Part Twenty One
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
"It has just begun," he murmured as he moved within her. "It has just begun, bambina, and it will last a lifetime."
With dawn, tiny slivers of gray and gold slipped through the drapes, Giancarlo totally sated and so pleased with his bride's budding sensuality that he was willing to give her anything her heart desired if she asked. He had loved her slowly and with great care to break the barrier of her virginity and gently again to bring her to orgasm. Her tears and gasps had made him ache - pleasure that she had enjoyed their sexual union - remorse that he had hurt her if only briefly.
Francesca had protested when he insisted on washing her virgin's blood, her shyness returning full force and her deep blush making him chuckle. "It is my right, bambina," he told her. "I caused the blood to flow; I will wash it away before I make love to you again."
"Again?" she had asked a short time later, not wanting to endure more pain. Angelina had told her it would initially hurt but the experienced woman had not mentioned how long the ache would last.
"Yes, again," her husband murmured as his hands replaced the washcloth, fingers probing gently, stroking her until she was ready for him. And when she was, he penetrated her once again, her soft cries turning into purrs of pleasure as he plunged and retreated, his arms holding her close and his breath hot on her brow.
When he was certain she had achieved pleasure by their union, he thrust faster and faster until his own satisfied sounds were heard. Rolling onto his side, he kept one hand on Francesca's back and the other on her bottom, delaying their separation as long as possible, loath to leave her body.
She lay limp in his arms, exhausted in that sweet way that comes from a pleasurable physical encounter. And then, she was shy once again, her body pinked from his loving and pinking deeper as he gazed at the nude beauty of his wife.
He chuckled when she tried to bury her face in his chest and laughed aloud when she reached for the sheet to cover her nakedness.
"Bambina," he grinned, pulling the sheet away from her hands. "Come sei bella. You are so beautiful. I need to look at you. Don't cover yourself."
"But you..." she argued. "You're..."
"Naked?" he asked with a wicked grin. "Yes, I am. Do you want a closer look?"
"No," she blushed, uncertain and then curiosity gave her courage. She pushed back from his chest, her hands pushing against his abs to put some space between them. Muscles rippled under her palms as she touched him, first tentatively, then with bolder strokes, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest and then his biceps - touching him anywhere above his flat stomach.
"Lower, bambina," he murmured, pushing her hands down. "Touch me, innamorata sweetheart. I want to feel your hands on me."
She touched... her hands slipping down to his thighs, pillars of steel under her palms, her fingers daring to touch his groin. His immediate moans gave her a feeling of control so she grasped him with both hands. When he emitted soft guttural sounds, she squeezed slightly and then harder, experimenting. His flesh was warm between her hands, very warm and like velvet, a feeling different than the hard shaft that had penetrated her body.
"Giancarlo..." she paused mid-stroke.
"You're not hurting me, bambina," he said softly, his breath rapidly changing. "Don't stop."
"Touch me," he murmured, his hands covering hers and showing her the rhythm that pleased him.
Kneeling between his thighs, she let him guide her hands, her breasts swaying slightly above their hands, his ardor rising. When he pulled her hand to his scrotal sac and squeezed gently to delay his release, she pulled back from him. Angelina had told her that a man was most vulnerable there and she feared hurting him.
"It's okay," he assured her, pulling her onto his chest and then turning her onto her back. "We'll wait a little while and then I'll make love to you again."
"Because it feels good when you touch me like that," he explained, his mouth and hands setting her body on fire again. Parting her thighs, his lips teased, touched, fondled and caressed her until she collapsed in his arms.
Later, he loved her once again, his arms pulling her legs around him as his hips thrust into her body. He knew she was sore, her sex tender from their previous loving, but he couldn't resist sinking into her once again. They had a long flight ahead of them and this would have to last until they were settled in their honeymoon hideaway. He thrust harder, his hands wandering over her, claiming possession.
"No more," Francesca protested when she could speak and breathe at the same time. "No more till I tell you."
With a lopsided grin, Giancarlo clapped his hand off her bare bottom, startling her into silence.
"Never say no to me, bambina," he said firmly, asserting his dominance but softening his words with a kiss on her brow. "I will make love to you whenever it pleases me and I assure you that will be often."
Of all the Ionian Islands off the coast of Greece, only the beach at Siros is isolated. It lies like an oasis and is surrounded by the lush foliage of palm trees. Its verdant beauty is hidden by a huge rock promontory and provided the privacy Giancarlo wanted for their honeymoon. As much as he wanted to take Francesca out to dine and dance and be entertained, he knew they would have a lifetime for that kind of pleasure. Here and now he wanted them in an environment in which, for the most part, they would only have each other. It was their chance to spend time alone, forge the bond they would need to sustain each other through life's ups and downs, and give him the chance to lay the foundation for their life together.
The slight blush to her cheeks caught his eye as he held her in his arms, her breath warm on his neck as she dozed. The flight to their honeymoon hideaway was a long one and he had given her little opportunity to sleep on their wedding night. Francesca had fallen asleep shortly after takeoff. He looked at the woman he had just wed, a young woman he had all but coerced into marriage and was satisfied with his choice.
There was no doubt in his mind that Francesca knew he was the head of their household, that he would make the decisions that guided their lives, that while he cared for her and would grow to love her, he would not allow her to defy him.
This was the time to lay the ground rules, to establish and affirm his dominance, to let her know that he knew they would eventually love each other more than they dreamed possible, but that he was the only one who would be wearing the pants in their marriage. She was young and spirited and he, il Padre del Dio, would guide her, tame her, and teach her what she needed to know.
He was satisfied she would understand his feelings and obey him in all things.