Making Mina 3: Compromising Positions (3 page)

“Tell me,” he demanded, her nipple slipping from his mouth with a wet pop, “tell me that you belong to me, only me, Mina
mia
.”

An insistent finger found the spot where their bodies were joined and she whimpered as he pressed on the little knob of nerves there.  Mina felt the callous on his finger rubbing against her sensitive skin, each rasp pushing her higher until she felt she must throw herself out into space or plunge into the abyss.

A tiny voice in her head wailed that it wasn’t fair, that he was using the responses of her body to force an answer, but it was drowned by a chorus of “yes, yours, please, please,
please.”
She knew she needed him, and now she knew he needed her--even if just for a moment.  It was enough.

She leaned into his embrace, wrapping her legs around his hips, snugging herself even more tightly against him.  Her heels caught in the expensive duvet and she groaned as he continued to rub her clit with the hand she’d trapped between them.

Resting her forehead against his she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes.  The anger that had flared there so recently was gone; Mina hoped it was gone for good.

“I don’t want you to stop.” She shifted, rolling her hips a little to show him what she wanted.  “I don’t want to leave.  I don’t want Miami, or Ethan, or Gio-
fucking
-vanni.”  She let her own anger move her as she gripped his shoulders and levered herself against him, rising and falling on his still rigid cock.

“All I want,” she forced the words out even ask she felt her orgasm bearing down on her like a freight train, “is
you
.” 

Marco’s hands were on her ass, guiding her up and down in the motion they both needed.  Mina’s fingers left bloody little half-moons where her nails dug into his shoulders but Marco continued to fuck her through the tight-fisted sucking of her cunt around him, stroking into her relentlessly until she keened through a second orgasm.

Her orgasm pulled him over the edge with her.  He flipped them over and pounded into her, his rhythm becoming more and more erratic as he approached his own climax. Words spilled from his lips, a jumble where “mine” was the only word Mina could recognize in a litany of Italian, as Marco came deep inside her, his body throbbing and jerking in release.

Heavy in completion, he pinned her to the bed and Mina stroked a shaking hand down his back as they caught their breath.  She looked down at the back of the dark head lying on her breasts and knew that nothing was ever going to be the same.

“I am sorry.”  Marco’s voice was muffled against her skin and she sighed.

“You should be.”  There wasn’t any venom in her voice, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.  She’d done nothing to make him think she was paying attention to anyone but him.  Hell, she’d put up with his mother, and with the male chauvinist dominated Italian culture without complaining--he shouldn’t doubt her so easily.

Marco pulled back, his eyes taking in her body as it lay before him.  Her legs were still splayed wide, their mixed fluids smeared across them.  Her breasts were pink, rasped raw by the faint stubble on his cheeks, but her eyes were bright and full of questions, but free of accusations.

He was a lucky man.

“Are you going to explain what that was all about?” Mina pulled herself gingerly to the edge of the bed trying to make sure she didn’t trip herself by getting tangled in the bedclothes.  She stood on unsteady legs, grimacing as wetness dripped down her legs.  “I need another shower.”

Marco stood quickly, holding her tightly against him.  “No.” He kissed the line of her shoulder, before turning her face and dropping a tender kiss on her lips.  “I love seeing you like this.  Seeing the evidence of our lovemaking on your body.”  His eyes darkened again as he dragged a hand up from her hip, sliding up her side, cupping her still swollen breast. “Stay like this.” He kissed her more intently.  “For me.  Please.”

The “please” was her undoing.  She shook her head, disconcerted by both his demand and at her impulse to comply.

“I have to clean up a little,” she said finally, only willing to go so far to fulfill Marco’s need to mark his territory.  “I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself in front of everyone tonight.” 
Especially your mother
, she thought with a mental eyeroll.

Unembarrassed by his nakedness, Marco led her through to the
en suite
bath and leaned her gently against the vanity.  Standing there silently, Mina watched as he wet a cloth with warm water and wrung it out before lifting her leg and rubbing it along her skin, wiping away the most noticeable evidence of their lovemaking.  She watched the muscles flex and move under his skin, his naked body a thing of beauty, and she wondered at her own lack of embarrassment as he washed the traces of his come from her thighs.

“No one else will know,” he said, his voice so low it was hard for her to catch it.  “But every time I see you dance with another man, I’ll know that your pussy is still filled with my come, and every time you feel the wetness you’ll remember that no one makes you feel the way I do. No one.”  A final swipe of the now cool cloth against her still swollen labia sent a new round of shudders through her and Marco smiled at her response.

“So beautiful.  So responsive.” He pulled her into his arms and she melted against him, her nipples hard against his bare chest, her breathing staccato in the quiet room.  “And all mine.”

There was no point in arguing.  “Yes.  All yours.”

Marco swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the long mirror.  Efficient movements had him dressed in moments before he turned to help her into her dress.  Her underwear were past salvaging and when she opened a drawer to pull out a new pair Marco stopped her.

“You won’t need them,” he said.  Kneeling beside her he carefully lifted one high-heeled foot slipping her dress over it, followed by the other.  A shake and twist and she was covered again, the collar hooks fixed and her hair smoothed, her dress surprisingly undamaged by their abuse of it. She looked at herself in the long mirror, sensory overload making her feel slightly dazed. Her earlier concern about her exposed back now seemed ridiculous.  She was naked except for a layer of cobalt silk, her nipples hard, her pussy soaked--who was going to care about a her bare back?

She was still in a fog, allowing Marco to tend to her, when an insistent knocking jerked her back to reality.

“What’s keeping you two… ?” A friendly voice accompanied the knock, the bedroom door swinging open suddenly.  Giovanni Genovese took one look at the pair of them and immediately stepped back into the hall.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, eyes flitting from Marco’s stiffening shoulders to Mina’s wide eyes and kiss swollen lips.  His gaze traveled further, taking her unsteady stance, and flickering over the wildly mussed sheets on the king sized bed. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Marco put himself between Mina and his brother’s gaze, a low rumble in his chest the only warning necessary.  Giovanni raised a hand to calm him and shook his head.

“Do not blame the messenger,” he pointed to himself, “but
Mamma
sent me to remind you that you have guests arriving and that since she is not your wife,” his eyes flickered to Mina over Marco’s shoulder, “it is not her job to entertain your clients.”

Marco allowed his stance to relax and nodded once at his little brother.  “Thank you, Gio.” He shook his head once as if to clear it.  “It seems I have lost track of time. Tell
Mamma
I apologize for the delay and that we’ll be right down.”

Something passed between the brothers that Mina didn’t understand, but finally Giovanni nodded.  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll greet your guests.” He nodded in Mina’s direction.  “You take whatever time you need. 
Mamma
can wait.” Suddenly he winked and gave the smile Mina remembered.  “It will probably be good for her.”

Marco returned the smile, if a little less enthusiastically.  “Yes, but I doubt it will be good for
me
.”

“Oh I know it won’t be good for you,” the grin widened. “But then again, you always were her favorite.  She might forgive you.  In a year or two.”  He shut the door, his laughter fading as he headed down the hall.

“It’s me she’s going to blame,” Mina said quietly, stepping away from Marco’s protective position.  “She’s never going to like me.”

“Don’t be so certain.”  Marco slipped his tie around his neck and quickly knotted it, every movement elegant and efficient.  “She told me yesterday that she was amazed that you’d put up with me for so long.”

Mina doubted that was the extent of the comment, but she didn’t push.  She leaned forward and tried to smooth her curls into some sort of order that didn’t scream “just fucked,” and sighed. 

It was going to be a long night.

***

Marco’s mother lied. 

When Mina and Marco finally made their way into the large salon, cocktails were being served and Bianca Genovese was expertly handling the influx of guests, air-kissing some and embracing others, every inch the hostess she denied being.

She cast a gimlet eye over her elder offspring and turned away without acknowledging him, tilting her head to catch something being said to her by a handsome man who looked like he’d like to get to know her
much
better. She laughed and it was a rolling, sensual sound, causing Mina to look twice.  That wasn’t a sound she expected from the rigid woman she’d encountered all week.

The crowd was larger than Mina had expected.  Marco said it would be a few investors and some local businessmen he’d convinced to support a new resort and spa he was building in the foothills just north of the city.  Golf wasn’t the passion here that it was in the States, and he’d already pared his plans down some, but this evening’s festivities were to celebrate the finalization of plans that he’d been working towards for almost a year.

Business was business the world over, but this Genovese business party put anything that Mina had ever experienced to shame.  She recognized a few people milling about--Marco, and Giovanni, and their mother of course.  She saw Signora Genovese’s personal secretary, Elena, standing guard behind her employer, ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice in case someone was going to die due to a lack of dictation.  Marco’s secretary, a beautiful silver-haired woman named Cinzia DiPaolo, was there as well, but instead of hovering she was mingling and smiling, greeting each guest as if they were personal friends.

Hell, maybe they were personal friends.

Mina took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter and tried to find a quiet corner to hide in.  It wasn’t that she wanted to hide, but there was a limit to how many times she could say, “
Mi dispiace, non parlo italiano
” before she wanted to beat someone over the head with an English to Italian dictionary. To top it off, she’d used up most of her patience dealing with the team of movers Marco had brought in to pack the largest pieces of the collection for shipping back to Miami.  She’d been prepared for their “hands on” approach to women--something she was told was a normal occurrence in Italy, especially for a blonde American woman--but she wasn’t prepared for the sly looks and the elbowing and laughter that happened every time Marco’s name came up.  The last thing she wanted was an evening full of suggestive comments and knowing looks, even if she
was
going commando.

 “It seems that every time I see you, you seem,” a familiar voice cut through the party chatter, “preoccupied.”

Giovanni stepped around a pillar and smiled.

Mina jumped, her reflex sending a spray of wine into the air.  She tried to move to avoid it, but it was no use--her beautiful blue dress was now
a la spumante
.

“Don’t
do
that,” she said, searching fruitlessly for a way to clean up the mess.  Giovanni laughed and waved his hand at one of the waiters and instantly there was a cloth, a person wielding it, and a new glass of
wine to replace the one that had died so ignominiously.

“Don’t do what,
Dottoressa
?” His eyes sparkled and Mina glared at him half-heartedly, but there wasn’t any real venom in it.

“Well, don’t sneak up on me and scare the wits out of me, for starters,” she said, frowning over the dark splotches on her dress. “And don’t call me
Dottoressa
.” She held her wine glass up, stopping any argument. “No--I told you before: I didn’t go to University here, so Italian rules don’t apply. No titles, no honorifics…  I’m just plain old Mina Hemingway, thank you very much.”

All week she’d felt like a fraud when people assumed that since she was handling the exhibit for the museum she must have degrees out the wazoo.  Why else would she be given such an honor?

Why else, indeed?

Mina sighed and shook her head. It wasn’t like she asked for this--this was all Marco’s doing.  Let
them
tell him his choice for Curator was wrong.  She was right out of it.

“It isn’t an insult you know.” Mina’s mental calisthenics jerked to a stop.  “The title, I mean. People recognize that you’re a scholar--a very beautiful scholar, but a scholar, nevertheless.”  Giovanni’s tone surprised her. She’d never heard him so serious, but he just didn’t understand.

“It isn’t something you just see in people,” she said.  “I mean, it isn’t like I have
anthropologist
tattooed across my forehead.”

Maybe I should try that
, she thought
.  At least it would be better than Marco’s Mistress
.

“No,” Giovanni agreed, “you don’t. You have curiosity in your eyes, and intelligence in your questions.  You have care in your hands and passion in your heart.” He turned to face her square on.  “No one watching you handling the artifacts could mistake it.” He paused. “I could tell as soon as I met you--there you were in the Italian sun, wearing a bikini and a frown, practically drowning in diagrams and reports.  Only someone who loved it would do that.”