Passport to Him - Page 60

He raises a quizzical brow.

“You are jealous,” I tell him.

“I have never been jealous before,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, it is not a good look on you.”

I raise the orange in my hands to my nose, sniffing deeply. I scoff as I remember the journal entry of Nonna explaining her first time in the orange groves.

“My nonna and nonno had their first time under an orange grove, probably just like this one,” I say.

“Sounds very Italian.”

“My mother was probably conceived under an orange tree,” I say, letting an amused giggle escape me.

He walks over to a cherry tree mixed in with the orange trees. He plucks one from its branch and eats it. He nods his head at me to join him. As I walk over to him, the soft expression on his face is unlike anything I have seen before. Was this comforting Enzo? Loving Enzo. He holds his hand to me with several small cherries inside. I take one from his hand and taste it carefully. Its soft inside tasted just like a plum.

“Tastes like a tart plum,” I whisper.

“We make dessert wines here. Cherry is by far the most popular,” he says.

“I can taste it now,” I breathe.

“I spent all my waking moments in this orchard. I could go here to be by myself,” Lorenzo says quietly.

His fingers rake through my curled hair and wraps around the back of my neck.

“Dance with me,” he whispers.

“There’s no music.”

“After all you have done, no music will stop you?” He asks.

I pursed my lips and raised my eyebrow in defiance. His fingers grasp my hand and spins me around quickly to pull me against him. His touch sends shivers down my spine. My breath quickened at his closeness to me. Our hips swayed together in tandem with one another. He begins humming “Strangers in the Night” by Frank Sinatra.

Frank Sinatra. I’m seeing Enzo in a new light.

“Frank Sinatra?” I ask.

“I can’t like Frank Sinatra?” He asks.

“Surprising,” I joke.

“I am full of surprises.”

“You are. I can’t explain what I feel in this city. It’s like something inside of me awoke when I came here. When I met you,” I say.

“You were meant to be here, to meet me,” Lorenzo says.

“Are you okay with me talking to Maria about my family?”

“My nonna is senile, Amelia,” he says.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, before brushing his lips against mine. My body pressed against his. Feeling the pull towards him, but I push myself away from him.

“Stop,” I warn.

He stops me by grabbing onto my hand with a firm hold. His lips meet mine in a firm kiss. It quickly turns passionate and hungry. A kiss unlike any other I have ever experienced. I feel dizzy from the passion behind his lips. He pulls away hesitantly as I grasp his t-shirt with my fingers.

His kiss makes me feel like I’m flying.

“No, I don’t know why you brought me here. I don’t know why you insisted on coming to every stop on my passport. I don’t know why, when I am with you, it’s like I can finally breathe,” I say, releasing a deep breath of frustration.

Pent up frustration and thoughts rambling around in my mind for the past week finally released with a huff of a breath.

“I need you,” he whispers.

“Enzo,” I warn.

“I need you. I need you,” he pleads.

His forehead leaned against mine. His lips float next to mine. His chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Let me show you something, please,” he says, the desperation in his words, tangible.

I closed my eyes to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. The breath hitches in my throat before numbly nodding acceptance to him.

What am I doing? Is this truly something more than phenomenal sex with an Italian sex stallion?

Tags: Brittany McMahan Erotic
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