something incredible. You’ll love it.”

I felt something cool and wet against my core—ice. My back arched to the cool, hot pleasure he fed into me. “What the hell is that?”

“An ice shaft.”

“Let me see it.”

There it was, seven inches of iced cock, carved almost exactly the way my stranger looked to me. “Like it, honey?”

“That’s incredible. Slide it in.”

He kissed my lips once more before I felt that long, cool member pulsate through my opening. The pleasure of it was so intoxicating that my back arched higher. He gently moved it in and out, then picked up pace as our excitement grew. The more he rocked it, the more it dripped into me, melting me and it at the same time.

Watching that iced shaft nail me made him so hot and hard that he pulled his own out and matched the ice stroke per stroke. I asked him not to explode unless he was inside of me, but I didn’t know if he could hold off any longer.

He grabbed the ice, brought it to my lips, and watched me suck it. That almost brought his house down, but I dared him not to release. He was a good listener.

His eyes narrowed as he watched me swallowing the melting liquid. “You really want it, don’t you?”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think; all I could do was watch him as he stepped out of those beige pants. He was so buff, even his muscled thighs were pretty; but his length was prettier and, yes, a ten-incher. He straddled the chair so that each of his thighs was on either side of me. He slowly fed that delicious erection to my waiting mouth inch by inch. I was so full of him that I thought I’d died and gone to hard-on Heaven. His scrotum tightened, and I so wanted to feel his balls in my hands, but he did me one better. He pulled out and let my tongue have at them. I teased them, nibbled them until he was just about ready.

His body lowered to mine, placing his shaft at my very opening as he teased again, “Maybe we should just stop and let you beg more for it.”

That was when I screamed at the top of my lungs, “No! Give it to me—now.”

He winked. “Guess you have suffered enough.”

“Damn straight I have. I’ve followed your tight ass all over the place, let you drink from my body, tease me, make me crazy with sex. Now you want to tell me I haven’t suffered enough? What do you have waiting for me, your wife? Would she like to join us and get her fucking kicks also?”

“Shut up! Don’t talk about her like that.”

“I’m not the one cheating on her!”

“No, the only thing you get to do right now is take all of me.”

I could feel him poking at my wet folds and I screamed again, “Untie me and let me touch you.”

He got into his rhythm and screwed me for a good five minutes. It was marvelous, everything I imagined it would be. His wet, thick joint plundered through me, stimulating my juiced folds. I was begging for him to go deeper instead of simply teasing my opening. “Please, release me. I just want to touch you. I’ve barely gotten that chance today, touching you only when you wanted me to.”

“Why should I let you be free? You’re out of control”

“Because if you let me touch you the way I want to, you’ll never want another woman.”

“I knew that the minute I saw you in the museum.”

“Then satisfy me.”

“Fine, you want release, you’ll get it.”

Once my hands were free, they ravaged every part of him, playing in his thick dark curls, moving down his back, rippled sides, muscles in his upper arms. The only thought I had was how strong those arms were, how they could embrace me. We tumbled to the carpeting, but he stayed inside of me. I whispered to him in a quivering voice, “I want all of you inside of me.” He did, and slid that cock into almost every crevice I owned. I’d never tried anal sex before. Orlando always said it was unnatural. But me, I was the daring one, always had been and was ready to try anything.

My rowdy, rough stranger flipped me onto my stomach, forcing my knees under my chin as he spread my butt apart. He slid in so slowly and expertly, making my muscles wrap around his shaft and pull, stretch, making it harder and stiffer. He just kept pushing it in and out, nailing me like it was the end of days. But it never hurt. He was all about pleasure—intense pleasure.

After squeezing the tip of that delicious cock with everything inside me, his white cream spilled and saturated me. It was so warm and oozing between my fingers and behind, and I was happy to massage it in completely.

He collapsed onto my back while his still-erect member hid safely inside my body. I wanted more of him because I still wasn’t completely satisfied. He’d started this mess by seducing me in the first damn place, so there was no way he was going to tire out.

I took his hand into mine and slid it across my dripping sex. “Feel how hot it is for you? It’s even hotter inside, but if you’re tired—”

“Who the hell said I was tired?” He kissed my lips once again, letting his tongue coil around my thirsty mouth, matching my rhythms like the expert he was, anticipating my every move.

As his tongue sexed out my mouth, his body moved between my legs. His arms wrapped around my thighs, hoisting them higher, making our parts fit together at just the right axis for deep penetration. I’d been waiting for that all afternoon.

When his tip met with my opening again, I looked at him. “Don’t you dare tease me. I want it all, shoved into me, pounding away at me, quaking my body like Mt. St. Helens. “Boy, I want molten rock spewing from you and covering me. You understand me, Mr. Stranger of my wildest fucking dreams?”

Not a word. He gripped me tighter, standing practically on his knees as he guided that monstrously strong, deep hose into me, rocking his hips with every inch he fed me. As he guided himself inside, I watched his face tense, enjoying the sensations my swollen walls was supplying him. He looked like he could feel everything as he pumped heavily into me.

His strokes got so good to me that I could feel the tension churning in my body, revving me up for an orgasm that would surely drive me crazy. Fine. I knew I was crazy in the first damn place. Why not go out with a bang, right? That’s what I got, a bang. He banged so stiffly and precisely into my honey that my head was swimming. When I looked at him, I saw the most miraculous thing to hit my imagination since sex toys. Hell, he was better than any sex gadget invented. My stranger was the ultimate sex toy of the frickin’ universe. Way to go, man without a name.

He rocked me a good fifteen minutes straight, no interruptions, no stopping for commercial breaks, just straight, unadulterated, creamy, steamy cock feeding me to the hilt!

The more I screamed out to him, the harder he pumped into me. Again, my hands left red marks on his arms and wrists. I barely got out a few words. “Your wife—she won’t even remember giving those to you.”

“She’ll have her memories, take my word for it. You see, I have to do this all over again tonight. Tonight is our anniversary.” He pumped in harder and harder as he continued his wicked words. “For right now, this is my gift to myself, eating and slamming the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The pressure in my body released and I screamed to the top of my lungs, yet he pumped more, more. Mercy!

My body, wiggling hurriedly and ecstatically under his, made him come. The fountain turned on, spewing, drenching my insides just the way I wanted him to. I got what I wanted finally, total saturation and from the sexiest man.

By the time he finished with me, three hours had passed. He rolled back on top of me, pinning my hands back down saying, “Did you like what you waited all day for?”

My eyes stared deeply into his. “Yes.” I stared deeper. “One question. Who the hell are you, really?”

“A man who loves to please his woman.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Then tell me you enjoyed what I did to you, and I’ll tell you who I am.

“Done deal. You know I loved every second of it. I told you it was fucking out of this world.”

He kissed my cheek, then reared back and smiled. “Well then, happy anniversary girl. I wanted to give you something special, not just the usual box of candy and flowers. We should play games like this all the time.”

I quickly kissed his smiling lips. “Orlando Buchanan, you have the imagination of a mad man. I wasn’t sure about this game when you mentioned it last night, but after thinking about it, I figured it would be fun, different. You really had me going, boy, playing my body until it hummed for you—only you, Orlando.”

“That was my idea, baby. The closer we got to our anniversary I noticed your demeanor though you tried hiding it. You wanted to run wild, and I wanted to make it happen the only way I could. I figured playing a game and letting you explore your fantasy would be fun. You wanted to be enticed by a stranger, and you played it perfectly.”

“Acting like you didn’t know was a little frightening, especially the way you talked to me at times, but it was well worth it. Damn, Orlando, I could never really cheat on you. You’re my world.

“And, you’re mine, all mine.” He snapped his fingers. “And it’s time.”

“For what? Another iced cock?”

“Nope.”

I watched my real perfect stranger run buck-naked from the room and duck into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and saw the light flash on, wondering what other sexy treat he had in store. Whatever it was, nothing compared to having Orlando’s love. He was all I needed.

Orlando ran back in holding a bottle of prosecco with a big yellow ribbon on its neck. “I forgot one very special thing, baby—toasting to the best wife a man could have.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“I mean every word when it comes to you.”

“Well, like you said, it’s our anniversary. You should have dipped the iced cock in sparkling wine and fed it to me. That cold item was oh-so-hot. Where’d it come from?”

“You can get anything online. I had about thirty of them delivered in dry ice, one for every day of the month. Don’t you ever look in the freezer?”

“Apparently not today. I put the bottle in and left.” My fingers grazed his cheek. “Pour it on me anyway if you like. Make me wet. Orlando—everywhere. Make me your iced queen.”

“You’re already my queen”

“A queen who has a king who skips work to screw beautiful American women. Good thing there wasn’t that other woman behind a wall waiting to kill me.”

“Girl, you’re the only queen in my palace and you were so worth me asking my new boss for one more day before starting work.

“So, when do you really start work?”

“Tomorrow, but tonight is still young. More prosecco, Candy-girl?”

“Yes and in all the right places.”

He slowly drizzled the cool liquid on my breasts and worked his way down…

 

SixAMthe next morning.

I awakened with a smile on my face and a sore body from being satisfied until two that morning. Five whole years of not ever wanting to look at another man other than my precious Orlando was a real accomplishment. There was one sad part to my fairytale story, however—no call from home to congratulate me. But the only thing that really truly mattered was what Orlando thought of me. To him, I was nothing but sweet perfection.

He’s the same to me. I looked over at the slumbering sex machine I called a husband and nestled under his arm. He was wonderful, glorious, and every inch the wild man I’d always wanted. My eyes closed, taking advantage of the one hour I had left before having to get up.

I rested in his arms all of twenty minutes before the phone rang. Grabbing it quickly before it awakened Orlando, I saw the name on the display. What the hell? It was a call from home—my sister, Joan. The last thing I wanted to hear after a wonderful night of unbridled sex and passion was judge-mental Joan.

I answered in a sleepy voice. “Hello?”

“Candy?”

“What is it, Joan?”

A pause, then words that sounded so sincere. “Hey, sis, just wanted to call and wish you a happy anniversary.”

“It was yesterday.”

“I know I’m a little late, but, with a set of two-year-old twins, a seven-year-old, and a demanding husband, there is hardly any time for anything else.”

“So, you and Jeff doing okay?”

“Great. What about you and Orlando.”

“We’re fine, thank you, despite what everyone up there may be thinking.”

“That’s why I called. I just wanted to let you know that I am proud of you. I knew all along that you could do it, Candy. You just needed the right man.”

“Really? That’s what you called for?”

“That’s it. My days of condemning you are over and I wanted to let you know that. I miss my sister.”

“You miss me?”

“Sure, stupid! How many sisters do you think I have?”

“There is Chris.”

“Yeah, like she counts. No one ever hears from her unless its to announce her next child. She’s too busy with those six kids to remember the rest of us. Which brings me to my next question. You’re the only one of us without kids. I want other nieces and nephews, so when is it your turn? You two planning to add an Italian branch to the family tree?”

I answered slowly. “I have no idea, maybe in a year or two.”

“I know you and that fine-ass husband get it on enough to have had kids by now.”

If she only knew. But I wasn’t going into details. “He’s such a good husband. Joan. He’s everything to me.”

“Just don’t forget that you still have me. I’ve gotta go before the twins wake up. Jeff needs his breakfast. Can you come and see me soon?”

I smiled a smile of contentment. “I’d love to, maybe after Orlando and I are set on our jobs. We just got our new apartment, and there’s a lot I have to do around here. I should have gotten started yesterday, but I was a little…well, busy.”

“So I imagine.”

“If only you could. Orlando is really something!”

We said our good-byes. I made breakfast for a still-tired husband, treated him to another quickie then sent him on his way to make Florence more beautiful than it already was.