Il Valentino Italiano - Sex Stories

Il Valentino Italiano

... sensual pillow talk would be overheard dampened the more salient minutia. But the merriment soon had to be placed on hold – Will needed to be at work in forty-five minutes. The waitress was summoned, and while they were waiting for the credit card to be run, Will shifted the conversation. “I have one other gift for you, but I didn’t get a chance to pick it up. It’s the new Bocelli album.” Andrea Bocelli was the opera star who was now producing fashionable, romantic music, one of Terri’s favorite artists. “Would you mind going over to Barnes and Noble and picking it up this afternoon?” Terri smiled at his sweetness. She’d been looking forward to hearing the new music, half expected her gift would be the CD. “No, not at all dear. Should I play it while my Italian lover takes me this afternoon?” “Certainly.” And Will seemed delighted with the result of the game. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The bookstore was comfortably crowded on the Saturday afternoon as Terri made her way to the shelves of CDs. Munchkins caroused in the children’s section, Terri smiled as she remembered the times she’d brought her own son and daughter to similar play stations. Men, many in dirty sweatshirts and ball caps, circled the stacks, searching for a last minute gift, not having a clue what would satisfy the romantic itch in their wives craw. One rakish man in particular drew her attention. Carrying a single rose of deep ivory tipped with blood, he wore a softly checked shirt, charcoal sweater, beige ...

... chinos in the slightly disheveled fashion that implies not carelessness but chic. His chestnut hair was not messy, the cut calculated to imply an informal air. A precise mustache and goatee adorned the lip and chin, thick black eyebrows crested above eyes embellished with laugh lines. His smile seemed infectious, and as Terri passed him he stared directly into her eyes, as if he was daring her to approach him and declare, ‘I’m available.’ But when Terri caught his look, she ducked her head in chagrin and continued her jaunt towards the music, leaving him abaft. She flicked through the shelves, browsing, and found a couple of albums she thought she might purchase. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied the womanizer a few rows over and suspected he might be following her. But she rejected the notion; after all, he seemed at least a decade younger, and didn’t seem to be attempting to flirt with her. She chuckled at the possibility, wrote it off as just another bout of erotic fancy. Moments later she made her way to the counter and asked them for the Bocelli album they’d stashed. On her way towards the exit she paused in the travel section, making certain no fresh books about Italy escaped her attention. It was then the man approached her, apologizing, “Excuse me, signora, but I would like it if you would accept this flower.” The words dripped with a Lombardian inflection, the man was so obviously not American. The rose was proffered so cordially that Terri saw no reason to ...