Part Thirty Three
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
"This is *your* fault!" she hissed, angry at the stains on the bed sheets. "You did this!" she yelled and grabbing her pillow, swatted him with it... hard.
He arched a brow.
Francesca swatted him again, jumped up and with the pillow in both hands, pushed him onto his back while she straddled his hips. "We'll *never* get those stains out," she sputtered as she swung the pillow, batting him around his head. "We'll have to throw them out!"
Belatedly, she realized he was laughing at her and when she suddenly found herself draped over his lap, she yelled at him not to spank her when the entire incident had been his fault to begin with.
"Don't you dare!" she hissed when she felt his hand on her back.
"Oso I dare," he chuckled as his hand came down fast but not so hard and when her bottom cheeks were a nicely shaded pink, he turned her over and kissed her very hard again and again. "Ti amo, bambina," he murmured. "If the sheets are stained because I made love to you..." his lips nuzzled her neck while he spoke. "And you were driven senseless by that loving... as I was..." One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other cupped her warm bottom. "...to the point of forgetfulness..." Lifting her, he parted her thighs so that she straddled him once again. "And you forgot to insert a new tampon..." One hand stroked her inner thighs, fingers dancing toward the engorged nub peeking between swollen petals. "Then all who see the sheets will know I love you so much I could not bear to wait until your cycle was over."
"You are a wicked man," she conceded, her only desire now to feel him inside her.
"Love me, bambina. Show me how much you love me."
She did, her hips settling into the sweet rhythm he had taught her, her hands braced on his shoulders as her breasts hovered close to his mouth, swaying back and forth as she moved in their love dance.
Giancarlo held her hips firmly and arched his own up into her but let her control the dance. His mouth sought each rosy nipple in turn, and in turn, each was captured and adored. When her breath was stuttered and small needy sounds erupted from her throat, he turned her in his arms and took them to that special place lovers share when their union is a satisfying one. Her soft sweet hums of pleasure were lost in the guttural sounds of his release but the sweet whispered words they shared in the aftermath of their loving were clearly understood by both.
They showered together, holding each other, soft sweet kisses landing everywhere their mouths traveled. Francesca boldly reached between Giancarlo's thighs, her hands seeking the velvety sac that fascinated her. He chuckled and cupped her swollen mound, one finger teasing her core.
She blushed at the intimacy.
He laughed. "State arrossendo You're blushing.
"What you are doing," she explained, burying her face in his neck. "It seems so intimate, so wicked."
"I have touched you like this many times, bambina. Why is it wicked this time?"
"Because... because... ummm..."
"Because you are in the middle of your cycle? It is the way with women, mia amore e siete miniera and you are mine and I will touch you because I need to touch you," he murmured and "I will touch you because you are mine."
Days later, when she woke one morning, she was startled to see Giancarlo staring at her. "Gianni?"
"Buona mattina, mia amore Good morning, my love."
"Why do you look at me like that?"
"Because you are beautiful, mia amore."
"Gianni, you are staring."
"Si. I never tire of looking at you, bambina," he murmured as he kissed her brow, her eyelids in turn and then captured her mouth with his own. "Ti amo and I must look at you."
She cupped his cheek and smiled at the man who proclaimed to love her. The Godfather was a successful man, firm but fair in his decisions and loyal to a fault. The man who looked at her did so with tenderness in his gaze, his handsome face softened by his love for her. There were days she forgot that the well-dressed man who escorted her to dinner had well-toned abs beneath his shirt, arms that could squeeze her breath away, and thighs that were ribbons of steel, thighs she had been draped across more times than she could remember.
"What do you see when you look at me?" he asked as he watched her watching him.
"A man I have seduced into loving me," she smiled. "And one who is firmly wrapped around my smallest finger."
"Mangari Perhaps," he smiled back and lifted her until she was sitting against the headboard. "Sopra le mie ginocchia, bambina. Over my knee, baby,"&nbbsp; he continued to smile, reaching for her.
"Francesca, didn't you promise to obey me?"
"Can't remember," she muttered, inching her way to the other side of their wide bed.
"I remember," he chuckled and pulled her resisting body over his knees. One hand held her in place, the other rubbing her bottom cheeks. "Ti amo cosý tanto I love you so much," he told her as his hand delivered light stinging swats, then rubbing... spanking... rubbing... until her skin glowed. "Tell me you love me," he whispered.
She turned her head to look at him, surprised and pleased that the spanks were loving ones. "Ti amo, mia Gianni."
"Sul mio giro On my lap," he said softly. "I need to hold you close, bambina. I need to feel your love."
"Gianni," she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling. "I *do* love you."
Several days later, Francesca rose from her bed and rushed to the bathroom, hurling the contents of her stomach.
"Bambina..." Giancarlo murmured as he held her on his lap and washed her face with a cool cloth. "Too much vino last night? Too much linguine? The clams were bad? Dicami Tell me."
"Clams?" she moaned and hurled again.
"I think Francesca has a touch of the flu," Giancarlo told his mother when he joined her for breakfast.
"Oh?" the matriarch arched a knowing brow. "What makes you think so?"
"She has lost her stomach several mornings in a row. Hopefully, it won't last too long. The odd thing is that she feels well the rest of the day and... Che cosa? What?" he asked when his mother started laughing.
"Bambino!" she chortled. "Francesca i con il bambino Francesca is with child! Meraviglioso! It's wonderful!"
"Si," his mother smiled. "Siete i papÓ You will be a papÓ."
"She doesn't know," he grinned.
"Don't tell her," his mother cautioned. "Let her discover this on her own and wait until she tells you. Trust me on this, mio figlio my son. Let her tell you in her own good time."
Giancarlo saw the wisdom of this and nodded his head. He would spoil Francesca, pamper her, love her more tenderly than ever before but wait for his amore piccola little love to tell him the good news.
Giancarlo Ruggiero Batali, highly respected and greatly feared Godfather of one of the largest of the reigning Familia, unabashedly grinned. "I'm going to be a papÓ!"