Il Valentino Italiano - Sex Stories

Il Valentino Italiano

... returned by the other. Terry held the stem of the rose, and he stroked the stalk until his fingers came quite close to hers. The first time this transpired, she quickly moved her hand away, but a few moments later she allowed the touch. “You are alone here?” she asked. “Yes.” “You must be lonely.” “Occaisionalmente.” Sometimes. “I have met few persones, I am very busy with my work.” Teresa asked of his home town, and he told stories of his Laverno on the lago, the beauties of his home. As he discoursed, she recollected the area, how the changing light illuminated the alpine peaks covered with snow, the gardens cultivating intense blooms and palm trees, the beauty of palaces adorning islands in the lakes. Eventually the coffees grew cold. They continued to touch fingers, not actually holding hands, and now and then a foot might graze another foot. It was clear to both that attraction was potent and mutual. Terri remembered her husband, the conversation they'd had at lunch, marveled at the coincidence. Suddenly, she recognized she was sexually aware of this man, even infatuated with him. But being inexperienced at the art of seduction, she was ignorant of how to broach the subject, make her craving known to him. The best she could do was to gently stroke the back of one of his fingers with the tip of hers, lick her lips in anticipation of a possible reale amorosa. Fortunately, Antonio had traversed this territory often. He recognized her short sharp breaths, noticed the ...

... increasing heartbeat in her carotid. He chose, correctly, to be bold. Trapping her eye within his own he confessed, “I tell you that you are more than beautiful, and desirable beyond words. I know here, in America, you may not be used to such bluntness, but I want to tell you I wish to make love with you. Will you allow me this bounty, will you be mine, Teresa?” During his speech, his dark eyes peered into hers, not allowing her to miss even a tittle of his proposition. She briefly bowed her head as the flush of her blood permeated her cheeks, but then she hurriedly regained their joint stare, and said simply, “I would enjoy that. Shall we go to your apartment?” Together they rose, retrieved their packages, donned winter coats. Placing her arm within the recess of his elbow, he led her out of the store. “Let us take my automobile,” he suggested, “I will return you here, if that is acceptable.” “Lead me, then,” she agreed. His late model sedan was reached, and he strode to the right side, opened the door for her and frankly examined the exposed calves as she sat. Then he was behind the wheel and they were departing the parking lot and driving along the main road paralleling the Allegheny. Wordlessly, he placed his hand on her knee, raising the dress above it and stroked the interior of her thigh through the silky pantyhose, a most impertinent gesture, but one that raised, if possible, the hunger that engulfed them. Following a brief drive he turned into a condominium complex and ...