Part Twenty Eight
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
Francesca returned home with a smile on her face and with more confidence than she had felt since her honeymoon began. Giancarlo had been attracted to the woman she had been when they met. She would be that woman again.
And he will spank you at the drop of a hat, her conscience said.
"Not necessarily," she mused, willing to take that chance.
The Godfather's offices were situated in a suite of rooms on the first floor of their big house with ample room for his assistants and his consiglieri advisor. In these rooms, the vast Batali holdings were managed - people and properties - and all financial matters associated with their familia. It was understood that the suite was off limits during working hours and both Francesca and Madre Batali had always respected this edict and didn't interrupt Giancarlo's work.
More than one man arched a brow when Francesca walked through the outside offices of Giancarlo's working suite. Pausing for a moment outside her husband's private door, she gathered her courage, knocked twice, heard him say entrato come in and opened the door.
He looked up, standing when he saw her, his frown evident at this invasion of his sanctuary and interruption of his work.
"Gianni," she said so softly he had to strain to hear her.
"Bambina! What is wrong? Are you...? What has happened?" he rushed to her as he bombarded her with questions and pulled her into a tight embrace, his eyes searching for any sign of pain or fear in hers.
"Gianni," she whispered, melting into his arms, letting him hold her upright. "I... would you...? Could we...? Um..."
"Un momento A moment," he gestured to the other men in the room. "We need a moment."
When the door closed and they were alone, the persona of the Godfather disappeared and the concerned and caring husband carried his bride to the leather couch. He cradled her in his arms, his hands and soft murmurs attempting to sooth whatever it was that was so terrible it made her interrupt his work.
"Dicami Tell me," he finally whispered, cupping her chin in his large palm, his lips brushing her brow.
"I... You won't be angry?" she asked, her dark eyes wide and round and slightly troubled.
"No, I won't be angry. Dicami."
"Prometto I promise," he sighed. "Dicami."
"I needed you," Francesca said softly.
"You needed me?" he asked, puzzled by her words.
"Si. I needed you... to hold me."
"What happened, bambina? What was it that made you need my arms around you? What was it that couldn't wait until later?" His questions were filled with sincere and quiet concern, his arms holding her close.
"Nothing," she admitted, knowing it was not a good idea to lie to him.
"Bambina?" he tilted her chin up to look at her.
"I had an urgent need for... is it a terrible thing I did? That I needed you to hold me?" she asked as she looked at the man who could easily flip her over and sear her bottom within the blink of an eye.
"No," he smiled as he kissed the tip of her nose. "It is not a terrible thing. It is a wonderful thing that you couldn't wait until my arms were around you. But you will have to learn patience, mia amore," he chuckled, patting her bottom.
"I want you to touch me, Gianni," she murmured as she reached up to cup his cheek. "Per piacere Please."
"Francesca," he groaned as his mouth covered hers. "Bella... you make me crazy."
"How much longer will you be?" she asked as she shifted her weight on his lap, the evidence of his need for her quickly growing beneath her.
"Too long," he lamented. "We'll have dinner in our room... da solo alone, si?"
"Si," she agreed and didn't protest when he stood her on her feet, putting her away from him.
He watched her walk to the door and when she paused to look at him over her shoulder, he went to her... swiftly... his arms around her again, his soft groans buried in her neck as he held her. When he cupped her face with a gentle palm, Francesca pulled that palm to her breast. He fervently hoped no one on the other side of the door heard his groan of desire.
Madre Batali had smothered her laughter when she saw Francesca head for Giancarlo's office. The feisty ragazza girl was either very brave or very foolish. She sent a quick prayer heavenward asking her Maker to bestow a little luck on the younger woman. "Dio! You know she needs all the help she can get," she murmured.
A word with the Sicilian cook ensured that their romantic supper would be filled with foods Giancarlo favored. "Candlelight," Francesca whispered conspiratorially. "And good vino. We're still on our honeymoon."
The cook smiled at the Godfather's pretty wife. "Si, Signora. I will make sure it is perfect." A quick hug of thanks from Francesca startled the older man and he made a silent promise to do what he could to make her happy. He knew the Godfather warmed her bottom; the entire household knew... not that she didn't deserve it, but a well-prepared and favored meal would be good for both of them.
Francesca didn't know when Giancarlo would end his workday; sometimes, he worked late into the evening but regardless, she would be ready when he arrived. She soaked in a scented tub filled with bath oils, rubbed lotion into her limbs, washed her hair and cleansed her face of all makeup except lip gloss. And then she paced the bedroom floor, her filmy peignoir billowing behind her. The room was warmed from the cozy fire burning brightly and the more Francesca paced, the warmer she became.
She opened a window.
Soon, she was chilly... and donned a heavy terry cloth bathrobe over her peignoir. Her flimsy bedroom mules didn't keep her feet warm enough... she switched to her warm bunny slippers... The hour grew late... she thought a short nap would probably help and stretched out on the bed.
Giancarlo intercepted the maid and wheeled the food cart into the master suite himself, locked the door behind him and on silent feet, entered their bedroom...
And chuckled softly.
Francesca lay on her side, asleep, one hand tucked under her chin, the other resting on her hip. Her bathrobe gaped open, glimpses of a sexy peignoir set visible beneath the heavy robe but it was the bunny slippers that tickled his funny bone.
"Bambina," he laughed softly as he pulled her sleepy body into his arms.
"Gianni?" she said with a yawn.
"You are the sexiest woman on earth," he grinned, bending to kiss the exposed tops of her breasts while his hand reached down to squeeze the foot encased in a floppy bunny slipper.
"Oh..." she blushed. "I was too warm, then I was too cold. Then I was sleepy," she explained. "And..."
"And here I am," her husband chuckled. "Ready to feed mia bambina and then love her senseless because she needed me so much she couldn't wait till the day was over and demanded that I hold her in my arms in the middle of the day. What will people think, bella?" he asked as his palm cupped her cheek, his fingers caressing the hair at her temple. "They will shake their heads that the powerful Godfather of the Batali Familia cannot take care of la familia business because he has to hold his beautiful wife in his arms when she cannot wait another moment."
"Gianni," Francesca protested. "I... you were... Why did you take so long? Is it too late to eat? I think..."
"I think you should stop explaining while you're ahead," he smiled as he bent his head to kiss her. "We are going to eat. We are going to discuss this urgent needs of yours. We are going to take care of this need of yours and of mine, bambina," he whispered as his desire for her became more evident. "Then I am going to make love to you and again... and again because," his voice turned huskier with each uttered word. "I have the same need. Mia amore, I have the same need."
"Am I really sexy?" she asked when he had undressed her and was fulfilling his promise to love her again and yet again.
"It's the slippers," he grinned as his mouth and hands made inroads to bringing her pleasure. "I cannot resist a woman who wears sexy lingerie and floppy bunny slippers."