even harder. Impossible. "I can't," I said.
"You can. You want to. You are lovely, and I want to see all of you. Show me."
I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths. I could do this. I did want to. He thought I was beautiful. Yes.
My hands ran down my sides, between my skin and the pink lace, pushed them down my thighs and I bent, breasts swaying, to step out of the panties. Eyes closed. Hands shaking in front of my sex. Chin trembling.
"Look at me, Delilah." Luca's voice was soft, tender, insistent.
I shook my head, rooted to the threadbare carpet.
I heard the springs release as Luca stood up, and my shaking grew worse. I reminded myself that I wanted this. Floorboards creaked, and heat assaulted my naked body as Luca drew near.
I gasped in shock as a finger traced the curve of my side and down my hip. I tilted my head back when I felt lips on my shoulder, lost my breath when they moved down to my chest, and then to the mound of one breast. Fingers trickled up my belly, dipped into my navel and continued upwards, a slow journey under my breasts and to my areolas, and then...
My knees buckled as he pinched my nipple, sending heat lightning zapping through my body, and his other hand was curving around my hip to cup one buttock, and all this while his lips were on my skin, touching my throat and my shoulder and my chest and cheek, and now my lips.
"Now look at me, Delilah. Please."
I looked. His eyes were on mine, patient and burning with desire. He put his hands on my shoulders and spun me in a half-turn, so I faced the bathroom door. I saw myself in the mirror, nude, pale as porcelain, voluptuous, with Luca standing shirtless in a pair of jeans behind me. His arms wrapped around me, across my belly, dark skin on white.
"Look how lovely you are," he said, his breath tickling my ear. "See? See how beautiful?"
"I see you ," I said to Luca. "You're beautiful."
He stepped to the side, out of the mirror's frame, catching my hand in his. "Now look, it is only you. Now do you see your beauty?"
I shook my head. "I just see me." Again, the rush of daring; I turned away from the mirror and faced Luca. "Show me you think I'm beautiful. Continue my education."
He stepped toward me, closing the gap. "Help me with my pants," he said.
Oh, his education forced me so far out of my comfort zone; but then, just about everything did, didn't it?
I traced around the heavy, broad pectoral muscles, down between the canyons of his abdominal muscles, to his sides, and then the thick cords of his arms. He stood still and let me touch. Both hands now, all over his stomach. I kissed him, and now his lips on mine were slow and thorough, exploring my mouth with his, and I let my hands wander down to toy with the button of his jeans.
Was I going to do this?
Hell yes.
The button slid out easily, and the zipper fell almost by itself, and then his pants spread apart, showing black cotton. A breath, and then I pushed the jeans down past his hips, and he stepped out of them, one foot on the loose fabric by his other foot, and then the opposite, and then he was in only a pair of tight black briefs, his erection outlined, the head nearly popping out the top.
My god, the man was beautiful.
"Almost there, mia bella. Now the underwear. Slowly."
Two hooked fingers curled inside the elastic band at his hipbones and tugged down. The tip of his penis caught the material, and I had to slide one finger around the band to free him. My finger brushed his manhood and I, absurdly, blushed. Down past his thighs, now, the briefs went, and my eyes were helpless to look away.
Comparisons are inevitable, at this point, aren't they?
Harry was my only point of reference, of course. According to Marge, he was...poorly endowed. Small. Of course, she may not have been telling the truth, or just trying to placate me in some odd way.
If Luca was any frame of comparison, Harry was barely there. A moment of objectivity, perhaps: Harry's was shorter by a matter