Achille groaned as my hand reached inside, shaking like a leaf with anticipation. I returned the pained sound when my hand met his flesh, no underwear blocking my way.
He was hard and large and so warm to the touch. My free hand tugged on the falling waistband of his jeans and helped drop them from his tapered muscled hips. Achille’s tall, broad frame dominated me, towering over me, making me shake where I stood.
As I gave him one gentle stroke, it unleashed something wild within him. His hands fell to the sides of my panties and, with one pull, tore them from their seams. The delicate French lace fluttered like gossamer feathers to the floor.
And that’s how we took pause. Exposed, vulnerable—two hearts and souls and bodies unveiled. Achille’s breathing echoed in my ear, roughened like a harsh wind rustling through fallen autumn leaves.
Achille, with an easy strength, lifted me from the clothes at my feet, and into his muscled arms. I held on tightly, never wanting this feeling to end. Never wanting to leave the security of his embrace, and never wanting to be parted from this man who was burrowing his goodness into my blood and my bones.
He turned and lowered me down until my back landed on the soft mattress below. As the weight of my body hit the faded patchwork comforter, his scent from the fabric engulfed me. This was the bed where he slept each night, where he dreamed and despaired, resting his tired body and gentle soul.
Achille moved back as he freed himself from the jeans at his ankles, standing in the oil lamp’s glow. And I couldn’t breathe at the sight. His body was toned to perfection, not over-muscled, but athletic and strong, with the most stunning golden olive skin just begging for my touch. He looked down at me, naked and exposed on his bed, with nothing but fire and desire in his eyes.
For me.
Only for me.
“Caresa . . .” Achille murmured, edging forward. For the first time since we had given in to our lust, I saw nervousness etch across his beautiful face. He froze; fear had robbed him of his courage.
I held out my arms, guiding him to me, coaxing him near. “I have to have this,” I said softly, a slight tremor to my voice. “I have to have you, Achille.”
“Caresa,” Achille moaned again, but this time came forward, his hands landing on either side of my body.
The minute he was over me, his arms caging my head and his body covering mine, we locked eyes—blue searing brown. He pushed a damp curl from my face, a gentle, contented smile upon his lips. An all-encompassing emotion swept through me, a realization of peace found in another’s embrace.
Achille laid the sweetest of sweet kisses to the center of my forehead and whispered, “Beautiful . . . beautiful . . .” The ravenous heat of the previous moment was, in a second, turned on its head. Gone was the hungry, desperate need, and in its place a calm serenity shared in the vulnerability of the other.
Before Achille could see the tear escaping from the corner of my eye, I threaded my hands through his hair and brought his lips to mine. He melted against me like ice under the Umbrian sun. This kiss was slow and deep and true.
It was a tattoo on my heart.
Achille’s hand skirted down my waist, landing on my thigh, pushing it to the side. He slipped his hips between my legs, placing his body flush against mine. Stomach to stomach, chest to breast, kiss to lips.
I felt his hardness against my core and spilled my moan into his mouth. He rolled his hips, touching me where I needed it most. “Caresa,” he rasped against my mouth, his skin scalding the palms of my roaming hands.
I reached down between us as our temperatures soared, stroking him in my hand. He followed my lead, running his fingers along my most sensitive part. My back arched and my skin prickled.
Achille peppered kisses along my jaw and over my cheek, until I hit a sudden peak. I screamed out his name, pressing against his fingers until every last morsel of pleasure had been wrung from my body.
But I wanted more.
I needed more.
Guiding Achille’s hand away with my own, I shifted until he was moving toward my entrance, exactly where he belonged. He stared into my eyes, his jaw clenching as I took him in my hand once again. His olive skin glistened under the strain of maintaining his composure.
“I want you so badly,” I whispered. Achille’s eyes closed, and he pushed forward. My head tipped back as his length filled me, until I was consumed by his scent, devoured by his touch. I could not see where he ended and I began. I felt him within me, both physically and spiritually, the connection simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.
Achille tensed as he filled me to the hilt, his breathing ragged and raw. His arms tensed as he held me close. I looked up at his face, and I melted. His eyes were studying me as if I were a dream, as if at any moment I could disappear, to leave him all alone once more. His lips were red and slightly open, and his soft skin was flushed and warm. I lifted my hand and pressed it against his cheek. Achille curled into my touch just as surely as a sunflower follows the warmth of the sun across the sky.
His mouth found the center of my palm and pressed on it a single kiss. I wasn’t sure why, but that pure, sweet gesture shattered my heart. It was as though it was a silent thank-you; for what, I could only guess.
Then, as if he could not wait any longer, he rolled his hips, moving inside me. My hand, still burning from his kiss, became wrapped in his hand, his fingers threading tightly through my own. His lips sought out mine. In seconds there was nothing unconnected between us. We were two halves of one whole, clinging and clutching, desperate for each other.
Achille increased his speed, the hard muscles of his chest brushing against my breasts, shivers of pleasure darting straight to my core. “Achille,” I murmured over and over as the feeling of him inside me became too much, yet not enough.
He moved faster and faster, low raspy groans slipping from his lips. The heat between us rose until condensation built on the window and our skin was slick with sweat.
When I wasn’t sure I could take any more, a tension so great, so earth-shatteringly beautiful, began surging at my core and flooding through my veins. “Achille,” I cried, my fingernails pressing into the flesh on his back.
I knew Achille was as close as I when his movements became stronger and more jagged, his head tucking into my neck. My eyes closed and I smiled, feeling him take such comfort in me, such absolute happiness.
And then it hit. Pleasure, like nothing I’d ever felt before, engulfed me like a flame, taking every part of my body hostage as it burned through all my senses, only to restore them with bliss and light and life.
Achille groaned. His body stilled above me and he filled me with his warmth. The muscles in his back bunched and jerked, then slowly calmed along with his rapidly beating heart.
I ghosted my fingertips over his back, more than content to stay exactly like this—joined in every possible way, calm in the peace after the storm.
Achille’s warm breath dusted over my neck, until he carefully lifted his head. I had thought him beautiful since the day I had first seen him working in his vineyard, torso bare with jean-clad legs. But as his sated face met mine, awe and reverence so clear in his expression, I knew I had been mistaken. Because nothing could ever beat this moment.
The moment I realized this had not just been about making love. But that something bigger, deeper pulsed between us. And then my heart broke, because whatever dormant spark had just ignited within us, it must not be given chance to flourish.
Tears filled my eyes. This could never be. We were from two completely different worlds. We weren’t written in the stars.
“I know.” Achille spoke in a pained and graveled voice. I turned my head and allowed myself to look into his eyes. His chest expanded as he took in a heavy breath. “I know.” He slid to the side and wrapped me in his arms, cradling my face into the crook of his shoulder and neck. “There can never be more than this—”
“Achille,” I whispered painfully, hearing the sadness and resignation in his tone.
“You are not part of this world, and I am not part of yours.” I didn’t have anything else to say. It was the truth, and no frivolous sentiments or empty promises would ever change things.
So I relaxed into his chest, savoring each second that we had left. Achille’s hands ran lazily through my hair, and I stared through the window at the falling rain.