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my man. He will bring
you home next Monday. Come.”
    How could she refuse?
    Sensing her agreement, he caught her up and twirled her
around. “We will leave here tomorrow early and go to your home. Where is it?”
    “Manhattan.”
    “There we will get your passport. You have no need for
clothes.”
    She chuckled. “You are rushing me.”
    “I am. It is my way to get what I want. But you delay.” He
stepped back, angry, adamant, arms akimbo on his hips. “What else stops you?”
    She opened her mouth to speak but dared not reveal her
biggest fear that she could crave him at the end of the week and not survive
the parting. Instead, she could only wave a hand, searching for words she
feared he might intuit anyway.
    “There, you see. No reason is left.”
    “True,” she acknowledged, grateful he had insisted without
demanding she explain. Excitement shimmied up her spine as she said, “I have
not been to Italy in two years. And never with such good company. Or someone
who lives there.”
    “Bravo. And so this means we are able to keep one promise to
your sister.”
    Confused, she shook her head. “Which is?”
    “We told her last night we were coming up here to cook.” He
indicated his kitchen.
    “Ah,” Reggie laughed. “But we did!”
    “Now we will do it as no one has ever done it before.”
    “Naked?”
    He winked at her. “What other ways are there?”

Chapter Four
     
    Twenty hours later Reggie sat in Sergio’s sleek Lamborghini
Gallardo as the little red sports car climbed the hills and valleys from Roma
north into the Chianti region. Sergio had put the top down in the bright
morning sunshine as he drove them from the Fiumencino Airport where his pilot
had landed his Learjet. They had escaped the throng of paparazzi at the airport
by sending a car hop for Sergio’s car.
    “Nothing is worse,” Sergio told her, “than that pack of
hounds tracking you. No privacy.”
    She laughed at the memory now as she came awake from a brief
nap and glanced over at Sergio’s profile. In his sunglasses, his sharp Roman
profile sent throbs of need to her cunt and filled her heart with pride. He was
so damnably handsome, so sophisticated and so enthralled with her.
    How long can that last?
    She shivered at the fear of losing him but straightened in
her plush seat and pushed strands of hair from her cheek. It had been at least
two hours since she’d pumped his cock inside her on the conference table in his
main cabin. She slid her labia against the fabric of her skirt and marveled
that her pussy was not sore from her countless matings in the past forty hours
or more. Instead she was wet and ready for Sergio again. She grinned to herself
that the woman who had used a cold dildo for three years was now fucking a
living, breathing, beautiful man often with such ease and joy. No doubt about
it, she was becoming addicted to his expert loving. And she needed to be fucked
again, hard and soon.
    He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Cold?”
    “No, just excited.” She lifted his fingertips and kissed
them. “And needy.”
    He glanced at her nipples as they peaked in the silk blouse.
“I am eager to see just how much.”
    She grinned at him. The thin blouse and skirt she had on
were the only clothes he had permitted her to bring—or wear. She wore no bra,
no thong. She shifted, loving the gush of her pussy creaming and crying for his
touch beneath the thin skirt that he had chosen from her closet. All of which
was just fine because she had the two garments off more than on. “How much
farther?” she asked him.
    “Over this hill, you will see my home,” he told her with a
grin.
    As they took the top of the hill, she saw that atop the next
one was a fortress city. Surrounded by old beige and white stone walls, a city
of alabaster spires and red-tiled rooftops pierced the blue skyline.
    She sat forward. “Oh Sergio. This is your home city?”
    “Monte Bianca. Filled with people since four hundred years
before