Part Twenty Three
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
Francesca didn't argue with his words. Quietly, she listened to most of what Giancarlo had to say about how their life would be, tuning in and out as the pain in her bottom cheeks took all her concentration. It didn't really matter what he said... she was a survivor and would do what was necessary to make her life tolerable; Angelina had taught her that much.
"Nothing is so terrible that it can't be overcome," the older woman had told her. "While you have breath, you grasp each day and make it yours."
"Carpe diem," Francesca murmured, remembering the words.
"Che cosa, bambina? What, baby?" Giancarlo asked as he cupped her chin, his heart surprising him by filling with a dull ache when he saw that her cheeks were still streaked with tears.
"Nothing," she replied, turning in his arms and burying her face in his neck. "Nothing."
Watching her as they ate dinner that evening, he softened... Francesca was having difficulty sitting but she didn't voice any complaints. Unfortunately, she also ate little and only nodded when he spoke to her, offering no other responses to his conversation. They were dining on the patio outside their villa, the wait staff had delivered the food, poured the wine and left.
Without a word and feeling a bit of remorse, Giancarlo reached for his wife and pulled her onto his lap, careful to seat her between his thighs so that he wouldn't further aggravate her tender bottom. "Mangi, bambina. Eat, baby. You have to eat to keep up your strength," he said softly, kissing her brow. "How can I make love to you if you are too weak to enjoy it? Hmmm?"
"You spanked me so hard... now you are going to make love to me?" she asked softly, wondering how she would be able to lie on her back when he pressed her into the bedding.
"Si," he agreed. "I have to make love to you. But you will eat, first."
Food was not high on her list though the aromas of the rich cuisine were tantalizing. Her bottom hurt, her heart hurt and she began to think that no matter what she did to please him, nothing would be the right thing. He would always interpret her actions as less than what he wanted in the Godfather's wife. They would have days, maybe even weeks when all went well and then, out of the blue, she would do or say something that would run contrary to his way of doing things and he would blister her bottom until the pain was more than she could bear. She would cry; he would cuddle her, lecture her yet again, make love to her, and the cycle would begin once more. Had she made a mistake marrying this dominant man? Would he ever let her be herself?
Giancarlo knew he had spanked her hard, maybe harder than he should have. Seeing his wife practically nude on the beach had shocked him. Anyone could have walked by - seen what should be for his eyes only - what else could he have done? His reaction had been swift and so was his punishing hand. In the back of his mind, he knew he had overreacted. That part of the beach had been isolated. If someone *had* wandered by, he could have quickly covered her with her beach robe.
"Mi spiace, piccola, I'm sorry, little one," he murmured as he hugged her. "I acted too soon. I should have just covered you. I should not have spanked you. I apologize."
"You spanked me too hard," she whispered. "You always spank me too hard. Will it always be like that?"
"Si. I spanked you too hard," he agreed, "but I was displeased to see you like that in a public place. You deserved a spanking," he said softly, changing his mind. "But I was too harsh with you. Next time, I will try to wait before taking you over my knee."
"I will stake my life on it," he chuckled, his mood lighter now. "There will be a next time."
He had let her drink only a small amount of wine, her stomach near empty. She had wanted more wine thinking if her mind was dull, the pain in her bottom cheeks would be minimized but he placed the wineglass out of her reach. He knew she was really hurting; she hadn't even touched the gelato, her favorite dessert.
"Bambina," he capitulated, cupping her quivering chin. "I will buy you another bikini. Will that make you happy?"
She shook her head.
"No?" he asked, disarmed by her mood. "What will it take to dry your tears, piccola? Dicami. Tell me."
"It's not the bikini," she murmured. "It's you."
"Me?" he was perplexed.
"I try to please you," Francesca told him, her courage surfacing even though it was possible he would spank her again for her words.
"You *do* please me," he whispered as his mouth found the hollow in her throat. "You please me very much."
"I thought you would like the bikini," she explained, pulling away from his mouth so she could look at him. "I wore it just for you and it made you angry."
"Seeing you..." he clarified. "You are too beautiful to be on such display. No one else should see you like that. We were in public and I did not stop to realize that we were alone. I acted in haste," he apologized again, "but you are not to wear... you are not to flaunt your body like that... only in the privacy of our home. Let us put this behind us, bambina. It will not happen again."
No, it won't, she thought sadly, remaining silent as he carried her to their bedroom.
In moments, he had her robe off, his own also discarded as he lay on the bed, Francesca prone on top of his chest. "It's time for you to be on top, bambina," he told her, his hands on her waist, lifting her so that she kneeled between his thighs.
Her breasts hovered above him, their slight sway taking his breath away, his mouth zeroing in on a rosy nipple. "Come to me," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, one muscular thigh reaching up to urge hers apart. "Come to me, mia amore," he commanded softly, lifting... gently pulling... until she was poised above him. His own need was obvious, hard and throbbing and as she dropped down on top of him, his hips rose to meet her warm moist opening.
"Like that," he moaned when she sank completely onto him. "Si, like that and pull back," he instructed, his hands guiding her as she began slow thrusts that pleased them both. "More," he groaned when she paused. "Don't stop now, bambina. Faster," he gasped as she found the rhythm he wanted.
She stopped. She pulled back, sat up, crossed her arms over her ample breasts and arched a brow. "Say please," she said softly.
Please? He frowned... muttered something unintelligible... growled a warning... and grasped her sore bottom cheeks, pulling her to him.
She gasped when his hands pressed into her tender bottom, the pain immediately intensified, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "Giancarlo," she sobbed.
"Shhhh, bambina. Lift up," he groaned. "And push down, it will be good again." And it was. His hands moved back to her waist as she continued the rhythm, slower now but pleasing both of them. And when he needed it to be faster, he flipped her onto her back, immediately lifting her legs over his shoulders so her tender bottom was elevated... his thrusts hard, fast, deep and immensely satisfying.
He had her in the shower mere minutes after their pleasure ebbed, her legs lowered to his hips, her heated bottom soothed by the cool tiles of the wall. "Next time you are on top, bambina," he chuckled. "You can control our loving; you may *not* stop, but you can control the pace."
"Completely?" she asked, still catching her breath.
"As long as you please me."
"Maiale, Pig," she muttered.
"Si," he laughed. "And you are my delicious wife."
He pulled her on top of his chest when they retired for the evening, Francesca's bottom too sore to allow her to sleep on her back. She had expected to lay on her side but he discovered he wanted her closer... needed her closer... wanted the feel of her breasts pressed into his chest, wanted her warm breath on his neck, his arms around her, his hands on her back. Was that love? he asked himself again.
"Mia prezioso, My precious one," he whispered to her sleeping face. "Siete la mia tesoro. You are my treasure."