Royally Romanced

“THANK YOU FOR DINNER, Renata.” Giorgio relaxed back into the limo seat. “I have to admit I am not used to ladies paying for me.”

“Don’t be silly, it was just a chili dog,” she chided him. She hadn’t been in a limo since one of her brothers’ weddings, and this was much nicer than being stuffed into the back with several giddy bridesmaids in poufy dresses. “I’ll add it onto the alterations bill for your sister’s dress if you insist.”

He leaned toward her. “I do.”

Stefania had called to cancel dinner since she had a term paper due soon and her fiancé was fogged in at Heathrow airport anyway.

Giorgio had called his driver to come get them and they had cruised the city as best as they could with a giant limo. But it was getting late, and Renata had reluctantly told Giorgio to head for Brooklyn.

“Tell me when you are free again.” Giorgio twined his fingers between hers.

“Free for what?”

“Free to see me again. I’ll take you to the Plaza for dinner.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if they serve chili dogs.”

“I’ll make sure they do.” He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. “I want to see you again.”

Oh, so did she. “Would you like to see my neighborhood?”

“What?” He looked out the window at the identical row houses stretching as far as they could see.

“Tell your driver to cruise around in this area for a little while. I’ll give you a private tour.” She was practically crawling out of her skin with lust and finally gave in.

He pressed an intercom button and gave instructions in Italian. “There. He will drive around until I tell him to stop. He cannot see or hear anything in the back so you can feel free to say whatever you want.” He pressed a button that turned on hidden dim lighting. “I want to see you while we talk. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met.”

She snorted.

“What?” He furrowed his black brows. “You do not think you are sexy?”

“Oh, I know I am.” And that had been hard-won self-knowledge. “But I’m no six-foot, one-hundred-pound supermodel.”

“Thank God,” he said fervently. “I’m not a man who likes women with more muscle than me.” He caressed her cheek. “A real man wants a real woman, soft and smooth.” He trailed his hand down her neck to her shoulder. “Round and ripe, like a juicy peach plucked from the tree.”

Renata was ready to be plucked, backseat of the car or not. Her nipples were as hard as peach pits inches from where his fingers stroked the base of her neck and her “fruit juices” were definitely ready for sampling. “And you are a real man, Giorgio,” she purred.

“You know I am, Renata.”

“Tell me what you think of me—all real, by the way.” She sat back and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, her eyes never leaving his. He swallowed hard as her black lace bra appeared.

“Bella, che bella.” Still he hesitated, so she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders.

“All for you, Giorgio.” She unfastened her French twist and shook her red hair loose like a pinup girl. “I’ve been waiting all day for your touch. Don’t make me wait anymore. You don’t want to get a reputation for a tease, do you?”

He groaned, his cock stretching his Italian wool pants in a way the designers never intended. She crawled over to him and cupped his erection. His green eyes practically rolled back into his head. He was huge even through the cloth, his plump head firm and round under her fingers. The thought of all that Italian goodness inside her made her shiver. She started to unzip him.

The next second she was flat on her back on the seat, her bra gone and her breasts bare. His mouth was firmly fastened to one nipple, his fingers playing with the other. He sucked on her as if he were starving for her, and she was starving for him. She arched her back, pushing her breast up for his easier access.

He switched to the other breast, leaving her nipple moist and swollen in the cool air. She shivered and hardened even further.

So did he, his cock pressing against her inner thigh. She wiggled under him and he lifted his glossy black head. “You make me crazy.”

“Then go crazy with me.”

“Not yet.” He slid his hand up her thigh and stopped. “Ah, Dio mio, you are wearing giarretterre—I do not know the word in English.”

“Garters,” she supplied. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them,” he said hoarsely. He caressed the slice of thigh between her panties and stockings and cupped her bare ass. “A thong? You are going to set me off like a rocket and I have not even seen you yet.”

He shimmied her skirt up around her waist and stared down at her in rapture. “Look at you. So beautiful.”

Renata looked down at herself. Her lower half could be described charitably as curvy and fat by several skinny bitches she’d run into over the years.

He kissed her soft belly and she jumped at the ticklish sensation. He grinned up at her. “You give up another secret to me, Renata. You are ticklish.”

“You just startled me,” she informed him loftily and jumped a second time when he darted his tongue into her navel.

“And again?” He made circular tracks with his tongue, widening out from her belly button and down to the tiny black ribbon at the top of her thong.

“Well, yes.”

As he nuzzled the ribbon, his breath was hot on her belly. He hooked the front panel of her thong and pulled it free. “Are you ticklish here?” He slid his finger between her folds and zoomed in on her clit.

Her back bowed as he lazily circled that greedy bit of flesh and all she could do was groan.

“If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

Renata smiled at his blather and her eyes rolled back in her head as he lowered his mouth to her thong. With his tongue he caressed her clit, soft and wet at first and then harder as he pressed her with its tip. Her legs fell apart and she gave herself up to his tongue. His big hands had gone right where he wanted, cupping and molding her ass with fervor and appreciation.

Then her mind shut off and her body took over. Or Giorgio took over her body. His five o’clock shadow rasped her inner thighs but his lips were gentle as he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked.

Her fingernails left marks in the soft leather upholstery. Anticipation raced up her belly into her breasts, tightening her nipples even further. She rolled them between her fingers, earning a groan of approval from Giorgio as he raised his head to watch her.

Her brazenness inspired him and he dived back down—this time slipping a finger inside her as he licked her. She immediately clamped down around him. He slid in and out, adding a second finger and flicking her clit hard with his tongue.

Renata propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Giorgio. Seeing him even added to her arousal. She was dying, panting, sweating—and loved it. Spread open wide in the backseat of a limo with a man she’d met less than twelve hours earlier going to town on her, his face slick with her juices and his Egyptian cotton shirt damp with sweat.

He pulled his fingers out and stuck his tongue inside her. She collapsed back on the seat, her insides pulsing around his tongue in some dimly remembered but familiar feeling. “Oh, yes, Giorgio. Oh, just like that …” She slapped her hand over her mouth as her moans increased in volume.

He held her tight despite her body’s frantic movements, knowing she was very close. He moved his mouth back to her clit and that was enough for her. Pleasure from his mouth shot all through her body, her head whipping back and forth as she fought back a scream of pure delight.

On and on the sweet torture went until she was too limp to do anything but finally put a hand on his head. He lifted his face and gave a satisfied smirk. “What, no more?”

“I am all done, and you know it.” Renata was glad the limo driver didn’t hit any potholes because she would have slid bonelessly off the seat. On the other hand, she was so floppy she wouldn’t be injured. She struggled to her elbows. “My God, Giorgio, where did you learn to do that?”

He moved to sit back on the seat, sighing in relief as he stretched out his back and shoulders. He pulled her to his lap and she noticed he was just as aroused as before. “A trip through the fleshpots of Europe, of course,” he enunciated with a perfect upper-crust British accent.

She cracked up. He sounded like the leading man of a Masterpiece Theatre miniseries but was probably telling her the truth. “Sounds like a fun trip to me.”

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