Blurry by Michelle Hercules
Alistair
I’m going to hell for this, but I couldn’t resist Chiara, not when her delicious mouth covered mine, bringing forth a deep-rooted desire I didn’t know I was still able to feel. I’ve slept with other women since Nadine, but all those encounters were meaningless, hollow. With Chiara, it’s different; it isn’t about taking care of a physiological need. I don’t even know why that is. Maybe it’s the place or the circumstance of how we met. In the end, it doesn’t matter.
I never tasted anything sweeter than her tongue, and as I walk side by side with her, I have to fight the urge to stop every few minutes to attack her mouth again. My cock is straining against the seams of my borrowed pants, and I know I won’t find proper release until I’m buried deep inside her.
Our hands are fused together as we roam the streets of this medieval town. Chiara points at things she finds interesting or offers a little bit of historical information whenever she can. I said before that I wanted her to be truly happy in these two days we spend together, but what I didn’t factor into the equation was being happy myself as well. And I am. I haven’t felt this way since I caught Nadine fucking Wade in our own bed.
With a silent groan, I quickly banish the image from my head before it sours my mood.
I focus on Chiara instead. The shadow that dimmed her eyes earlier is gone. She pulls me toward a particular store with several trinkets and shiny objects on display. Pointing at a twisted wire silver bracelet with an opal stone as the focal point, she explains something about it. I’m only half listening because I’m too distracted—staring at her instead. Finally giving in to my urges, I turn her around and capture her face between my hands to claim her mouth. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat while her body melts into mine. I can’t help but think she fits perfectly into my arms. I pull back after a while, fearing getting carried away and doing something completely inappropriate in public.
“Wow! What was that for?” she says, a little out of breath.
“Nothing. I was hit by sudden withdrawals. What were you saying about the bracelet?”
She looks at my mouth with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes for a few seconds before she replies, “Oh, that my great-grandmother used to have one just like this. She’d let me play with it and promised I could have it once I was older. When she passed away and the women in the family got together to go through her stuff, Paola said Bisnonna had promised the bracelet to her instead, which was a bold lie. My mother obviously didn’t believe me, so Paola got what she wanted.”
“Your cousin sounds lovely.”
Chiara snorts. “She’s awful, but she’s not the worst in the family.”
I eye the bracelet and commit it to memory. The store is already closed, but I’ll try to sneak back here tomorrow and get it for Chiara. I know she didn’t tell me this story to get me to buy it for her, but I want her to have it just the same.
“Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s find a place to eat.” She yanks my arm, and I let her drag me away.
I’m not exactly hungry for food, but I don’t voice that out loud. I’ll need sustenance to do what I have planned. Chiara finds a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, or charcuteria, as she calls it, a place specializing in cold cuts, cheese, and wine. After a fast exchange in Italian between Chiara and the manager, we’re ushered all the way to the back of the already busy restaurant to the last table available. The waiter removes the Reserved sign from it and helps Chiara to her seat.
After he leaves to grab our menus, I turn to her. “Did you just convince them to give their reserved table to us?”
Chiara laughs and shakes her head. “No. They usually keep one or two tables available for last-minute VIP patrons.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”
“Well, I’m not exactly VIP, but the Moretti name carries weight in the area. I just used it. If I have to suffer being related to them, I might as well take advantage of the perks.”
Even though she tries to sound nonchalant, I hear a slight catch in her voice. Who are those people, and why do I get the impression Chiara is the anathema in the family?
The waiter returns with menus and a jug of cold water. He doesn’t speak any English, but Chiara is happy to play the interpreter for me. I sit back and let her choose the wine and the appetizers. Watching her talk with confidence and make decisions without hesitation is a hell of a turn-on. Well, not that I’m not walking at half-mast already.
I lean closer and stroke her cheek, pausing at her lips. “So, what did you get for us?”
Chiara’s tongue darts out, right before she sucks my finger into her mouth. Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to be the death of me.
Finally letting go of my finger, she says through a wicked smile, “It’s a surprise. I hope you’re a meat lover.”
Staring at her lips, I say, “You have no idea.”
Our server comes back once more with wine, but there are no glasses in sight. Chiara smiles at me when she catches my confused look.
She flips the ceramic bowl that was already on the table—that I honestly thought was meant for soup—and lets the waiter fill it up.
“We drink wine in these like in the good old days.”
The waiter fills my bowl with an amused twist of his lips. He must get this confused reaction a lot from tourists.
Chiara raises her bowl after the guy walks away. “What shall we toast to?”
“How about an unforgettable weekend?”
She smiles, and her entire face lights up. I feel a sharp pang in my chest, and suddenly I understand why I’m having such a visceral reaction to her. She reminds me of Jamie, the best friend I lost when I was a teen. Only Jamie was a guy, and I wasn’t remotely attracted to him. He and Chiara share the same vulnerability masked by a happy-go-lucky personality though. I grin at her in return, trying not to show how much this revelation is doing my head in.
“Cheers to that.”
Chiara places the bowl back on the table, laces her hands together, and rests her chin on top of them. “So, shall we establish some ground rules for this epic weekend?”
I lean back and cross my arms. “Okay. Rule number one, we won’t speak about your family.”
Her eyes flash with an emotion I can’t discern before she says, “Deal. My turn. We won’t trade specific details about our life, like jobs, where we live, etcetera.”
I stare at her through slits but with a smirk on my lips. “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to turn into a stalker after all?”
Chiara shakes her head and smiles ruefully at her wine. “No, it’s not that.” She pauses to lick her lips, looking at me again from under her eyelashes. “I have the feeling that the more I know about you, the harder it will be to let you go.”
I clench my jaw hard and don’t say anything for several beats. I can tell Chiara is interpreting my silence the wrong way by how her eyebrows furrow together, marring her otherwise smooth skin. I reach for her chair, pulling it across the floor with a loud screech until she’s sitting next to me.
“Now, that’s better. You were too far from me.” I touch her cheek with the back of my hand as I stare deep into her eyes. “I agree to your rule only because it’s going to be hard for me as well.”
Her breath catches at the same time her lips part, making it impossible for me not to shorten the distance between us and kiss her again. But I’m greedy, and kissing her doesn’t satisfy my hunger. I want more.
I slide my hand up her thigh and under her dress, stopping just a few inches away from her warm pussy. I don’t dare go any farther, not in the middle of the restaurant anyway. Instead, I make lazy circles with the tips of my fingers, smiling against her lips when I feel the goose bumps form on her skin.
A throat clearing nearby makes me pull away, and I level the waiter with a glower, not appreciating the interruption.
“Il antipasti,” he says before he places the tray of cold cuts in front of us.
“Grazie mille,” Chiara replies without making eye contact with the man.
Ah shit. I made her uncomfortable. I better behave until I can get her alone.
We eat our food and drink our wine, but we both have the same sense of urgency. We don’t linger.
Back in the car, it’s a Herculean effort to keep my hands to myself, but I push through the urge to stop on the side of the road to steal a few more kisses from her.
“I thought today was going to be the worst day of my life,” Chiara says as she sticks her hand out the window.
“I’m glad it didn’t turn out that way. It will only get better from here.”
I sense her stare, so I peel my gaze off the road for a second.
“Cocky, aren’t you?”
“Nope, just being realistic, babe.”
Her nose wrinkles, and she pouts. “Don’t call me that. I hate that endearment.”
“Sorry. What should I call you, then? Chibi?”
“No!” she shouts, and I have to glance at her again.
“Isn’t that what Max called you? I thought it was cute. It fits you.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and levels me with a glare. “No, it doesn’t. Chibi means small in Japanese, and it’s also a style of caricature where the characters are super cute and tiny.”
“See? It fits you.” I laugh.
“Stronzo!” She hits my arm. “Keep calling me Chibi and you won’t get any booty tonight.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t. What does stronzo mean? I know it can’t be anything good.”
She faces forward and says under her breath, “Asshole.”
I reach out and squeeze her thigh through the skirt of her dress. “I promise I won’t call you Chibi again.”
“Uh, I don’t know. I think you need to grovel a bit more.”
“Is that so? What would you have me do?”
“You’ll have to wait and see. How far are we from your hotel, anyway?”
We both stare at the car’s GPS. We’re ten minutes away from our final destination.
Still too fucking far.
