Page 30 of I Would Beg For You
She comes to meon the dot at seven.
Once Pietro, one of our latest soldiers—cannot entrust anything so sensitive to anyone who’s not confirmed in our ranks and bound by Omertà—delivered the dress to her, I forced myself to go through some business papers in my study, Carlito the only one allowed to interrupt me. I had a good laugh when he came in to say how Pietro received a door in his face; Naomi was this excited by the parcel, apparently. Pietro doesn’t know it, but a signed jersey from the entire Italian national soccer team is being shipped to him for his troubles.
I don’t allow myself to think of this evening. Because doing so makes me hard, then I can’t focus. Naomi is a beautiful interlude at the moment, but I have to remember there’s more waiting for me out there. Like my job, for starters.
And good thing I didn’t allow myself to think of tonight or even of her. Because the sight of her in that dress is a vision. The lace of the teddy looked great against her pale skin, but the dress takes it up another notch.
I can’t help but think of the iconic line “She walks in beauty like the night.” from Lord Byron. It always struck me as utter drivel, but fuck it, the man knows what he was rambling on about. Such is the sight of Naomi. There’s a full moon tonight, and the silvery glow alights on her as she steps to the wooden fence separating our properties. The door in it was condemned a long time ago, but little does her father know Carlito undid all that hard work and now, though it looks the same, a sharp press right at the top of the middle plank will topple the panel on its hinges.
Naomi watches me with big eyes as I step over and slap my hand against the board, making sure to tilt the wood carefully so it won’t hurt her.
“Shhh,” I murmur with a finger to my lips.
She giggles. “It’s our little secret?”
I nod as I take her hand and gently pull her into my side of the yard.
“One of them,” I say.
“Hmm. I wonder what else we’re keeping secret,” she adds with a soft smile.
So much, I want to tell her. Like us meeting. The stolen moment in her bedroom last night. What I plan to happen between us tonight.
I have to take a deep breath to keep myself on an even keel as I think of tonight, of what can and most probably will happen between us. Naomi is young, but she isn’t naïve. I didn’t invite her over just for dinner. But if this is what she has construed in her mind, I will respect it. I won’t be happy about it, but respect it, I will. And maybe that will tell me if pursuing Naomi Smith will be a dead end or not.
I’m not kidding myself we’re going towards marriage or anything of that ilk. If we click, then maybe one day, someday, who knows. Right now, I want to enjoy what she’ll willingly give,take my time with her body, take my pleasure from her pussy and mouth and hands. I want to fuck her senseless and have her begging me for more.
And maybe tonight’s the night.
Her hand is still in mine, and she squeezes it lightly. The soft pressure makes me return to the moment. I squeeze it back, a little harder, so she’ll know I’m not pulling out and I’m here, with her.
A few steps take us to the kitchen door, and she follows me with a light tread. I can’t help but turn to look at her. The moonlight is bathing her pale skin in a soft glow lighting up filaments of silver in the fabric of the dress. She looks like a nymph come to life, an ethereal creature sent to lure mortal men to their destruction.
It strikes me then—what am I doing with Joel Smith’s daughter? Never mind that she is Naomi first and foremost. She’ll never be rid of her surname, of her family, of her father. Do I really want to play with fire? I accused her of that five years ago at the Christmas party, yet here I am, about to light a match close to a powder keg.
“Val?” she asks when I stop on the small deck leading to the terrace.
The sound goes directly from my ears to my cock, and I’m the hardest I’ve ever been suddenly. She shouldn’t say my name this way.
I sneak in a deep breath then step down from the deck, going closer to her. My hands come up of their own volition, my palms cradling her jaw, thumbs on her delicate cheekbones.
She blinks up at me, lips slightly parted, and I let loose the air inside me.
“Dio santo, you’re beautiful.” The words rush out of me in a whisper. I shouldn’t have let them out, but I couldn’t help it. The truth came out, whether I wanted it to or not.
Naomi gives me a trembling smile, and I can’t bear it anymore. Still cradling her face, I lower my head and seek her lips with mine.
The second we make contact, it’s like a deflagration goes off inside me. She’s soft and warm and tastes sweet, like she popped a mint into her mouth on the way over and has just finished sucking it. My tongue yearns for more of this taste, for the sensation of her cool tongue in the warm interior of her mouth.
After a second of hesitation, she meets me halfway this time, lips parting even more, head tilting a little to have better access to my lips, tongue seeking mine as a moan unfurls from the depths of her throat. The muffled sound makes my cock strain. She should be moaning like this when I’m buried deep inside her, not just now when I can’t do more than drink from her lips.
A ding comes from the kitchen. It’s the oven, and it jars me from this haze of lust on me and plunges me back into the here and now. Dinner is ready.
Reluctantly, I stop kissing her and release her face. I reach for her hand and tug her along into the kitchen, shutting the door behind us. Strange how warm it is inside. Neither of us seem to have felt the January cold out there.
Too busy letting the fire between us roar.
I chuckle as the thought hits.
