Boss (Chianti Kisses #2) Page 8

  “V, relax. It’ll be fine. Compared to the stuff our brothers do, and get away with, this is child’s play.” I try to reassure her when in fact it’s me I’m trying to reassure. It’ll be fine I keep telling myself.

  No big deal, right? I mean, it has to happen sometime. I know the nuns at school preach to keep your virginity until you’re married, but I just don’t see that for myself. For someone like V… innocent and demure it could be an option. But for me… let’s put it this way, Carmine makes me want to melt every time he just kisses me. I can imagine what it’ll do to me when I finally give in and give him my v-card.

  I know he’s not on the same level as me. He’s never once flat-out told me how many girls, or beautiful, leggy Italian catwalk models he’s slept with at home. I shake my head hard to get the image out of it. Carmine, all hot and touchy feely with some Kate Moss wannabe is not something I need to think about right now.

  “You OK?” V watches on as my head shakes violently, tossing Giselle Bundchen Jr. from my imagination.

  I try to act normal. “What? Oh… yeah. I’m fine. I just…” I hold up the pair of lace undies in my hand. “Should I go with the lace or the satin?”

  V’s eyes hungrily admire the negligee in my hands. “You’re asking me? Momma only lets me buy the cotton ones. She says the fancy ones are for sluts.”

  She immediately catches herself once the words are spewn my way. “I’m not saying you’re a slut, Theresa. I.” She seems to be genuinely apologetic. “It’s just… are you absolutely certain about this? I mean, you guys drool all over each other, but, he doesn’t even live in this country! You may never see him again.”

  My eyes jump from each panty in front of me. Lace, satin, lace, satin. LACE! It’s decided and I throw them into my pile. “V, I don’t expect you to understand. I… I can’t put it into words. He just… I can’t imagine the thought of possibly never seeing him again and NOT doing this.”

  V retreats, sitting back into my mattress and plays with the little white paper tag attached to the dress I’d bought especially for tonight. It’s black and red and according to the salesgirl, it makes me look older.

  Carmine is three years older than me and already in University at home. The last thing I need to remind him of tonight is that I’m still a teenager. With this dress, those panties, and the makeup that V has just helped me to paint on my face, I look anything but a young virginal innocent teenager.

  ~*~

  “Wow.” His eyes are surprised, large. “You look… how is it they say? Different.”

  I smile at Carmine. I do look different. I know it. But, I hope it won’t be the only thing different about me after tonight.

  “Thanks. I… I just went shopping with V. Some woman at the makeup counter wanted me to try some new things.” I offer to cover up the effort I put into tonight.

  He takes his thumb and presses it into my lips, transferring some of the red lip lacquer onto his own skin. “There… that’s better.” He wipes his painted finger into his jeans, clearing the makeup. My lips feel lighter now, but somehow more vulnerable. His dark chestnut eyes stare at them. “You’re beautiful Theresa. Bellissima. Il mil piccolo dolce. Why you let them do this to you?”

  Okay…

  I try to smile, but embarrassment begins to creep into the seams of my designer dress. I try my best to laugh it off, walking past him while discreetly rubbing my cheeks to remove more of the heavy makeup.

  I feel his hand latch onto mine as I pass, pulling me back. “Theresa… you are precious. Prezioso, to me. You aren’t like the rest of the girls. You don’t need to change.”

  I move to playfully defend myself, forming some words to salvage my wounded pride. There’s no time. His lips close in, aimed at the reddened lips he’d just critiqued earlier. The instant warmth wastes no time in turning to sweltering hotness as his lips take mine, atoning for the unintentional shaming from before.

  His lips are sweet and sensual at the same time, moving over mine and speaking words beyond any language. His muscular hand moves up over my neck to hold it while his mouth finishes its wordless conversation with my flesh.

  I feel the familiar chill spread out over my skin, chasing the heat, confusing my senses. I hold him close, not able to bring us close enough. Body pressed up against body, I still feel so far from him. I need to be closer. I know tonight I will be as close as possible with him.

  His lips finally slow themselves and release mine, as we both catch our breath, leaving a slick vapor of steam on each other from the intense heat of our breathing. The weakness that takes hold of my body whenever I am in his arms is slow to recede tonight. I hold tighter, breathing in his spicy cologne.

  The feelings mixing deep down are enough to rage war in my soul. I want to shout out from the rooftops and tell everyone in sight how much I love this boy, how much I need him. Then, on the other hand, I want to cry because I know that this moment will not last forever. Our time is short, I can practically hear the seconds ticking down.

  I need to make sure he doesn’t forget. I need to give him something that he’ll always remember. I take one last deep breath to solidify my courage, and lean in again, kissing him just as deep as he last kissed me.

  He eagerly returns the favor and we are swept up once again in each other. My hands go to work on his shirt, carefully but quickly freeing each button from bottom to top. Once the material is cleared from his chest, a frenzied rush takes over, pushing the crisp cotton past his shoulders. My body becomes so hurried that I feel the deep vibrations of our teeth colliding through our kiss. His hands massage my neck, powerfully seizing back control.

  Once his shirt is no longer an obstacle, the temptation of his chiseled, muscular chest is too much for me to resist. I blindly pull it up, feeling my fingers clumsily scratch against his rough skin underneath. I know I must have hurt him, injured him with the side effect of my impatience. He shows no sign of it, though.

  Instead, his body hardens, his grip on my own body tightens. I seize the opportunity and pull my lips from his, lowering them to taste his flesh, passionately kissing the depression between his neck and chest, using my tongue to sear my imaginary mark on him.

  His big hands forcefully plunge into my hair, his head resting low against the top of my own as my lips explore each inch of every muscle. I hear him moan above me. His hands, busy at work in my hair, pull back, forcing me to release my claim on his body.

  His eyes stare into mine, deep, dark, brooding. “Theresa… we spoke about this, no?”

  I manage to cock my head aside, slightly, in his tight grip. “That’s all we do Carmine. Talk about it. I’m tired of talking.”

  I risk injury and forcefully pull myself from his constricting imprisonment and return to my place on his skin, licking him in my best tantalizing way, hoping to soften his resolve.

  The last thing I want to do at a time like this, is talk. More talk about how ‘I’m different from the rest of the girls.’ ‘How I’m special, and he needs to do things the right way.’ ‘How important it is for him to show respect and talk to Dom since my dad is no longer here’, and ‘how he needs to be worthy of me’. Yada yada yada. I’ve heard it nonstop for the last couple of weeks.

  He even tried to speak to Dom last weekend when the whole family had come into Alberti’s for dinner. What the hell was he thinking? The quickest way to kill this thing between us, is to tell my brother. He’ll ship my butt away to boarding school so fast the both of us will get whiplash.

  It’s a game he plays. Almost like a macho ‘hard to get.’ The more he tells me we have to wait, we have to make sure to do things the ‘right way,’ whatever that means, makes me want this more.

  I feel his body finally accept the nature of tonight and his movements encourage me. With a surge of energy, he grabs around my waist and pulls hard, bringing my body to flight, raising high enough for him to catch under my thighs and hold me tight around him, my legs clenching around his waist. I feel the momentum as we mov
e closer to the old bed in his small apartment.

  Finally! I exhale, deep. This is really going to happen.

  Something in him changes. Gone is the gentle, nurturing Carmine that I’ve come to love in the last two months- he’s no more. This boy, no, this man, is different. He’s almost like a predator, taking what he wants as he roughly drops us down on to his made bed to where the ancient metal springs creak loudly.

  I know there is no one near enough to hear them, but a thrill surges at the mere possibility, outing the relationship that we have been concealing due to some archaic sense of honor that he keeps rambling about.

  This apartment is his for the summer, one of the few older units above his family’s restaurant. It’s tiny and bare but gives him a place to lay his head at night and for us to have the smallest bit of privacy. Despite the occasional barging in from his cousin Alana, the only person other than V that knows about Carmine and me, we’ve been able to stay off the radar. Carmine is overly cautious and genuinely scared shitless about my brother finding out. With good reason, too. I’ve never had a “boyfriend,” and if Dom has his way, I never will.

  That’s not exactly the kind of thing that a teenage girl wants to deal with. Especially when she meets the first boy that makes her want to break all the rules and be damned with the consequences. And that’s what I’m determined to do tonight.

  I manage to kick my feet free from my new heels, with the hollow thudding as they drop doing little to interrupt Carmine as he moves, setting fire to my body with every touch, every deep pressing of his weight into me.

  His lips are demanding, taking more and more from me with each attack. I’m held hostage, his body pinning me, holding me still for his own enjoyment as he touches and caresses part after part.

  “You seduce me, Il mio piccolo dolce, with your beauty. A man can only resist so much,” his sweet sounding tongue leaves me craving more, “You’ll be the ruin of me.”

  I feel the air rush in as somehow his hands have expertly snaked beneath my back and released the zipper of the expensive dress. Yes… yes, please. I know if we stop now, it’ll kill me. Please, I beg silently, don’t let him stop.

  The difference in our movements is obvious to me. The clumsiness of mine is no match for the controlled, expertise of his own. It’s painfully clear to me the difference between our experiences, but I hope I manage to hide it from him.

  My dress is pulled low enough for me to wiggle my way out of it and he now pours all of his attention to my newly revealed bra cups. I arch back in torture as his lips explore what’s hidden underneath them. I call out from the intensity of it, and his hand reaches to quickly cover my mouth before it exposes us.

  I can no longer think, well at least rationally, and I don’t care at this moment if the Cardinal himself walks in on us. I scream out again, muffled under the weight of his palm.

  His fingers are magical, removing the nonsensical bra from my body as if it were no more than a tissue, discarding it far behind us in the empty room. I hear the sounds his mouth makes as he feasts on the curves of my breasts and they ignite a deep need.

  His tongue kisses flames, crisscrossing over themselves and singeing me, burning me, but I don’t pull away.

  “Perfect,” he calls into the hollow of my chest. The harshness of his velvety tongue sweeps across my nipple, stinging it, before grabbing hold and moving his lips around it. I scream once more, his hand covering my mouth is now lax and some sound escapes. It spurs him on, as his teeth now join in the marauding of my breast, and I pray that I’ll survive this.

  His hips now move on their own accord, pressing deep and strong into mine. I move my leg to make room for him, and he catches notice, grabbing my thigh and pushing it further, settling into a place where his jeans touch the outer side of my panties.

  I breathe in harshly from the sensation. The rough yet softness of his tongue on me contradicts the coarseness of the denim as the lace offers little barrier and I can feel the texture through them.

  I feel something else. Something firm and warm pressing through the material and I barely have time to register that it’s his need, before nature takes control and I seep my own need between us, soaking the space where our bodies are instinctively trying to join.

  His lips find mine again, I can feel his pulse throbbing both from his mouth and matching from between his legs. It’s strong, it’s carnal. His fingers tickle my sides as they sweep themselves over my burning skin to the edge of lace sweeping from hip to hip.

  I feel his skin play with the delicate design, tracing the intricate floral pattern as if he were reading my secrets in braille. I know they would tell of my desire for him, how his eyes draw me in and blind me to anything else. How his words mesmerize me with his perfectly accented confessions of love.

  “Bella tentarice,” Beautiful temptress, he calls me as he plays with the panties that I’ve worn just for him. I know I’ve made the right wardrobe choice, but have had enough of the panties. I need them off.

  My hands leave the muscular angles of his back to settle on top of his fingers, urging them to clear away the undergarment. I feel him hesitate. “I need you, Carmine, please,” I persuade him.

  His momentary flash of better judgment disappears as I’ve begged of him. The soaking panties are inched down, teasingly slow, exposing my most private of areas to him. His kisses travel down, exploring the growing texture of my skin as the goose bumps break out under his touch.

  The rugged callouses of his hands serve to remind me over and over of his touch as I begin to black out from the weight of it all. The air begins to feel thin in my lungs, and I’m unable to gasp in enough oxygen to help.

  He kisses my right hip gently, barely sweeping his silky lips, and then moves to kiss my left hip. I can’t look. I can’t watch him do what I’ve never imagined a man doing to me, but know that I want nothing more than for it to happen.

  I feel his breath, pouring over me, in between the maze of skin that folds, protects my center. I feel the warmth of his mouth, so close as to lend its permeating heat onto me.

  They’re all wrong. This can’t be bad. How can something be a sin if it feels like heaven?

  He groans deep, guttural, and I feel his body lower touching the most feminine of my flesh as it quivers.

  We both jolt harshly from the knock at the door, our euphoria fading away quickly from the bitter dose of reality.

  “Carmine!” A whispered feminine voice calls through the old wooden door. “It’s Alana. Grandpa’s coming!”

  Alana isn’t even a teenager yet, but spends the weekends with her grandparents, and a lot of time downstairs at the restaurant. She and Carmine are closer than most cousins and she swore to give Carmine any warning of visitors upstairs.

  She’s not old enough to know why we needed the warning, but it’s welcomed just the same.

  “Closet!” he calls to me in mid-motion, gathering my clothes from around the room. The room suddenly feels cold, frigid even, as I hold the pile of material in hand and follow his lead to the nearby closet. I’ve barley been fully concealed inside when the next knock at the door sounds.

  I hold my breath. There’s isn’t enough room in the closet for me to even attempt to dress, and I don’t want to risk the chance to be heard, so I stand naked amidst Carmine’s hanging shirts.

  I hear the creaking of the old floor boards as Carmine moves across them, and the swinging of the door as the hinges croak.

  My Italian isn’t used as often as Momma and Dom would like, but I am able to keep up with the pair as they say their words.

  “Uncle Mario,” Carmine nonchalantly welcomes the older man.

  I hear more footsteps as the second person gains entry into the room. “Carmine, it is late, I know. I wanted to speak to you before morning, though.” I hear the door close. “I have just heard from the Moretti’s. The phone call came no less than an hour ago. I… I needed to think it over before I told you about it. I know you’ve set your mind, but I n
eed to make sure there is nothing I can say to change it. This is a dangerous choice you are making. A serious one. One that requires many sacrifices.”

  “Uncle…” Carmine moves to intercept the conversation. His uncle barely takes notice.

  “This is an old way, nephew. A way that many have outgrown. It is not the same as it used to be. There are other ways to live, now.”

  I can feel tenseness in Carmine’s voice, “I don’t want those other ways, Uncle. I want this. What did he say?”

  There is more than a moment of hesitation on Mario’s end. One that I can only imagine is awkward for the two men who must be staring at each other. “He said they will take you. Because of our affiliation with the DiBenedettos, they will take you. But are you ready for this, boy? Their ways are old. You will be judged and must prove yourself to them. You are young. You have much living to do, and things to see, and… and there will be no time for that if you choose this.”

  More silence. “I made this choice, Uncle. I am not going to take it back. I will bring honor to our family just as you have.”

  I hear muffled sounds that I can only imagine are those of an embrace. I may have understood the words the men spoke, but I cannot begin to process their meaning. What decision did Carmine make? Why is it such an important one that Mario was trying so hard to talk him out of?

  The door to the apartment closes, with the walls around me shaking from the vibration. I wait, still, afraid to move. The door confining me opens, with dimmed light flooding in. I squint hard and move to shield my eyes while they adjust. Carmine helps me as I walk blindly from my hiding place.

  His behavior is different, changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s somehow… colder.

  “You should get dressed,” he breaks the silence.

  What? I’m standing in front of him, naked, with my clothes bundled into a pile in my arms. He turns his back to me, allowing me privacy.

  “I-I-” I stutter. How did this happen? I’m spinning. “What happened?”