Selena Kitt - Letters to the Baumgarters

“Do you want to talk about it, bella?”

Bella. He was just using a common Italian endearment, the word for beautiful. He couldn’t have known the memories it triggered for me.

“No.” I shook my head and held on, closing my eyes. “Can we just… not talk.”

“Si.” His lips brushed my forehead and I sighed in relief. If I’d had to explain, I would have broken down completely, shattered into a million little pieces that poor Nico would have had to pick up and somehow put back together before we went down to face his family.

Instead we held each other, the music of Carnavale playing below like the soundtrack of a distant dream. It was probably the wine coursing through me, making me far too warm in the chilly attic room. I hadn’t had that much to drink in a long time, and even all the food we’d consumed hadn’t dampened the buzzing in my head.

It was the wine-that’s what I told myself when Nico began stroking my hair, sending little shivers through me. I reminded myself that this was impossible, that he was simply comforting a crazy woman he’d had the misfortune to invite into his home. That I was lucky he hadn’t kicked me out at the first sign of insanity. And maybe we were both a little drunk and lonely and looking for comfort that night.

“Your family,” I reminded him after a while, although I didn’t want to move. I was sleepy and it felt so good to be held in a man’s arms again, even if nothing was going to come of it. Maybe because nothing was going to come of it.

“Shhh.” He kissed my forehead, tightening his arms around me. “Don’t remind me.”

I smiled. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“What happened to not talking?”

“But-”

I gasped in surprise when he silenced me with a kiss-and not a brotherly little kiss either, this was a full, hard sort of kiss that deepened the longer it went on. I felt faint when we broke apart, my limbs trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he panted. “It was the best way I could think of to keep you quiet.”

“It worked,” I whispered, looking at him in the darkness, incredulous. This couldn’t be happening. For all sorts of reasons.

He kissed me again, this time slower, exploring, his hand running down my side, over my hip, pulling my pelvis in against his. I moaned in response, shifting toward him, sliding my leg up over his.

I don’t know how it happened. I told myself we were drunk, crazy with the sights of Carnavale. Like the masked revelers in the streets, we were anonymous, just heat and friction together in the darkness. I forgot about everything in his arms, giving in to pure sensation, letting instinct and desire alone guide me.

I think I tried to protest once, questioning his motives-and my own-but he drowned me with kisses, the weight of his body on mine a welcome relief from thought. His mouth slanted across mine and he wedged his thigh between my legs, rocking us on the bed to the faint beat of a distant drum. I clung to him, just as hungry as he was.

“Is this okay?” he gasped, kissing his way down my neck, opening the V of my blouse.

“Yes,” I urged, daring to reach down and cup his crotch in response, sighing happily at the bulge found there. The heat of him through his jeans was incredible. I wrapped my legs around him, arching to give him better access as he fumbled with the front hook on my bra, the buttons of my blouse already undone to my waist. “Wait, did you lock the door?”

“Of course.” His mouth moved over my breasts, leaving hot trails of saliva. I didn’t even have time to register that he might have been planning this all along-or was it just an opportunity we both took? I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around what I’d assumed-that he was definitely gay and not interested in me sexually-with what was happening now.

I thought about saying something, asking, clarifying-but I didn’t want to break the mood.

It had been far too long since I’d let a man touch me, and with his hands and mouth roaming and the feel of his hard cock pressed against my hip, the word “no” seemed to have vanished from my vocabulary. Besides, Nico was not only attractive, he was clearly skilled. His tongue made hot circles around my nipple while he unzipped my jeans, sliding a hand inside to find the soft, hairless swell of my labia with his fingers.

“Smooth,” he murmured, his eyes widening in surprise. I hadn’t gone native, still keeping up with the American trend of shaving my pussy completely. “Oh bella, she’s so soft…”

I squirmed as he began exploring, working my jeans down my hips, wanting to give him more. He helped me, tossing them aside as he settled himself between my thighs, my panties still on, the crotch already soaking wet. Nico brushed his cheek against the silk, breathing me in, and I ran a hand through his hair, my nails digging into his shoulders when his tongue found me through the material.

I hooked my thumbs in the elastic of my panties and peeled them down. Nico took them the rest of the way, splaying his big palms on my thighs and spreading me wider for his plunging tongue. I let him take what he wanted, my limbs quivering with an overload of sensation, my hips rocking in rhythm.

He paused only a moment to murmur, “You taste like heaven,” diving back in again with stunning ability coupled with a ferocious enthusiasm that had me at the edge of orgasm in moments.

“Nico!” I gasped a warning, gripping his hair, my pelvis undulating, belly quaking, poised at the brink. His fingers sent me over, dipping deep into my pussy, drawing me out, his tongue punishing my clit with sensation, drowning me with pleasure. I tried to be quiet, too mindful of where we were, who might come knocking on the door, but I couldn’t help crying out with my climax, my body quaking as if the earth had moved beneath me.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing his way up my quivering belly, cupping his whole hand over my mound as we kissed, making me whimper and melt against him. He was fully clothed still, his belt buckle nibbling at my hip, and I moved to rectify that situation, pulling his shirt off, exploring muscle and sinew and flesh in the dark.

He was just as eager as I was, helping me with his belt and zipper, shoving his jeans down his hips. His cock sprang free when I pulled his boxers down, first into my hand and then into my greedy mouth. Nico reclined on the bed, letting me suck him. It had been so long since I’d had a cock in my mouth, since I’d tasted the peppery promise of cum accumulating in clear, sticky droplets at the tip. I was dizzy with desire.

“Here.” He guided me, a fist in my hair, nice and easy, up and down his delicious length. I tasted him in my throat, an easy burn, the promise of more roiling in the tightening scrotum I held cupped in my palm. “Oh god. Yes. Oh yes, bella, yes!”

I wanted to taste him, to feel the flood of his cum over my tongue, but Nico had other ideas. He stopped me, easing his cock out of my mouth and rubbing it over my lips and cheeks and tongue. Then he reached for me, pulling me into the circle of his arms and rolling me onto my back on the mattress, kissing me quiet.

His cock was heated steel between my legs, riding the rails, dipping into the valley of my pussy. The tip teased my sensitive clit, everything slippery wet, before sliding down and finding my entrance. He did this without looking, just feeling his way, hips shifting forward when he felt my flesh give, sliding into me.

“Oh my fucking god.” I said the words in English, surprising us both.

“Good?” He propped himself up on his arms to look down at me in the darkness, the only light coming from the window, a silvery haze.

“Si!” I assured him in Italian, sliding my hands up the muscled flesh of his arms, delighting in the mountains and valleys of his shoulders. “It’s been so long… so very long…”