Unable to stop touching her, he murmured endearments as his hands began a more leisurely exploration of her charms. His mouth masterfully followed the path of his hands, his lips touching... brushing... suckling when she least expected it. His tongue dipped... laved... and caressed in ways that shocked her, excited her, and made her soar. He was a consummate lover and had yet to penetrate her.
If Francesca had read romance novels in the past and had an image of what lovemaking was supposed to be, she was mistaken. Giancarlo was not the fantasy of sweet and gentle lover; he was the real life flesh and blood man who dominated her physically, his arms holding her in a tight embrace, his hands possessive as he mapped her charms, her crevices and curves, awakening her sensuality and demanding her response. The timbre of his deep voice was mesmerizing, his words alarming and soothing her in turn, exerting his dominance, his care of her and a promise of deeper pleasure to come when they were wed.
He held his own need in check, knowing the wait was nothing more than delicious anticipation. When they were wed and he finally filled her, he knew they would both explode with pleasure.
He kissed and caressed... his hands stroking... making her want more, building her need to a boiling point, again... and again until she begged. And when her soft satisfied cries filled his ears and she collapsed against him, breasts heaving, breath stuttered, her body drenched, his own need rose unbidden and shook him to the core. He wasn't a raw boy; he was a man experienced in the ways of carnality, but this sweet girl in his arms... He wanted to bring her every pleasure even though he denied taking his own.
His need was not merely physical. He could easily find release by his own hand. It was her. It was Francesca. Some passing moment... when he had been unaware... Francesca had slipped under his skin, her innocence unique, her courage in the face of danger, her youthful defiance, and her smile... her soft laughter... her sweetness.
He smiled at the sweet siren in his arms and she smiled back. His soft laughter at her pleasure made her blush and suddenly, she was aware that she was nude and that he had touched her intimately and she became shy again. He loved the feel of her in his arms; she loved the feeling of being held close to him. They were at peace with each other and with the world.
~~~
He loved her once more before he left, her body drained as his hands and mouth brought her to a pinnacle she was eager to climb again and again. "You will rest now, bambina," he told her as he tucked the covers under her chin. "I will pick you up at 8PM for dinner. You will be ready."
Her eyes were closing as he put his shirt on, tied his shoes and grabbed his jacket from the chair where he had tossed it. She was almost asleep when she felt his lips brush her brow. "You will wear a dress," he whispered and then unable to resist, cupped her cheek and stroked it until she was asleep.
"You make me crazy," he said softly.
~~~
She was ready when he arrived, attired in one of the dresses he had purchased for her. The ice blue silk fit her like a glove, accentuating her charms but covering her from neck to knees. He was pleased.
"Piccola, Little one," he murmured as he gathered her into his arms. You are so beautiful."
Francesca knew she looked good and she felt good, the afternoon's intimacy with Giancarlo had left her with a feeling of euphoria. She looked into his eyes and smiled at the man who had awakened her sexuality and remembered... His hands on her... everywhere. His mouth... lips... tongue... touching, tasting... She turned fiery red and he laughed.
He laughed!
"I'm not going out with you if you're going to laugh at me," she said indignantly, pulling away from his embrace.
"Yes, you are," he chuckled, pulling her back into his arms. "Bambina," he murmured as his mouth brushed her temple. "I love how you responded to me. I love how you are so hot... so passionate," he continued as his lips anointed the smooth silk of her face. "I love how you blush and I intend to make you blush over and over again," he promised.
"Giancarlo..." she protested.
"Francesca," he cupped her chin. "It is a good thing, this thing we have. It is a good thing for a man and woman to have. Do not be ashamed of lovemaking. It is the most natural thing in the world."
Dinner was a quiet affair, Giancarlo drawing Francesca into conversation, encouraging her to voice her thoughts, listening to her opinions about anything and everything. When he occasionally arched a brow at something she said causing her to hesitate and show signs of agitation, he soothed her with words of endearment, his hand covering hers and his smile sincere.
"You ask me questions and I answer truthfully," Francesca murmured, pulling her hand away from his. "But when I ask you questions, you change the subject. Why is that?"
"Some things are best left unanswered, bambina. A wife does not have to know everything there is to know about her husband's affairs."
Her eyes grew wide in surprise. "Affairs?"
"Business affairs, mia bella," he smiled, taking her hand back into his and squeezing gently. "I will provide for you, piccola. You will live well. I will give you whatever you desire but there is no need for you to have a concern about how I do that."
"You want me to forget that the money you spend on me comes from whorehouses?" she asked so softly it took a moment for her words to register and when they did...
"If you think I will not spank you..." he murmured with a wicked smile, his arm suddenly surrounding her shoulder as he pulled her closer.
"You would humiliate me here... in this place? With all these people watching?" she replied, her voice extraordinarily calm in spite of the butterflies fluttering in her belly at his words.
"Not here, bambina," he grinned. "I have enough patience to wait until we are alone again."
"Giancarlo!" Francesca protested. "You..."
"Bambina," he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. "You do not have to know how I will provide for you. And," he added, nipping the side of her neck and then kissing the pinch away. "I do not like to hear words like puttana and whorehouse out of the mouth of the woman who will be the mother of my children. I am old school in that way and you are a lady. Humor me in this, per piacere please."
His lips brushed her forehead, his breath warm on her skin as his hand squeezed her hand again. She knew he was sincere and she was torn between her need to know more about this man who was determined to marry her and her need to be comforted that all would be well in the world she would share with him. If there was one thing Francesca had learned in her brief and stormy relationship with the Godfather, it was patience. She dropped the subject, intent on learning more from another source.
If Giancarlo had any idea what his young and beautiful bride-to-be was thinking, he would have rushed her back into the waiting limousine and regardless of who saw, he would have spanked her until her bottom was the shade of an overripe eggplant.
Francesca turned her cheek toward his mouth, smiled sweetly and gave him a gentle kiss. "I would like gelato ice cream," she said.
"Vaniglia Vanilla?" he asked with a smile. "With vino wine?"
"Si."
"You can have whatever you want, bambina," he assured her, a statement he would later regret.