12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

S o the rapture of being the owner of my own vehicle earned with my own—sort of earned with my own money if begging cash off your father…oh forget it—the joy of having my own wheels soon turned to smoke. And not the smoke that encircled Uncle Dario's head. The kind of smoke of a grand idea of independence catching aflame due to stupid governmental regulations. It seemed that someone—me—needed proof of residency to register a car in Italy.

I stood outside the local public registry office with Donvino on my right and Dario on my left, both sputtering about the laws or so I assumed. I walked away, my shoulders slumped, to the nearest little gelato shop I could find. It was tucked into a corner under a lively rainbow sign that read GELATO ARCOBALENO.

"Rainbow gelato," Donvino said as he stepped up beside me. Dario arrived, nodded at his nephew, and pushed into the eatery. It was a small place with four tables but about a thousand flavors of gelato. I ordered a four scooper, then found a seat beside the window with a cooler of cold drinks at my back. I dove into the mint chocolate chip scoop first as my mind spun. Dario and Donvino arrived, each taking a seat, and we all ate in frustrated silence. After I had polished off the scoop of mint, the scoop of double mocha, the scoop of caramel gingerbread, the scoop of coffee chocolate chip, and the cone, I'd come to a realization.

"I'm going to have to ask my aunt to sign the papers and put the car in her name." I sighed as I dabbed at my chin with a stiff yellow napkin. A family of four entered, the two kids chattering away as the parents ordered. How nice that must be to have adults want to put up with your gabbiness long enough to take a walk and get a cold treat. I vaguely recalled Mom taking me to a tiny chocolate shop when we'd been here many years ago. Nothing like that outing was ever recreated by my father. He was far too busy. Fucker. "I hate having to crawl to her for this."

Donvino reached out to pat my shoulder. I wanted nothing more than to climb into his lap and be held, but that wasn't about to happen with his uncle sitting at our table. Same old story, it seemed. When Arlo needed to be touched the most, he was always denied.

"Signora is very nice. I'm sure she will be most happy for you to have done this for yourself and the workers," Donvino kindly said as he gave my neck a friendly squeeze. He was delightfully kind.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," I replied with a forced smile that I wore the whole way back home. Donvino cut the engine on his bike in the street, waited for me to slip off the back, and then gave me a look of such longing that I wanted to weep. "I wish I could kiss you goodbye," I whispered just as a car rolled past.

"Yes, I wish so too." He kicked the bike over and off he went with a wobbly wave. Knowing I was going to have to grovel, I blew out a breath and sauntered through the gates, coming up short after a moment when I spied a sleek black Mercedes parked in front of the house. My aunt must be entertaining. An older man, dark-skinned, with a shiny pate and no time for chit-chat, emerged from the villa, greeted me in Italian, and then got in his car and drove off.

Stepping into the cooler interior, I saw Giada coming from the salon.

"Who was that that just left?" I asked her.

"Il medico," she answered, wiping her hands on her apron nervously. "The doctor. He comes to see your aunt."

My breath caught. "Is she okay?"

I mean shit, I wouldn't have wanted our last interaction to be a bad one if she had passed while I was gone. How much would that suck?

"Her leg is swollen," she explained. I stared at her in confusion. "She is not being a good patient. Wearing her socks as she should."

"Socks." It took my brain a moment to catch up. "Oh socks. Is she diabetic?"

"Yes, for several years. She eats good for mostly but does too much with no socks."

Stubborn old bitty. Guess hardheadedness was a Bonetti family trait as my father and I were both rockheads at times.

"I'll talk to her. Can you bring us some coffee, please?"

"Sì, of course, Signor Arlo." Off she went to round up something for us while I made my way to the salon.

There on a lounger of pale tan rested my great-aunt, her left leg up on a pillow, her glasses on the tip of her regal nose as she read a hardback book. The elevated leg had one of those ghastly compression socks on it. Lord they were tacky. She glanced my way, one slim brow crawling upward as I stepped around the damn leopard rug in front of the fireplace and took a seat on a spindly-legged chair. She laid the book aside.

"I just passed the doctor coming in," I said, shooting a direct look at her elevated leg. "Did you kick some poor unsuspecting delivery man in the ass so hard you had to have the doctor come out to wrap it up?"

She dared a smile. "You know very well why that fool was here. I heard you speaking to Giada." She sniffed as dry air rolled through the open doors. "He is a charlatan who takes my money and tells me nonsense."

"Oh, like staying off your feet and wearing special socks is nonsense? Oh, and thanks for telling me that you have diabetes. Does my father know?"

"Of course he knows. As to your other point, I am an active woman. When you stop moving is when you die."

Right, well, there was some truth in that. "Okay, yeah, but no one is asking you to just lay down on the floor and never move again. They're just saying you need to rest for a bit each day. And wear the socks." She mumbled something in Italian. "Could you say that in English? I'm only up to letters still."

Her dark eyes found mine. "I said the socks are ugly."

I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. That got me a severely dark look. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you. I'm just amused by how similar we are. My first thought when I saw that sock was that it was ghastly."

"Is it not?!" she exclaimed, rushing to pull a thin throw over her legs. "How can I be expected to wear something so repulsive with my designer suits? It's ridiculous."

I snickered at the bristly old bird as Giada arrived with coffee and tarts. I eyeballed the lemon tarts, then Giada.

"Baked with sweetener, no sugar," Giada informed me. I nodded, placed a tart on a plate, then passed it to my aunt. She took it gingerly, her gaze resting on me even after Giada exited the salon.

"So, you came in to see if I were perhaps on the last leg?" Ginerva asked, breaking off a tiny bit of her tart and placing it into her mouth with a fork.

"Yep, totally the reason. I rushed in, kicking up my heels, hoping to find you spread out on the floor with coins on your eyes."

She actually sniggered. "Stupid boy, that is no longer done." I shrugged. "It is nice to have your company over coffee."

"You could eat with me and the others any time you wanted. We're just in the kitchen."

She shook her tightly coiffed head. "Some rules are in place for a reason, Arlo." I let it go. For now. She'd come around eventually. Or she wouldn't. "I am glad you came in, for I have things to discuss with you."

Right. Might as well get the slipper kissing over with now. "And I with you." I took a bite of tart, chewed, and washed it down with coffee so strong Bianca could use it to take the rust off the bumper of my new car. "I bought a bus and a car today. The bus will be signed over to the business to be used to transport the workers to and from farm 20."

"Oh, and that has been approved by whom?"

"My father." She sat a little straighter. "He sent me the money."

"Very well. And the car…is that also for the workers?"

"No, that's for me. I need to have it registered and all that, but I can't do it myself as I'm not a resident of this country. Would you please sign the papers? I'll pay for all the filing fees or whatever."

"Yes, I will sign." Oh. That was easy. "If you do something for me."

Ah, there it was. I sighed into my coffee, took another sip, and then asked the devil—I actually think her outfit was Prada so that fit—what her due was.

"What do you want me to do?"

She forked off another tiny corner of her tart before replying, "I would like you to attend the Modern Italy Organic Farming Congress coming up next weekend in my stead."

"I'm not sure I can make it. Donvino has a rowing competition in Pisa and I wanted to attend that to cheer him on." Her lips puckered slightly. "Those lemons are tart, huh?"

"Arlo, this is business. I'm sure Donvino will paddle his boat just as well or just as poorly without you."

"Still, can I just opt out of this one trip and I'll pick up the next?"

"Yes, of course. And I will opt out of registering your car in my name until you are ready to fulfill a different favor I ask of you."

"That's really shitty," I snapped.

"No, that is the art of negotiation. Something that you will need to hone when you are in the CEO's chair. If you want something badly, you do what you wish to achieve it. So, shall I ask you again if you would like to attend the congress at the end of the month or shall you continue to be a burden to your friend?"

I clenched my teeth to hold back a really nasty comment. "Fine, I'll go to this stupid congress thing."

"Very good, and I will have all the paperwork for your new car taken care of before the end of this day. Oh, Arlo, do not look so dour. Venice is a lovely city, very romantic. I'm sure you will find the trip to be most enjoyable. Now, please contact Uncle Dario and have them come to the villa. I shall call Signor Avelli at the Office of Motor Vehicles and have him come out with the proper forms."

"Does everyone in Florence drop everything when you ask?" I fired off, still pissy about being blackmailed so smoothly by a woman in compression stockings. I really should be faster and more clever than an octogenarian.

"Arlo, you will find that having large amounts of money makes people happy to dance when you play a pipe."

Yeah, sadly, there was a lot of truth in that.

***

A week later, Donvino and I had a rare afternoon with no responsibilities.

He made good on his promise to take me into the historical center of Florence.

I'd been to many beautiful places before, but I was enraptured with the glory of Firenze as we left the train behind.

Uncaring who might see, we held hands, Donvino looking far less tight than usual. Perhaps it was the sheer crush of people in such a small area, but he gripped my fingers tightly, possessively even, and I ate it up. We strolled along, both of us too poor to really do much shopping other than to grab something to drink to replenish the fluids the miserable heat drained out of us. It was ungodly hot and dry. The drought now starting to worry government officials and those who grew things such as olive farmers.

I'd been sent emails from my aunt and father from people who worked under them, bemoaning the lack of rain and how it was going to impact harvests. There was little to do other than pray, and my aunt did that every Sunday, to no avail. Seemed God would grant her his ear after all the money she donated to the church. Guess the guy in the sky didn't dance to her pipe playing. He was the only one.

"Ah listen," Donvino gasped, tugging me through throngs of people gathered in the street about a block from the Cathedral of Santa Maria Del Fiore, the glorious building just visible if one peeked around a man singing in the street. "How beautiful is he?"

We stopped along with a few dozen other people to enjoy a powerfully built man in a long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans, singing opera. I leaned into Donvino, just a little, and his fingers tightened on my hand.

"What is he saying?" I asked my date. Yes, we were calling this a date. Our first date. I hoped it ended in a kiss or two or twenty.

"He is singing "Nessun dorma" which many know from Pavarotti singing," he said, the crowds pushing in closer as people tossed money into the singer's upside-down top hat. "A Puccini song. Uhm…he sings nobody shall sleep even you, oh princess."

"Who is the princess?" I asked, enjoying the moment and the song.

"I'm not sure. I'm not so big on opera. My music is more modern but perhaps signora would know? She is a benefactor to the arts."

"Yeah, maybe." We tossed a few coins into his hat and moved on, taking selfies by the hundreds, posing with each other, with horses pulling buggies, and with artists who would draw our likenesses for just a few euros.

Donvino led me down narrow streets, stopping outside a building with a long line of people stretching out into the street. I gave him a curious look, as we'd been going to a famous museum to see David and this place crammed into a narrow street did not look like it would house such famous sculptures.

"This is the Gallery of the Academy of Florence. Your David is inside," he explained as he showed someone with a lanyard the two tickets he had bought online. After pocketing his phone, we moved slowly into the famed gallery. My mouth fell open at the splendor of the artwork on the walls. We moved along with the crowds, stopping to enjoy each religious painting, making note of the dates they had been painted or the oils themselves. I wasn't much of an art person unless you counted making artisan trunks which I had yet to do other than dismantle one and then realize I had no clue how to make it into something splendid, but even to my untrained eye, these paintings were stunning.

"Come. David is this way," Donvino softly said, tugging me into another room. I skidded to a halt upon seeing the famed statue basking in natural light from a skylight over the giant slayer's head. "I should maybe be jealous of your eyes on him?"

"He is beautiful," I whispered, unable to look away from David's perfection. We passed by unfinished sculptures by Michelangelo, and while you could appreciate the skill that each of the uncompleted works had, nothing could keep me from drifting to David. Staring upward, I studied the hands on the famous statue and then the feet. The form of his legs, his cock, the beauty of his stomach and face. Donvino stood at my side, patiently, his hand tight in mine, telling me tidbits about the statue that was stealing not only my breath but my heart. I swiped at the tears gathering in my eyes, unsure of how a man who knew nothing about art could be brought to tears by viewing a sculpture.

I turned to look up at Donvino. "You are beautiful too. Thank you for bringing me here." I rose to my toes to kiss him, just lightly on his mouth. He met me halfway, the touch of his lips to mine stirring up all the emotions. I giggled, then cried, then sniffled, then snorted, then fell into his arms. David stood above us, a testament to the beauty of the male form.

"Would you like to see more here?" he asked, leaning down to pat my wet cheeks with his fingertips. "Or would you like to go home?"

"You live nearby, right?"

"Well, in the city, yes. Do you want to come to my place? It is…" He stooped down to allow me to snap a few hundred shots of him, me, and David before steering us away from the statue to allow others to get closer. "My apartment is small. Not as grand as your room at the villa."

"Any room that you're in is grand," I replied and got a shy, brilliant smile. It took us some time to leave the gallery, as there was just so much to see. Finally, we stepped back out into the heat. Donvino led me through the city, stopping only once on the way to the train to buy some postcards to keep as mementos. As if I would ever forget this man. Somewhere, way in the back of my head, a craggy voice that I didn't recognize began whispering to me.

Do not give your heart away. This is only an extended holiday. If you fall for this man, leaving next summer will shatter you. Be cautious.

Sitting on the train, with Donvino's thigh pressed to mine, I tried my best to recall what part of my conscience could be speaking. Then it hit me. This strange voice was my common sense. Huh. So that's what it sounded like. I was expecting it to be more akin to a grasshopper in a top hat. No, wait, that would be my conscience and a cricket. Are they the same thing? Maybe. Still, it was interesting to hear from that part of my brain. It rarely spoke up.

Untrue. You just choose not to listen .

Oh okay, so Arlo Grasshopper was going to be that guy. No wonder I blew him off all the time. Just like I was going to do now.

I tipped to the side to rest my head on Donvino's shoulder. He tipped his phone to show me the video of a rowing team he had been watching. His competition was this weekend. I'd not told him yet that I couldn't attend because I was a sniveling coward. Not that he needed me there to be magnificent. I was sure he would win all the medals or trophies or whatever they handed out to rowers. Golden paddles? Not a clue, but he would do well. Still, I did need to let him know soon. Maybe after we had some time alone in his place. Kisses would soften the blow.

Jumping off at a tiny little stop with several other folks, we jogged across the street to where we had parked at a local superstore called Ipermercati. It looked a great deal like Wal-Mart to my American eyes as we darted in to buy some wine, crackers, and cheese. We split the cost, jogging back to his bike and racing to his home. I held onto him tightly, forcing myself not to let the impatient drivers intimidate me. I'd yet to bring my sweet little Bianchina into the city proper. I'd been using it to drive to farm 20 almost daily now, as I've been working in the business office to ramp up social media for the Bonetti Farms Olive Oil franchise. Also, I had to reassure the workers that the bus was on its way—Bianca had run into some difficulty finding parts for such an old minivan.

Signor Piravino didn't seem super keen on me telling him how to do this and that online or suggesting how to interact with workers. The older man did not have the mindset of many younger workers, the kind of workers the farm so desperately needed. We'd come to loggerheads once already over simple things like longer lunch breaks. I'd thought of going over his head to my father, but instead of doing that, I made the call to add fifteen minutes. The workers were thrilled. The farm manager? Not so much, but tough. The days of gangmasters were over, at least on Bonetti Farms Olive Oil, and hopefully, all the mills that we associated with. Yes, I'd done some reading on migrant workers and the conditions some lived in despite my family thinking I was some sort of wastrel cock hound.

"Hotel." Static. "Backup." Static. "Nunnery."

I came back to the here and now at the crackly dialog. Glancing to the left, I just caught the view of a lovely hotel situated behind tan walls with a large black metal gate. We moved too quickly to see much of it as the road turned sharply at the gate. We slowed, coming to a halt about a block from the hillside hotel. Donvino eased his bike in between two others that looked to be in the same condition. Not that I had any room to dis someone's ride. My little jitney had mouse nests in the heater vents, which I had to clean out by hand. I did that in the driveway. My aunt had not been amused, tutting at the balls of urine-soaked stuffing and calling my car something that Alessio had translated later into ‘stinking piece of shit,' which was not true. Okay, it was kind of true that Greenie did stink a little, but she was mine even if the smell of mice wafted out of the vents when you had them open.

Is the car truly yours? Lies do nothing but foster more lies.

Ugh, Arlo Grasshopper was annoying. Mostly mine. Okay, fine, I drove her, but she legally belonged to my aunt. There. That was the truth. How the hell did Pinocchio not squash his little shoulder bug with a shoe?

Once the bike was quiet, I removed my helmet, slipped off the tatty seat, and studied the homes on this street. Tight. That was my first impression. The houses were packed in side-by-side, most with itty-bitty front areas that held some potted plants, no grass, and a door with a name on a thin mailbox.

"This is me," he said, gathering up the helmets and leading me into a doorway with one sleepy orange cat curled around a withered tomato plant in a pot. "I live on the top floor. Very small. So small I think maybe we should go somewhere else."

"Small is fine. I once hooked up with a guy who lived in a New York flat that was the same size as my closet." Donvino looked stricken. I shuffled the bag of wine to my other hip. "The closet, not the guy. That didn't sound nearly as compassionate after coming out as it did inside my head. Stop worrying about it. Honestly, I'm here to spend time with you."

He smiled, feebly, then unlocked the front door. We climbed two sets of steps, him with helmets and food, me with a bag of wine. A TV could be heard playing on the first floor, a baby crying on the second. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, the temperature had climbed about ten degrees. Sweat beaded on my upper lip.

"Is hot up here, sorry," he whispered, placing the snacks on the floor to unlock the thin door with his name DONVINO MARINI scribbled on a blue note card and taped to the wood with strapping tape.

"It's fine, truly." The door opened with a squeak and he moved inside, hustling ahead of me to turn on a fan sitting atop an old desk. Stepping in, I paused just long enough to take in the sparse one room flat with slanted ceilings. There was one window in the front overlooking the street, the shutters tipped up to allow some air into the stuffy room. "This is quite the manageable sized apartment for a busy single man."

"You're being gracious again," he teased. It was a compact space, with a desk, a dresser, a bed, and a coffee table heaped high with magazines, hand weights, and empty orange juice boxes. Along the far wall in the corner was a kitchenette area with a tiny fridge, a sink, and one lone counter for a dish drainer and coffee pot. "It is a flea trap on the back of a rat as my grandmother says, but it is mine. The rent is cheap. I'm close to my job, and I can have friends over for wine and crackers."

I padded over to put the wine into his hand, easing closer to him, his eyes flaring darkest brown as I went to my toes. He blindly placed the wine and snacks on the coffee table.

"I hope I'm more than just a friend," I whispered, carding my fingers into his hair to pull his sinful mouth down to mine.

"I think you are," he replied after the kiss ended, his breathing ragged just like mine. "I would like to be a lover to you."

"I'd like that too, very much," I panted, sliding my hands up under his tee to feel all that definition I'd been drooling over nearly every morning since arriving in Italy. "Very, very, very much," I added, pinching his nipples as his mouth reclaimed mine. Suddenly my feet left the ground, strong hands cupping my ass as Donvino hoisted me upward. I moaned into his mouth as he carried me to the unmade bed in the corner. Our tongues tangled and teased. I nipped at his lower lip then sighed dreamily as he placed me on the rumpled mattress as if I were a porcelain doll. "Undress me, hurry!"

I writhed about on the bed, my cock painfully pushing on my zipper, as he went to his knees between my legs.

"No, no hurry for this." He ran his hands over my thighs and down to my calves, removing my leather loafers with infinite care. He kissed my ankle bones, then rubbed the bottom of my foot over his stubble. "For this I take time."

"Damn it," I groaned, desperate for him to get to it yet loving that he wanted to take his time with me. Most guys didn't care if I longed to be touched, coddled, or petted. They wanted to get in that ass and get the hell out. I'd gone along with that mentality, calling it my own, while deep down inside I'd wanted them to spend a little time with me. "Oh…shit, that tickles!"

He nibbled on my toes softly, then kissed each one. Ten kisses, ten toes, a dozen giggles. Finally, he tired of making love to my feet and moved up over me, stripping off my belt and then my vest, opening the buttons on my lightweight linen vest with infinite care. Peeling the vest open, he rubbed his hands on my chest, using his nails to find my nipples under the short-sleeved white shirt. I whimpered in pleasure, stroking his hair away from his temples. The black mass was overgrown, shaggy, and perfectly beautiful on him. He moved with gentle deliberateness as if unwrapping a long-wished-for gift. My balls ached and sweat coated my skin. He licked at the droplets on my chest, laying his bulk between my legs. The ache in my groin intensified as his rock-hard cock rubbed over mine.

"Fuck me, fuck me," I began chanting, arching up as much as possible with him spread over me like a magnificent man blanket. Hot, yes, he was hot, but his weight was everything. He nuzzled at my neck. I tugged up on the back of his shirt, peeling it off his damp back and tugging it free of his head. He did the same for me. Lifting me with one strong arm, then taking my shirt and vest from my body. They fell off the side of the bed. I cared not. It was just a Hermes shirt and vest combo. "Please…I need you inside me."

He growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating into me as he tongued a wet stripe up the side of my throat.

"Do you…touch me there…yes…" He rolled his hips as my fingers danced along his spine. The friction of stiff prick on stiff prick made me yelp. "So hot for dick, yes? My dick."

"Yes, your dick. Please, please, Donvino, I need you in me," I pleaded, floating my fingertips along his back to his ribs and up into his hair. I gripped handfuls of his wet locks, grinding upward, my heels driving into the thin mattress.

He kissed me hard and long, his tongue tasting of the last cool drink we'd had outside the gallery where David had moved me so. Lemon soda, citrus and cool, the taste mixing with the aroma of his lime aftershave. A citrus overload to my already maxed-out senses.

"Is it okay for you here?" he asked, easing off me and sitting back on his haunches to allow the fan to blow over me. The hot air did little to cool me off. I smiled up at him.

"It's perfect for me here. Take off your pants," I said, reaching for his zipper. He swiped my hand aside playfully as his gaze burned like a supernova.

"Greedy," he joked, standing now, his fingers working on his fly. I wet my lips as he jerked the zipper down and shucked his jeans and briefs down to his ankles, bending low to bar me from seeing his cock while he removed his clothing and socks. Then he straightened, his prick jutting out of a bushy black cloud of curls, heavy balls hanging low like meaty fruit for me to mouth. He was uncut. My mouth began to water at the sight.

"Oh yes, so greedy," I huffed, my eyes locked on his cock. I slithered to the end of the skinny bed as he stepped into my open arms. The slick head of his dick peeked out at me. I opened my mouth to lick at the weeping slit as I gently pulled back his foreskin. A deep moan floated down to me as his hips twitched. I fell on his cock like a hungry dog only with far less teeth. He surged into my mouth, his cock tickling the back of my throat. How lucky for him that I had learned to suppress my gag reflex. I hummed around his dick, the taste of him rich on my tongue. Needing more, I grabbed his ass and pressed him deeper. Soft, hot words in Italian rained down on my head as he began thrusting. My eyes drifted shut as he rocked in and out of my stretched lips. Spittle leaked out of the corners of my mouth. His fingers held my head tenderly. He eased out, leaving just the tip resting on my lower lip, his dark eyes on my face as I laved the tip of his fat cock.

"No more," he panted, easing away, his chest and cheeks flushed, his cock leaking precum and saliva onto the back of my Hermes shirt. No shits were given. "Now I love you," he said, pressing forward to pin me to the bed. I gasped with delight at the nudge of his cock at my hole. "I have…things. The things…shit, my brain is confused with English right now."

I smiled at him. "I love it that I make your brain confused." He stole a kiss, moved over me, and dug under the bed. Out came a shoebox, the lid long gone or perhaps fallen off in his mad haste to reach his pleasure box. He pulled out a tube of lube and several condoms. My balls drew up tight to my body, the tickle of an orgasm at the base of my spine. "I'm close," I whispered, needing to touch my cock but not daring to yet. All it would take was one hard tug, and I'd be done. "Shit, I am so close."

"This will be fast…this time. Next time, slower, yes?" He rolled a condom over his thick cock, his fingers moving shakily, as I went for the lube. With a mighty squirt, I had my fingers and cock coated as lube slithered down over my balls. Donvino knelt between my spread legs, his sight on the river of slick slipping down over my hole. He touched the furl. I sucked in a sharp breath, hugged my knees to my chest, and let my eyes close.

One rough finger breached me, then two, both stretching me, easing the tight pucker open. Tiny bursts of light went off behind my eyelids when he found my prostate.

"Oh! Oh yes, that's…no, don't stop," I shouted, my eyes flying open in time to watch him move over me, his jaw set, his gaze molten. "Oh okay, yeah, come on, sweetheart, fill me up."

"Bellisimo, cosi bello," he whispered as he moved into me. His cockhead swelled so large that it took a moment even with the prep to get my body to accept him. I clung to his forearms, breaths huffing out of me, my cock now flagging, as he eased out and then back in. "Beautiful, so beautiful," he repeated in jagged English as his prick eased past the resistance. "Such a pretty hole, so eager for fucking."

"It is, it is so eager," I cried out, the fan moving a sweep of hot air over us as he thrust deeper and deeper and even deeper. He balanced on one strong arm so that he could take my dick in his hand to work it with speed. Each time his fat head bounced off that knot of glorious nerves, pegging it over and over, each time the bump harder, faster, until I was shooting all over myself and his hand. My body convulsed over and over, coating my belly and his fingers. With a grunt and one last punch of his hips that nearly sent me into the headboard, he came. His cock kicked inside me, filling the condom, his shoulders bunched and taut under my hands.

Even though it was late afternoon and sunlight shone through the slats on the dark green shutter, a thousand stars burst into life. My cock pulsed a few more times as he rocked in and out, his powerful legs driving him so far into my body it was hard to breathe.

"Donvino! Good God…holy gods above," I panted, clinging to his biceps now, my sight clearing, then latching onto the red welts I had made on his shoulders and arms. "Oh shit…sorry…I dug you."

"No needs for sorry," he replied breathlessly, lowering himself onto me, my legs slowly falling open, my arms sliding around his slick back. "No sorry for the sting while I make you shout my name in pleasure."

He kissed me, long and slow, as our bodies tried to cool. He eased out of me, making me shudder at the loss of his dick, and then wobbled to a small door beside the fridge. I'd not even noticed a broom and mop was hanging on it. The door creaked open. I rolled to my side to face the fan while trying to see what was behind the door. Just a small bath with a sink, toilet, and shower stall that looked to be far too small for a hulking man like my lover.

Mm yes, my lover. And what a lover he was. It was going to be an uncomfortable ride home on that motorbike of his, but the discomfort would be worth it. I wadded up the lone pillow on the bed, my cheek resting on the foam, and watched his backside clench, then loosen as he tended to the condom and washed up at the sink. God his ass was divine. A work of art. Easily as wonderfully crafted as Michelangelo's David.

He turned, wet cloth in his hand, to catch me staring at him. "You like?"

"I love," I answered, stretching and wincing at the pull on delicate areas.

He grinned widely, padding closer before sitting beside me to wipe the cum off my belly. He was intent on the job, taking only a tiny detour to bend down to lick a droplet of spunk from my collarbone before tossing the cloth to the floor and stretching out on the other side of the bed, allowing the fan to blow on me. What a gentleman.

"Shit," he complained. "I forget the wine."

"Mm, I could use a drink." I moved my head to face him, kissed his elbow, and pushed to sit up. My taint was complaining about the pummeling it had taken, and my asshole was joining in on the chorus. "I'm going to need a pillow to sit on for the ride home," I half-teased as I slowly stood. Donvino made a sound much like a proud lion after he had bred his lioness. I turned to look down on him reclining in his bed. Yes, he could have easily posed for one of the great Italian sculptors. His long frame took up all the bed. He had his hands linked behind his head, one leg straight, the other bent. His soft prick lay placidly along his thigh. The sun flowing through the slats in the shutters painted soft yellow stripes across his belly and chest, which was lightly furred. Perfection. Sheer perfection. "You are so lovely," I confessed, not ashamed of that adoration for him in the least. Why should I not tell him the truth? Surely he knew he was pleasing to the eye.

"I am passing with push," he replied, a ginger glow coming to his rough cheeks.

"You're far too modest," I said, spun, and made my way to the coffee table where our goodies had been hastily dumped.

"Humble," he answered around a yawn. "I love your ass," he tacked on, pulling a sideways wink from me and a wiggle of said backside before I darted to the bed. I passed the wine to him, sat down cross-legged, and tore into the delicate wheat crackers and soft goat cheese. I made yummy sounds while he twisted off the cap of the wine bottle and sat up on one elbow to take a drink. I chewed while admiring the way his throat worked. A dribble of wine escaped, trickling down to his chin and under. I bent down to clean it up for him.

"You taste so good." I sighed, then pecked his wine-painted lips. He smiled warmly before passing me the bottle.

We sat there for several minutes, refueling and rehydrating, our skin close to drying but not able to do so given the creeping humidity. The fan did help a bit, but I was beyond caring if I were sticky. This is a big thing for me because I greatly disliked sweating. Generally, I also find drinking out of a wine bottle uncouth. Cracker crumbs in the bed? Unthinkable! Yet here we were, a couple of bohemian young men, glowing from sex, tossing back cheap wine while dropping tiny bits of cracker to the sheets.

I wiped at the crumbs on his chest after we had destroyed the small box of crackers in one sitting. His dark eyes were heavy, the lashes so thick many would wonder if he were wearing falsies. I left my hand resting on his pectoral, enjoying the in and out of his breath as he studied me with outward admiration.

"You are the prettiest man I have ever seen," he whispered. I uncurled my legs, then flung one over him, settling my ass on his groin. He smiled up at me, his prick starting to grow under my bare buttocks.

"I think the same about you," I replied, tracing one dark pink nipple with my index finger. His pectoral twitched. I chuckled, but then grew serious. "I have bad news."

"Oh?" He arched a brow. "Is it a bad review of my lovemaking?"

"No, God, no! You are a master lovemaker." He puffed up just a bit. "No, it's about your competition in Pisa. I'm afraid I won't be able to join you and Bianca. My great-aunt maneuvered me into going to some stupid organic farming congress in Florence. She's quite the master manipulator. Heads of state could learn a thing or two from her…"

"That is so bad, sorry. I never think signora to be so manipulator with people. She has been so good to me and my family."

I blew out a breath, then laid myself out over him. Ugh, no, it was too damn hot for that. I stole a kiss and sat back up, grateful for the meager air that old fan was circulating.

"She's not always terrible just when it comes to her family." I took the nearly empty wine bottle, tipped it up, and took a glug. Donvino reached up to thumb away a droplet of zinfandel at the corner of my mouth. I licked the tip of his thumb, making his eyes flare slightly.

"I know of expectations," he softly said, easing his thumb into my mouth. I ran my tongue over the nail and across the swirls of his pad. "My family has me for them. To marry, have babies, and stop trying to live Papà's dreams. Your mouth is Venus."

I wasn't sure what that meant, but who cared? My mouth was Venus. Sounded like a compliment to me. I nipped at the digit resting on my lower lip, placed the wine bottle on the bed beside us, and began suckling on his thumb in earnest. His cock began to fatten nicely beneath me, swelling and lengthening.

"You are looking for something else, my tiny rainbow dreamer?" he asked. I nodded. With a move incredibly graceful for a man his size, he rolled me off and then wedged himself between my open legs. He claimed my mouth with kisses that ignited a fire deep inside my belly. Soon he was moving inside me, my cries captured by his lips, the thumping of the bed into the wall surely telling his neighbors below what was going on in the attic. He was gentle this time, taking it slow, moving in long thrusts, his shoulders and back rolling as he found his release. With a shudder, he eased out, kissed my lips, and moved down to swallow my cock. My back bowed off the bed as he worked me with such tenderness and passion that I blew apart within seconds. He swallowed greedily, milking each droplet from me.

"I may…never leave this…bed," I confided into his armpit as we lay abed the day slowly creeping toward evening.

"I would not mind. You are tiny and do not take much room from me." He kissed my soggy hair, pulled me close to his side, and whispered lovely little things into the growing dusk. Neither of us was willing to get up to turn on a light. What he was saying was a sleepy mix of English and Italian endearments. Never had I felt so cherished by a lover.

"Then I can sleep here?" I enquired as night settled over the city of flowers. I'd not done such a thing before. Staying over? One didn't do that with hook-ups. It was wham-bam-and-thank-you-Stan with nameless randoms.

"Yes, please, sleep with me."

I nestled in tight, even though it was hotter than Satan's parlor. Donvino moved to his side, rolling back for a second with his cell phone. I glanced up to see him holding it aloft, centering us in the frame. I looked a-fright. A well-loved sight, but a sight, nonetheless. Sated, I smiled dreamily at the camera, the captured image sound floating about on the steamy air.

"Send that to me?" I sleepily asked, my arm resting on his belly, the fan pushing air over my backside.

"Please don't share online."

I pressed my lips to the firm muscle over his thumping heart. "I would never."

"Grazie. I am…someday soon I will tell them."

"Do not rush on my account. I'm happy to wait for you to be ready and happy enough in your own skin."

He rolled his head to the side to drop a kiss on my damp brow. "Bellisimo, cosi bello," he softly repeated. I drifted off with the sound of his heart beating strong and steady under my ear and his words of praise resting in my ear.