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Authors: Cerise DeLand

Mia Dolce

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An Ellora’s Cave Romantica
Publication

www.ellorascave.com

 

 

 

Mia Dolce

 

ISBN 9781419921056

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Mia Dolce Copyright © 2009 Cerise DeLand

 

Edited by Helen Woodall

Cover art by Syneca

 

Electronic book Publication April 2009

 

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

 

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home
Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

 

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or
distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without
the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. 
(http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print
editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of
copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Mia Dolce
Cerise DeLand

Dedication

 

To my friend and mentor Desiree Holt, my great thanks for
sound advice and lunches filled with laughter!

 

 

 

Trademarks Acknowledgement

 

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Lamborghini: Automobili Lamborghini Holding S.p.A.
Corporation

Learjet: Learjet, Inc.

 

Chapter One

 

Regina DeMaio didn’t do instant anything. Not instant
coffee, instant pudding—and definitely not instant attraction.

Yet her eyes strayed once more across the restaurant filled
with guests at her niece’s wedding rehearsal dinner party. And there he sat, a
huge hunk of male sugar, talking and laughing with four matrons at his
table—and making Reggie’s mouth water and her cunt cream.

She squeezed her thighs together in need and shifted back
against the pillar. God, she hadn’t been so hot to taste a man in three long
and lonely years. But she’d never seen such a delicious-looking creature. With
midnight hair and eyes, he looked Italian but not familiar. Could he be part of
the DeMaio family—and Reg had just never met him?

No. I’d remember this man. His walk. Like a panther. His
form. Like a marble god. His smile. Like my horniest wet dream.

She groaned, reached for another glass of Prosecco from a
passing waiter and took a hearty drink. Christ, her cunt hadn’t throbbed like
this since she’d been a bride. And that had been eight years ago, one sweet
husband ago and now, here she was, a dried-up widow of thirty, salivating over
a man whose name she didn’t know.
And given your pussy’s hot condition, Reggie
girl, maybe you shouldn’t even ask!

But oh, she could look, couldn’t she?

Her mystery man rose from his chair now that dessert and
coffee were served and the band took to the platform. He made his excuses to
those at his table then unfolded his long frame from his chair, shot his cuffs
beneath the sleek suit coat and made his way toward Reggie’s niece. He leaned
over to kiss Sandy on her cheek and began a conversation that had the two of
them huddling like conspirators.

Sandy’s client! That’s who he is.
Sandy had said he
was coming to the wedding. Sergio…something or other. A Tuscan duke, a bachelor
and workaholic. A vintner? An olive grower? If Reggie could only remember what
the man did for a living.

“Like it would matter,” she murmured. With his lord-of-the-night
continental allure, Sergio Whatever could work with a gangster in the Mafia and
women would still be clawing each other’s eyes out to sleep with him. “I don’t
compete.” She turned her back on the lush temptation of him and headed toward
her sister.

“Reg, oh Reg,” her sister Donna fretted as she seized her
hand, “what did you think of the tiramisu tonight?”

“Donna, it was terrific. Just enough orange liquor,” Reggie
assured her, feeling the warmth of others approaching behind them. “I couldn’t
have done better myself.”

“Oh but, Aunt Reggie,” her niece Sandy broke in and hugged
her, “you could have!” Mr. Luscious stood by Sandy’s side—and Reggie looked up,
up, up into his twinkling onyx eyes. “Let me introduce you to Sergio Avanti. He
flew over from Florence for the wedding and we are just tickled to have him.”

Up close, Mr. L was a feast for Reggie’s famished soul. At
least a foot taller than she, he filled her world with shoulders that blocked
out reason and a mouth that curved up with the suggestion of rumpled satin
sheets. Was she dreaming that his black eyes stripped her bare as he reached
out to take her hand?

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Regina.” He lifted her hand
to his lips and kissed it with a darting lick of his tongue.

The slick shock had her pussy pulsing at his homage. “Thank
you, I am delighted too.”
You cannot imagine how much.

“Perhaps you will come talk with me a while?” he asked in
deep mellow tones that had Reg wishing they could talk about what he liked to
do best with his cock.

Donna shuffled her feet.

Sandy chuckled. “Sergio has read your cookbook, Aunt
Reggie.”

“Even better.” He moved closer, tucking her hand on his arm.
“I have tried your recipes.”

I’d like to try you.
“You cook?”

He tilted his head and his smoldering smile burned into her
brain. “Every night.”

“Aunt Reggie,” Sandy broke in, “I told you that Sergio owns
a gourmet food company in Europe.”

“Really? Sorry,” Reggie murmured, wondering how his lush,
sculpted mouth would feel on hers. “I must’ve forgotten. And so what did you
think?” she asked him.

“Of your cuisine?” His gaze fell to her lips. “Rich.
Irresistible. I would love to see your techniques.”

I’d love to see yours.
“I’d like to cook for you.”
The words escaped her without thought. Fear he’d reject her ran close behind. But
her body throbbed, demanding that she grab his interest. Now. Or lose her nerve
and fail herself. “Shall I?”

Then he grinned—and her pussy juiced up like a ripe peach. “
Ahh,
molto bene, mia regina.
I have a kitchen in my suite upstairs. Would you
like to come now?”

Oh, would I.
“But I think it might be hard—” Had she
just said that?

“I know it is,” he said, and moved closer.

Donna squeaked.

Sandy gulped.

“Your family will permit you to leave now, yes?” Sergio
raised dark brows in question at her sister and niece.

Reggie waved a hand at the waitstaff removing dishes. “But
we’ve just finished dinner and—”

“No matter.” He pressed his hip to hers, crowding out the
sight of Sandy, Donna—and reason. “We could have the concierge order whatever
you wish. Don’t you agree there is a difference to be full—and to be
satisfied?”

“Oh I do, I do.”
And I need to be filled and satisfied by
you.

“Besides, I am a big man.” He pressed her hand to his corded
ribs. “And I love to eat.”

“Anything?” Anyone? She needed to know how selective he was,
didn’t she? After all, she hadn’t ever fucked anyone two minutes after meeting him
before.

“Only a few choice dishes,” he crooned, his gaze devouring
her lips. “I work with one until I perfect it.”

“Repetition.” Her breasts puckered against the silk of her
dress. She shook her waist-length curls back over her shoulder and knew she was
offering him the sight of her nipples yearning for him. Brash with lust, she
knew she was losing her propriety—and probably her sanity too. Still, she said,
“The best way to learn a dish.”

“Ah yes, well…” Donna cleared her throat and tugged at her
daughter’s elbow. “Sandy, come say hello to the Harrises. They came all the way
from Tucson.”

And the two of them disappeared, leaving Reggie facing the
bald recognition that she was propositioning a man she barely knew—and he was
accepting her invitation. A caution light blinked in her head as she turned
toward the dance floor, her arm still in his and her mind mulling her choices.
If
I have sex with this man it will be the first time in my life I have done
anything spontaneously. Instinctively.

But she had to follow through on this now—or go back to her
mundane widowhood. She wasn’t dead along with Tim. She was alive. And so very
much in need of this man’s hands and tongue and shaft shoved way up inside her.

“What are you thinking,
mia regina
?” Sergio wrapped
an arm around her waist now, his fingers tracing feathery stokes on her side.

She watched the wedding party jive to the band’s frantic
beat. “I definitely have to drink whatever they’re drinking.”

“For courage?” He tipped her face up.

She nodded then raised her glass of wine toward him in a
toast. “Salute to lovers everywhere. I want to be one of them.”

“So do I, with you. Come now,
bella
, before I have
made a spectacle of myself in wanting you.” He brushed against her—and she felt
the hard, virile truth of his statement.

She smiled up at this dark-haired god who hailed from the
land where naughty girls go to dream of delicious men with fantastic sexual
imaginations and giant cocks. “For a few hours.”

“No,
bella
.” His mouth descended to an angel’s breath
away. “With this river of hair and almond eyes and perfect large breasts, do
you honestly think I would let you go before dawn?”

Delight had her throwing back her head to laugh. “I’ll look
like hell for the wedding.”

“No,
mia regina,
I will take such care of you, you
will look as you are always meant to be—sated and sweet. A woman well pleasured.
Mia dolce
.” His melodic Italian sluiced over her like warm caramel, lulling
the last of her reservations. “Come,” he took her glass from her, set it on a
table and pulled her fully against him. “We must waste not a minute more.”

She chuckled, committed now to savor him—and to trust her
instincts that he would be a rewarding lover. For one night, what could that
hurt? “You are fast.”

“In important matters I take as much time as necessary. And
already I have hungered for you for two hours.” His gaze slid down her red silk
sheath and he circled one arm around her waist. “And I am, as you can feel,” he
bit her earlobe, “starved.”

Taking her hand, he led her quickly from the restaurant out
into the ocean-kissed air of the Hamptons. He glided along the stone path from
the party to the resort hotel’s lobby and into the elevator that she noticed
was blessedly empty. There, he glanced up, found the camera and shielded her
from it as he whirled her against the wall, his gaze absorbing hers.

“I need your lips quite badly,” he whispered. “Give them to
me.”

“Gladly.” She sank her fingers into his glistening raven
hair.

And he plundered her mouth. With tongue and teeth and groans
of delight, he treasured every bit of her soft recesses. Captivated, she kissed
him back with abandon.

She was dazed when the elevator whooshed open and he broke
away, leaving her gasping for more. But he crushed her to his side and led her
to the hall and a large set of double doors. He searched his coat pocket for
his key, slid it in then threw open the portal to an expansive suite she barely
glimpsed. Once more he had her against a wall, now pulling at her lower lip
with his teeth, his hands cupping her ass cheeks and raising her against his
steely rod.

“I must see what lies beneath this dress,” he groaned as one
hand lifted her hem. “Your breasts peak without a bra,
si
?”

“Oh
si
, I hate to wear them,” she crooned, lost with
how his clever fingers drifted inside the elastic of her thong.

“And your pussy that strains the silk.” His fingers dived
inside the wealth of her cunt curls. “My god!” He reared back, his black brows
slashed high in delight. “How many men have made love in this nest?”

“Two,” she got out.

He threaded his fingers inside her thatch. “Who?”

His tender teasings had her tipping her hips up into his
hand. She could barely think but she answered, “My husband—and a friend in high
school.”

“Ah,” Sergio sank his fingers deeper to cover her labia and
then halted. “And did they love it?”

She froze, staring at him at the intimacy of his question.

“Did they, my queen?”

“No,” she admitted on a whisper and turned her head away.

“Fools.” He cursed in Italian, something about bastards. “Look
at me. There, no fears of me. I love your thick hair,
bella.
I will comb
it and claim it. I will make your little cat cry for me.”

“She does now,” Reggie moaned, reveling in this strange
woman who allowed a strange man to elicit her sexual secrets, defy the taboos
and thrill her to the core.


Bene, bene
.” He clamped her to him like a barbarian.
“You are a wild creature. I knew it from across the room. I must see all of you
as god made you.”

Her nipples scraped against the silk, straining to be free
and sucked. Her needy little kitty howled at her to strip. But she pushed at
his chest, needing first to be safe. “You are healthy?”

He nodded, his ebony gaze narrowing. “I am. Very. And you?”

“Yes, but I do not take any birth control pills. And I don’t
have any—”

“This is good, your abstinence.” He smiled and her mind
turned to mush. “I like it. But know I have a supply of condoms. Although with
you,
mia dolce
,” he winked at her, “I will need more.”

Grinning, she reached for the zipper at one side of her
dress. She took one step backward and pulled the thing down tooth by
agonizingly slow tooth. The dress gaped. She grinned at him, proud of her
courage. And then, in one flick of a spaghetti strap, she had one side down—and
in another, the silk slithered to her waist—and caught on her hipbones.

“Bras,” she whispered, “are so awkward, so uncomfortable for
me.” She ran a hand across her naked nipples, glanced down—and preened. Her
breasts, D-cups with enormous rosy areolas, pebbled at her touch. They had
always been huge male magnets.

His glittering eyes told her they still were. “You shall
never wear them again when we are alone,
cara mia
. I want to see them
always reaching for me.”

Excitement sluiced through her like a flood. With this man,
for this night, she could be bold and free. So she pressed her breasts
together, beckoning him in an audacious way that she had never dared to do with
Tim. “I need your mouth on them.”

“I will suck you all you wish.” He lifted his chin toward
the dress. “First, my queen, I will see the rest.”

She’d worn just the thong under the cocktail dress. It had
been so sweltering this August at home in Manhattan and always she preferred no
clothes to even a few. Even to cook in. Tonight, in the interest of some
modesty, she’d worn the scrap of sheer cherry silk to contain her unruly curls.
Now she shivered in anticipation of his reaction to the little red piece—and
what lay behind. In one flick of her wrist, she pushed the dress over her hips,
letting it glide down her thighs and sink to the floor.

“The thong. Quickly.” He swallowed, once, twice.

She grinned, sending her palms down her hips, undulating as
she slid a finger in the tiny cherry band, pulled it out wide in a stripper’s
tease and then bent to slide it down her bare legs.

BOOK: Mia Dolce
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