Sweet Italian Rain

He is a Roman God. All he requires is a wreath of olive leaves instead of the cap that covers his glossy curls. She watches him for several minutes before winding her way through carts, to the one where he is replenishing the grapes. Her hands move over the rough texture of sweetly ripe melons. She considers the dark purple grapes. They

do

smell seductively juicy.

He notices her and smiles, his dark eyes luminous. "Ciao, Bella."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she returns his smile. She swings her hair forward as a curtain she can peak out from behind, flirting with him wordlessly. Though she is in a foreign country, this is a language that all men and women understand.

His hands show that he is no stranger to the rough work of the fields and his sensuous lips betray a knowledge that only people who live close to the land seem to truly appreciate.

Between paying attention to him and pretending to pay attention to the cart, she doesn't notice that her tour group has moved out of hearing range down the street, and almost out of sight.

Thunder rumbles overhead and she realizes the sky has grown darker. She looks around for her group as a gentle rain begins. They are gone. The Italian man is by her side, taking her hand and smiling as he tugs her away. She follows willingly.

He leads her a little way, then turns, pushing her back into an alcove, his body trapping her. His hands are on her hips and he presses himself up against her so they are both out of the rain. His gaze holds hers, then drifts down and she realizes the rain has nearly dissolved the blouse over her bare breasts. Her nipples stand out in dark relief under the sheer material..

His large hands cup her breasts and his thumbs tease her nipples through their tissue thin barrier. "Bellisima," he murmurs. He leans down and captures one hardened nub in his hot mouth, sucking the excess moisture away. He releases her nipple and finds her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside.

His tongue is soft and hard at once as it dances around her mouth, tasting and exploring the contours. When he pulls back, they are both panting. Gradually, she becomes aware that someone is calling her name.

"Susanna! Susanna!"

She turns her head to listen and opens her mouth instinctively, as if to reply. He presses his finger to her lips. She looks up at him.

His dark eyes and the desire in his face hold her as still as the hand on her buttocks, pulling her against the heated length between them. The voice of her friend fades away.

"I want to... taste you," he says in a rough voice.

Still silent, she simply nods.

He drops to his knees and reaches up under her short skirt, skimming her thighs delicately. His fingers hook the elastic of her cotton panties and pull them straight down to her ankles. She steps out of them and spreads her legs. He dives in unerringly, his tongue piercing her slick and swollen flesh.

Shuddering, she braces her hands on his shoulders. His tongue sends electric shocks jolting through her, radiating from her pussy to the tips of her fingers and curling her sandaled toes. Staring out at the rain, tiny prisms dance before her eyes. As he laps at her heat, she cannot hold back a moan.

His tongue flicks out, tasting her, then dives in again and again to take more of her liquid. He finds her nub and his lips close around it to suck. A finger enters her core and strokes, then two.

He is drawing the orgasm out of her, like a magician draws multicolored silk scarves out of his hat with a flourish. She feels it billowing up, expanding around her, and then she is floating down on a wave of silken sighs.

Her hands still grip his shoulders, her arms rising as he stands before her, this time with his erection ready in hand. One hand pulls her left leg up as the other delivers his cock to her slick center. She closes her eyes as she feels him push in, filling her sensitive flesh, stretching her and stroking her, caressing her from the inside out.

"Bella... magnifica," he praises as he moves in her. He pumps steadily, not tiring, but speeding up as the need to fill her overtakes him.

Her body contracts around him in delicious spasms.

Yes, oh yes.

She hears him grunt and feels his molten seed spurt into her. His rocking slows and rolls to a stop.

He kisses her tenderly as his cock slides out of her. "Gratzie, bella mia."

He rights himself and retrieves her panties, which she takes with a blush and stuffs into her bag. He cups her pink cheek and kisses it, leans down to kiss her neck, holds her against him for a moment longer.

She inhales his earthy scent, content to stand leaning against him, cradled in his strong embrace, as the rain lessens and dribbles to a stop. It isn't long before she hears her name being called again. She stretches up and presses her lips to his quickly, one last time, then edges around him to rejoin her friends on their tour. She will not need a postcard to remember this part of Italy.