2 comments/ 60863 views/ 2 favorites Seven Years By: Johnny_Canuck Seven years since our paths had crossed and we had stopped ourselves short of having a tumultuous, passionate affair. The chemistry between had been tangible, almost measurable. We ended it before it consumed us both. She had been young, innocent, and passionate. I had been married at the time. Now, years later, she took a train from her home in Missouri and now stood before me at the train station. We didn't want words. We had said enough in the weeks before; in our emails, IMs, phone conversations that led up to this point. No words. I could see some mild uncertainty on her face, not knowing if we should just hug or speak. I kissed her. I could feel the intake of breath through her nose. She had been hoping for this. The kiss lingered and grew less and less restrained. Her hand behind my head, mine on her neck. I had started the kiss but she was pulling me deeper. Bliss. We stopped before we drew an audience. I took her bag and put it into the trunk of the car. We kissed again, each wanting to be sure that this moment had finally come. Eventually, we drew apart and entered the car. My hands were shaking. Nothing noticeable, but I could feel it. I was beginning to realize just how badly I had wanted to see this wondrous woman. We stopped for dinner. I opened her car door for her and helped her out. "Legs up to here" was the expression and she wore them well. I should mention here that Ann is a very tall woman, just an inch shorter than myself. I had had cause to forget how pleasant it can be to kiss a woman without bending. Dinner was, frankly, irrelevant. We had said all there was to say and now we just wanted to be in each other's company. Her eyes. I can't believe how enveloping her eyes are. Somewhere in the blur that followed, we arrived at my apartment. I take Ann's face in my hands and bring my lips to hers. Warm, moist, full. We roll about on the bed, hands roaming, lips whispering instructions directly to our flesh. My hand needs to slide across her back and moves under her blouse. After a few minutes, one of us decides it is in the way and it slides off, barely noticed. A slip follows it. She unbuttons my shirt and lets her hands massage my chest. God, how I had missed this. This excitement, this adventure. I remove her bra slowly, keeping eye contact and draw her close to feel her skin upon mine. She is somewhat shy and I do not wish to provoke any self-consciousness. Her breasts are full and large, more than I was used to, but happy to adapt. I marvel at their firmness and thrill at her responses to my touch. I give them due attention and then include them in the symphony I am composing on her skin. Somehow, we have lost the last threads of clothing. She lies on her back, her hands behind my head, ever kissing. With one hand behind her, I move my other between her breasts, down her stomach. I find, eventually, her fine hair beneath my fingertips. A little further and I find moisture. She is receptive and opens her legs to encourage my touches. I stroke her gently, almost absent-mindedly at first, then with more purpose. Nails take purchase on my neck, her kisses become shorter and more gasping. I smile inwardly, knowing that Ann has never allowed another man to bring her this much pleasure. I thank the gods for this honour. She is approaching her climax, her face contorting slightly into a slight sneer. Adorable. However, she needs more and breaks the kiss to ask me "to give her oral sex." Her lack of vocabulary is so refreshing that it gives me a pang of regret that I have as much experience as I do. I wish, for a moment, that we could both be virgins and that I could be giving her now as much as she gives me. I move lower down her body, not wanting to rush too much but anxious to satisfy her. As I move, I place one hand under her buttocks and give her a playful squeeze. I am well rewarded by her moan of pleasure and, once again, I am stunned at how much she is allowing herself to be free here. Ann is a paradox, having almost no flavour yet being delicious simultaneously. I allow her moans to conduct the motion of my tongue. Wanting this to be as good as possible for her, I move her hands to my head so that she feels free to influence my movements. More quickly than I have ever seen, she is there. Her cries are short and clear, and I worry for a second about my neighbours but, at this moment, I wouldn't want to quieten her for the world. I am unfamiliar with her in these moments and wish to prolong the sensations for her. I give her more playful licks after the first wave seems to have passed. She responds at first but, after a minute, pulls me up to her. We kiss again. Sweet nothings. Smiles. We talk like old friends and new lovers. Shortly, we resume. She asks for me to lick her again and I am happy to submit to the request. I give her ass a little more attention while I am there. Her orgasm is again quick and a joy to watch. We scissor our legs together afterwards and I am pressed against her, our crotches rubbing together. We are keeping Ann's virginity intact and I am finding it easier than I'd feared. As much as I would love to make love to her right now, I am content with the proximity. We continue in the afterglow, kissing, rubbing, loving. My hand reaches around to her buttocks again and she moans into my mouth. I can't help but smile. I feel some of her juices and my saliva has trickled between her cheeks and I rub it into her flesh there. My fingers tickle past her back entrance and she moans sharply. I pause briefly in surprise but resume kissing her, still rubbing around. Again, I move my fingers along and another moan confirms her pleasure at the touch. I linger there. I rim a finger along the entrance, dipping ever so slightly. I am tentative. My experience here is limited and frought with failure. Her response is entirely unforeseen. Will this woman never fail to surprise me? Using the extra juices, I begin a slow and shallow penetration of her, my heart pounding. Her body begins to move with the rhythm, giving more license. I move myself a little closer, pressing myself against her. Taking myself in hand, I rub myself against her opening. Her hand behind my head takes grip on my hair, fingers entwining. Her tongue penetrates my mouth deeply and with insistence. I finally ask Ann, "Are you sure?" She nods quickly and kisses me again, fucking my mouth with her tongue. She is very moist there but I know that more lubrication will be necessary. I can't help but take a moment to let myself enter her. Gripping myself firmly, I place the tip at her entrance and prepare to gently push. My efforts are almost unnecessary as she does as much pushing against me as I do her. She wants this, too, and I have another out-of-body experience as I catch my breath. More quickly than I would have thought possible, I am half inside her. Limited partly by angle and knowing more lube will be needed, I stop here and just savour the moment. It is unlike anything I've ever felt before. A delicious tightness that threatens to force the blood within me to retreat back to my body; a warmth that might parallel that of her kissing lips; a willingness that magnifies it all the more. I retreat temporarily while I settle on finding my baby oil. I know there are better substances for this, but I am unprepared. I position myself, straddling one of her legs with her mostly on her back. After applying the oil to myself generously, I massage some into her. I pause before continuing to share a smile. We are ready. I enter her even more easily than I did the first time. Unbelievable. Her head rolls a little on the pillow as I move gently into her. The angle is more forgiving now and I am soon buried deep inside my lover's body. I lean in so that I can kiss her and to give her more time to fully relax herself. I begin to move. Slowly at first, but firmly. No words are said but the communication is clear. I move one hand and gently play with one breast, and the other rubbing her lower back and ass cheeks. I stop every few minutes to apply a few more drops of oil. After one reapplication, Ann rolls on top. She's fantastic. I try to reach down between us to rub her clitoris. The angle is awkward but it seems to be working. She moves herself on my length, eyes closed, as she says, "This is for you, John. This is for you." We roll over one more time with me on top, between her legs. Until she is ready to give her virginity away, this is as close as we will come. I pump into her smoothly, with the force on the exit stroke. I seem to remember this much from what I've read, and it seems to be well received. There is no look of discomfort on her face, only her 'sex sneer' as her orgasm approaches. Her hand snakes between us and she takes over stimulating herself while my hands are otherwise occupied. Her confidence in this moment is endearing. I would love to stop and watch her, but I can tell that we are both approaching our points. I pound steadily into her and she pushes herself back against me. So mutual, so perfect. I try to go just a little deeper as she seems to get closer and closer, and the extra second of friction keeps me even with her. I sit up a little so that I can get better leverage and allow myself to enjoy the spectacular view. Her breasts jostle gently in time as we make love to each other; her hand rubbing her clit at a near fevered pitch but still reaching down to touch me where I enter her. Her eyes are closed most of the time but opening now and then to twinkle at me and show me her gorgeous smile. Ann is trying to keep her eyes open but she can't. Her beautiful sneer is more pronounced now and I think I'm clearly seeing a pattern here. She moves her hand away as my motions against her are doing just enough to complete her orgasm. I keep one hand on her breast and the other gripping her elevated leg around the thigh, pulling me deeply into her. She starts to voice her orgasm and I give myself the last few long, deep strokes that I need to finish with her. She cums with a stifled scream and I roar along with her as I spill my seed into her clenching ass. I collapse onto her and we stay connected for as long as we can manage. ---------------------------- Names and places have been changed. This was the most frenetic we reached in bed over "Ann's" few days with me. We slept together all four nights that she was with me and while passion never left, it took a backseat to sheer intimacy. She went back to Missouri after and she hopes to visit me again at the end of July. Between now and then, I might consider putting some fantasies of mine (ours?) into text and submitting them. I welcome any and all feedback. If anybody is wondering about my word choices, I wrote it first and foremost for "Ann" to read. Seven Years “Damn. I want to fuck your wife, dude.” Jason had a tendency to always say exactly what was on his mind. He was staring into the living room where Deb was talking with some of our other guests. I just smiled, shook my head and continued to deal another hand of euchre. Today was our 7th anniversary, and to celebrate we invited over several of our closest friends, before taking the weekend at a swank hotel; just the two of us. I imagined two days of romance and sex-filled nights. It’s good to picture your goals. “Put your eyes on your cards and off of my wife, ya’ dog.” I finished the deal. I had partnered with my buddy Dan, while the letch was teamed up with one his buddies from work, Bryan. Bryan looked at me with some apprehension like there was going to be a conflict. “Relax, man. Jason and I go all the way back to junior high. He’s been talking shit like that since I’ve known him. He’s always had a thing for my other halves.” I smiled good-naturedly. “Yep, Ed’s always managed to get the lookers. Personality goes a long way. But I’ve managed to get a few of his girlies over the years.” That was true. Jason was always the better looking one. He was the sort of man that women drooled over. Over six foot and wiry, he kept his wavy blonde hair just above his shoulders. He’d stolen two of my high school sweethearts by taking opportune moments to relieve himself and expose his massive tool. My own dick was small compared to his, at just less than five inches, but I never let my size bother me. Women that would rather be impaled by a crude bastard, rather than tickled by a gentleman aren’t worth my time. Jason had been hitting on Deb since before we were married. He once flat out dropped his pants when the three of us were having a few drinks just to show her his offered goods. Deb laughed it off, and told him to “Put that monstrosity away before someone gets hurt.” This girl was a keeper! Deb is gorgeous. We met at a seminar in our early twenties and just hit it off. I made her laugh and she made me drool. At 5’ 9” she is a few inches taller than me. Her blonde hair is natural, with carpet and drapes matching. Her body is in great shape due to many hours spent in our pool. Her breasts are her crowning glory - unaffected by gravity and full, with nipples that defy the thickest fabric, by protruding at the slightest chill. She loves wearing pants cut to show off her ass, and what a heart-shaped tight show it is. That night, though, she did me the honor of wearing a sundress. I love to see her in a dress. It fit right in all the right places, with just a hit of cleavage showing in the front. I whistled, “Eyes front, Lover boy.” Jason grinned wolfishly and got back into the game. He and Bryan were down 3 points from our 8 points, and about to lose their third game in a row. “Maybe if you spent less time ogling every woman in the room and more time concentrating on your hand, you’d learn how to play this game.” “Ooh, Ed’s getting tough. All right, don’t get your bony ass all puckered up. It isn’t my fault it’s been raining all day. I’d rather be wading with the ladies too.” Jason loved commenting on my skinny frame. I figured he was compensating for the fact that he had skipped college and supported himself with occasional construction work, while I had gone the corporate route. “Do you want to make this game interesting?” “I’m not taking your money, buddy.” Jason usually had a hard time scraping up rent money and I had no desire to have him living in my basement. “No money. If you and Dan win, I’ll quit publicly admiring your wife and help Dan finish up that shanty of a shed he’s been building all summer. But if I win, Bryan and I get to make all the advances on Deb we want, and you can’t do anything to stop us.” He grinned expectantly. I laughed and said, “You’re on, big man!” I figured that I had nothing to lose. If we won then he’d have to shut his yap about my wife, and Dan’s wife would quit making all the comments about the construction of the backyard Taj Mahal. If He and Bryan won, I had faith in my wife’s fidelity. As luck would have it, Jason managed a loner and Bryan squeaked a point out in the following hand. I laughed again. “Is that what it takes to get you to play a decent hand, you old sandbagger?” “Laugh it up, scrawny. Remember, you can’t say or do anything to stop my advances toward Deb.” I just kept grinning. Dan must have been made uncomfortable by the events and soon he and his wife said their goodbyes. Not long after that everyone else filtered out. Bryan looked as though he wanted to leave too, but Jason gave him a look and he grabbed himself another beer before making himself comfortable on the couch. Deb flopped down on the couch next to Bryan, and let out a sigh. “That didn’t go as planned, at all.” She was upset that our outdoor barbeque had to be dragged indoors due to the rain. “I hope you guys had a good time.” “Aw, Deb, the party doesn’t have to end now. The rain has stopped. Let’s hit the pool,” Jason said. Deb smiled, jumped up and ran upstairs to put on her suit. I followed. I changed into my trunks and Deb put on a deep blue bikini that would be considered conservative by today’s standards, but she filled it out perfectly. Her breasts were exposed on the tops and sides and her nipples were erect from the change in temperature. Standing next to her, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. “I can’t wait to get you alone,” I said as I wrapped my arms around her and playfully kissed her neck. She giggled and pushed me gently. “Soon enough, hubby. Happy Anniversary.” She kissed me and grabbed my cock playfully. I was instantly stiff and couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin. “Let’s go,” she said as she led me by my manhood down the stairs. Jason and Bryan had wasted no time and were already in the pool. It was dark, so I turned on the poolside lights. The deck was dimly lit but the pool was lit up nicely. Jason whistled and made cat calls as Deb cautiously tested the water with her toes. She smiled and with courage on loan from Jose Cuervo cupped both of her breasts and gave them a bounce. Both men voiced their approval. I nursed a beer poolside while the three of them splashed about and dunked one another. Deb was uncomfortable with Bryan at first, but loosened up after she managed to dunk him by surprise. Deb came to the side of the pool. “Hon, will you make me a margie?” She had her arms crossed under her breasts, propping herself up on the edge. The beer and her breasts were having an effect on me and a little tent started forming in my trunks. Jason swam up behind Deb. “Bryan and I will take one too, Ed.” Then he quickly undid the ties at the back of her bikini top. Deb, startled, spun around and in doing so her top dropped to the water. Jason laughed, grabbed her top and quickly swam backward to avoid getting slapped. Deb turned to me, looking angry. I remembered what I had promised and just said, “Well, you had to expect that from Jason.” Deb looked at me quizzically, then just sank in the water to hide her breasts and said, “Yeah, I guess boys will be boys.” Then she smiled and said, “Hurry back and get me my top.” I went into the house while she treaded water topless. A few minutes later I returned with drinks in hand. Deb had attempted to get her top back for herself, to no avail. Jason was wearing it atop his head laughing and continuing to splash at her. He made no effort to disguise his attempts to feel her tits as he tried to dunk her. “Drinks are here,” I called. Bryan, still feeling a bit uncomfortable swam up first, then Jason. Jason looked up at me as he grabbed for his drink and gave me a wink. He barely had a sip before he suddenly went under the water, drink and all. He came back up suddenly coughing and clutching at the side. Deb popped up a few feet behind him holding his trunks up with one hand, laughing triumphantly. Jason just laughed, “Get me another will ya’, buddy?” And pulled himself out of the water to sit at the pools edge with his legs and cock dangling. Deb stared at his naked body and said “I guess you’re not cold.” Jason laughed, patted his cock and said, “I’m getting hotter by the minute.” Deb stared at his swinging meat for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and swimming to the far side of the pool. I went to pour Jason another margarita. I stalled a bit while inside to let my hard-on subside. I didn’t want Deb or Jason to see me getting excited by their antics. I thought I had one heck of a night in front of me, and Jason took care of all the foreplay for me. When I brought Jason’s cocktail poolside, he was still sitting at the edge. He was getting aroused. His cock was still dangling, but now engorged with blood. He had missed his calling – he looked like a porn star. Deb was right in front of him pleading for her top and offering his trunks in trade. “I’m comfortable just like this, thanks.” He was having the time of his life. Just then Bryan snuck up behind Deb to dunk her. She saw him at the last minute and attempted to dodge out of the way but he was to close. He pushed her down and toward Jason. When she surfaced she was directly between Jason’s legs, she spun to avoid facing his cock. Jason wrapped his legs around and pulled her in so that her breasts were exposed with her erect nipples just above water’s surface. She laughed and screamed playfully. Jason’s cock was resting on her cheek. “Hon, help me!” Deb pleaded, though she didn’t seem truly distressed. I couldn’t move. At this point I was willing to welch on the bet, but I was aroused and oddly anxious. Deb looked at me, noticing my erection. At first she seemed confused and a little angry but before she could say anything else she began struggling and writhing against the strength of Jason’s legs. He held her tight. As she squirmed, Jason’s cock hardened. The swollen giant tool rubbed all about her face - even brushing her lips several times. I was about to rush in to her rescue, when I discovered that she was being held while Bryan worked off her bikini bottoms. He emerged in perfect imitation of Deb’s earlier victory and held her suit bottom high in the air. At this point I jumped in the water, feigning coming to her rescue but actually hiding my erection. I swam toward Bryan asking for her bikini bottom. He tossed it to me. I swam back to Deb and held them out to her. She reached for them saying, “Too little, too late.” Jason held back her arm and said. “Oh what, it’s all right for me to be naked but not you?” Deb dropped her arm. “I can handle it as long as you are… Um... Can! I meant can!” Jason and Deb laughed over her Freudian slip. Deb grabbed her drink from the edge and gulped it down, making no attempt to avoid his rock hard cock. Jason shot me a look that said I should back off. I did and waded toward the pool’s center. Jason had relaxed his legs, letting her slip a little into the water, and handed her his drink. She pulled herself up to rest her forearms upon his thigh, here tits resting along the inside of his leg. She downed his drink quickly. Jason was now openly stroking his erection. Deb stared at it intently. Jason took her arm and guided her hand to his throbbing cock. She held it gently at first and then began jacking him off, slowly to start and then faster. She took his manhood into her mouth, the head stretching her lips. It was as though she was fresh out of the desert and found water, she couldn’t get enough. She zealously worshipped his cock with her mouth, licking along the shaft, and sucking on his heavy balls. Bryan swam past me, toward my now adulterous wife and my best friend. His swim trunks were floating behind him. Bryan reached around Deb and began massaging her tits. “Oh yes, Hon. That’s right, squeeze my nipples.” She must have thought that Bryan was me and that I was joining in on the festivities. Bryan rolled her nipples between his fingers and Deb moaned. The sound was muffled by a mouthful of Jason’s giant cock sliding back and forth across her lips. Bryan dropped his hands to her hips, and Deb arched her back. Bryan reached to position his cock into her pussy. When he placed his hand back upon her hip, he thrust forward. Deb let Jason’s penis out of her mouth with a plop. She looked back to see Bryan, and then cast an alarmed glance toward me. Something about Bryan’s cock informed her that I wasn’t granting consent. She looked worried for a moment, and then Jason grabbed the back of her head and put her back to work. She returned to the effort, guilt forgotten. Bryan continued to thrust away, and his movement showed he was about to cum. Deb frequently raised her head from Jason’s hard-on to gasp and moan, “Yes. Oh, Yes!” Bryan suddenly arched forward and then relaxed. Deb cried out. As Bryan backed away, Deb whimpered like a little girl who had her favorite doll taken from her. Jason took Deb under the arms and raised her from the water. She immediately dropped to her knees and continued to slobber on his cock. Jason pulled her head back and she looked up at him pouting. He guided her to her feet and began sucking on her stiff nipples. She moaned and writhed, reaching down to pump his tool with her hand, her wedding band glinting in the dim light. Jason began massaging her pussy with his hand, slipping a few fingers into her already well-fucked hole. She moaned and pulled his giant cock toward her pussy. Jason positioned the head at her pussy lips and slowly worked it into her. Deb stared adoringly into his eyes. I came in my trunks. Bryan was already up on the deck, and it became evident how she discovered his identity. His cock was a couple inches shorter than Jason’s and a couple longer than mine but thicker than either of us. It was rising again due to the show. I hoisted myself onto the deck and dropped my trunks, hoping to get in on all the excitement. My dick, softening after cumming, looked out of place in this scene. Like a librarian had wandered on to the site of a porno shoot. Deb had her legs wrapped around Jason and was bobbing on his giant member. I started to get aroused again. Jason held her up by her firm ass. “Tell me you love me,” he said. She moaned and looked into his eyes. “Say it.” “I love you, Jason. Please don’t stop.” Deb kissed him. “Oh God! I love you! Fuck me baby!” I was suddenly more jealous than aroused. Love? It was one thing to get caught up in the moment, with your judgment skewed by alcohol and pent up lust, but this felt like true infidelity. I started toward them, angry and ready to put a stop to all of this. Bryan was there to stop me. He grabbed me by the throat and led me over to a lounger. “Sit down and stay out of the way,” he said. “You can have her back when we’re through with her, needle-dick.” I struggled in vain; he was much stronger than I. “Am I better than Ed, Deb?” Jason added weight to the question by fucking her harder. “Do you want him or me, baby?” Deb panted and whimpered. “I want you, Jason. Please, don’t ever stop fucking me!” With that Jason lifted her up off his cock. She said, “No. Don’t stop! Please – I love you! I need you! I don’t want Ed.” I was deflated; not just my ego but my manhood also. My wife of seven years was proclaiming her love for my best friend and getting fucked by two giant cocks on our anniversary. I wanted blood. Bryan hadn’t let loose of his iron hold on my throat or I would have attempted, however futilely to beat Jason to a pulp. Jason set Deb down and led her over to the lounger. “Tell him to his face,” he demanded. “Tell him that you don’t need his little prick.” He smiled at me maliciously, kissing her neck and massaging her breasts. I wish there would have been more hesitation, or that a sense of how wrong what was happening would have occurred to her. She looked down at me, still moaning as Jason pleased her and I could see she was too caught up in the moment. There I was, skinny, short, and naked with my smaller penis limp as a stronger and more virile man held me tight by the throat “I don’t want you. I want Jason. I want his giant cock in my pussy. He knows how to treat me and how to touch me. You don’t even come close.” Still facing me she got down on all fours and said, “Watch how a real man fucks a woman. Please fuck me, Jason.” He obliged. As Jason pumped her from behind, she took Bryan’s cock in her mouth. Jason fucked her steadily, while she sucked Bryan’s cock. Bryan’s grip got tighter and tighter on my throat, as he came closer to blowing his wad. I struggle with his arm, and he knocked me hard across the face with his other fist. Jason came at that moment. Deb pulled away from Bryan’s cock as she reacted to Jason’s last thrusts. He shot a huge load onto her face and hair. Bryan’s hand tightened and then finally relaxed. The three of them left me to sit, near tears on the lounger with a sore face and a blackening eye, as they used towels to clean up. Deb kissed them deeply before they went into the house to change, whispering something to each. Deb came and knelt beside me. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It all just got carried away,” she said. Then she hugged me, and I felt as though everything was all right. She still loved me. “Be nice when they say goodbye. You don’t need to lose any friendships over this.” They came out a few minutes later and said their goodbyes to my still naked wife. They fondled and kissed her. Then they approached me. “Sorry about your eye,” Bryan said. “No hard feelings?” Everything was going to be all right with Deb and I, so I just shook my head and mumbled that there were no hard feelings. Jason patted me on the shoulder. “Just like old times, eh buddy?” I looked at him with open anger and said, “Screw you, buddy.” He just laughed and kissed Deb hard on the mouth, she responded. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as the kiss broke. “Bring a deck of cards Ed. Maybe we can work in a few hands.” I was bewildered. Deb walked them to the driveway and gave each another long kiss before returning to me. “Tomorrow?” I looked at her, pleading with my eyes. “I thought you still loved me.” I held onto her hands, anxiously waiting for her reply. “I do, baby. But things have changed. Tonight I had the best sex of my life. Jason can have me whenever he wants me. I am completely his. When I said I loved him, I meant it. Maybe it’s just lust or infatuation, but it feels like love” she said. “I still love you. We aren’t over. But you’ll have to accept that, if you want us to stay together, Jason, the only man I feel I need, will continue to fuck me whenever he wants, and however he wants. Can you do that?” My pulse was hard and loud in my head. I didn’t want to lose Deb, but could I let this happen? I looked up into her eyes. She was waiting patiently, as if my answer only meant something to me. I nodded. “Good. Let’s get to bed. Jason and Bryan are going to meet us as the suite tomorrow.” Seven Years Since The Motel This is an edited version of the original chapter. I made quite a few minor alterations to the text, but resisted making major changes. As a result, the chapter is still rather wordy in places. I should also warn you that there is a long build up over the story (hey, it's romance), so no sex in this installment. -------------------- Alessandro drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he glanced around. Flat panel TVs, leather armchairs, and oversized, modern light fixtures dominated the room. However, his near-constant squirming on the stiff leather beneath him proved that the designers had not paid nearly as much attention to comfort as they had to appearances. Not that he was complaining. The seats here were far more comfortable than those in the main terminal. No one else in the room seemed to mind, either. After countless hours in similar rooms across the globe, he had reached the cynical conclusion that a first class airport lounge had the potential to bring out the ostentatious side of a nun. Women opened and closed their flashy designer handbags with blatant flicks of their wrists, no doubt hoping the overhead lighting would send rainbows flying from their jewels. Men's voices dominated the room as they spoke into their Blackberries, citing accounts with well-known companies while directing their assistants to set up meetings and calls. Both groups tried to appear as though they were carrying on as usual, but as he observed them, Alessandro could see each of them scanning the room to check out their competition. Of course, not everyone was obnoxious. He'd spent the majority of his time eavesdropping on a nearby family. The siblings' teasing dynamic and the parents' playful banter reminded him of his own family, when he, his parents, and sisters had been in rooms like these on trips to visit his father's family in Italy. They'd had nothing but books and a deck of cards for entertainment, but they'd always enjoyed themselves. In fact, simple, playful moments in rooms like these were among his strongest and most cherished family vacation memories. He smiled as he realized that at this time tomorrow, he'd be with his family. Unfortunately, he still had a flight to get through, and more time to spend in the lounge. Thirty minutes earlier he had made a beeline to an empty seat in the corner. He had hoped that the location would keep him away from prying eyes and conversation, and thus far, his assessment had proved correct. True, the middle-aged woman across from him kept trying to catch his eye, but he could tell that she had no idea who he was. To her and everyone else in the room, he was just a well-built man in his mid-twenties wearing Puma sneakers, designer jeans, a fitted t-shirt with a vaguely familiar logo on it, and a ratty old baseball cap. It wasn't that he minded granting the occasional autograph or photo request; he was flattered to think that his signature or a smile could make a fan's day. How many people are able to make someone else happy in just a few seconds? He just didn't like being fawned over, as if he were some sort of god. He had been attracting increasing amounts of attention over the past several years, and found it mystifying. After all, he was nothing special; he mattered very little in the grand scheme of the world. Why weren't people fawning over the scientists who made wonder drugs, or soup kitchen workers, or soldiers or aid workers? Their work was vital, much more important than his. He was just a normal person, one who happened to have a career in an ever-brightening spotlight. A voice from his left startled him out of his thoughts. "Mr. Conti, sir? If you would come this way, please?" Alessandro looked up into the face of the airline agent, and smiled. The man was there to lead him from the lounge through Rome's Fiumicino airport to the gate for his morning flight. Alessandro stood and followed the agent, listening to the man's opinions on everything from the weather to the Prime Minister as they made their way to the gate. "Ah, here we are. Your plane, Mr. Conti... oh, no," the agent gasped. Even without the man's gasp, Alessandro would have known that there was a problem. He and the airline had agreed that he would board last, so that no one would see him as they filed past the first class cabin on the way to their seats. However, the gate was still packed with people. They had started boarding only moments ago. "There must have been a mechanical problem of some kind with the plane, Mr. Conti—they were supposed to all be on board by now. I don't know what happened." The man gestured to the passengers at the gate as he prattled on in Italian. "Would you like me to take you back to the lounge? And collect you when the plane is full?" Alessandro shifted his carry-on bag on his shoulder as he glanced around. Returning to the lounge wasn't an option. While he didn't think he was anyone to write home about meeting, people in the lounge might think otherwise, especially after seeing an agent escort him out of the room; even if they didn't recognize him at first, some inquisitive passengers might begin to quiz him. Remaining here with the agent wasn't an option, either; people were beginning to look in their direction, curious to see who had a private escort through the airport. No, he should board now with the rest of the first class passengers. "Uh, no, that's okay. I'll just board now. Thank you so much for your help today. I really appreciate it, and it was a pleasure talking with you." Alessandro smiled as he shook the agent's hand. "Er, Mr. Conti, sir?" "Yes?" "Could I, um, could I have your autograph? I saw your movie last year, Gran Premio, and my daughter is a fan. She would be so pleased if, well, if—" Alessandro smiled. "Sure." He signed the paper the man held out for him and thanked him again before walking down the gangway onto the plane. It was only after settling into his first class seat that the magnitude of his impending trip hit him. Up until this point, he'd focused on seeing his sisters and parents. But now.... He stared out the airplane window to his right, willing his mind to focus on a slopped splotch of yellow paint on the tarmac. He needed to relax. He let out a small groan as he turned back to face the seatback in front of him. It was no use. In less than twenty-four hours he'd be in his hometown for the first time in seven years. He fidgeted at the thought, bouncing his left leg up and down, but stopped as he noticed the disapproving look coming from the middle-aged, bearded man who had just sat down to his left. "Sorry." As Alessandro glanced at his new seatmate out of the corner of his eye, an unexpected wave of relief swept over him. They hadn't taken off yet, and the man had already pulled out a stack of printed journal articles to read. An academic. Excellent. Alessandro sent out a silent thanks to the god of airline seating arrangements as he glanced at the name on top of the first article: Journal of Econometrics. Alessandro didn't know what econometrics was, but he did know that if this academic was anything like his fathers' ivory tower friends, he would be fairly ignorant of pop culture. The man would probably conclude that Alessandro was just some punk kid flying home on daddy's dime. No matter how much that latter thought annoyed Alessandro, he wasn't about to correct him. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Alitalia Flight 614, non-stop service from Rome to Boston. We are expecting a full flight today, and will need all available overhead compartment space to accommodate your carry-on luggage." The too-cheerful flight attendant rattled off a list of boarding instructions in Italian and then repeated the same announcement in English. Alessandro frowned, his moment of happiness cut short by the reminder of his trip home. For as long as he could remember he had worked hard to control his emotions, and with practice he had become a master at it. With his job, it was a necessity. He was adept at hiding emotional turmoil behind several masks: deep-in-thought Alessandro, smiling-and-happy Alessandro, intently-listening Alessandro.... But going home? He had no clue how to handle that. Worse, he knew that he would be able to use one of his masks for all of fifteen minutes before his family called him on it; they had always been a close-knit group, and they kept few secrets from one another. He was at a complete loss, and was beginning to panic—an unfamiliar and altogether unwelcome feeling. Why did facing people he had known his entire life seem so much harder than standing on stage in front of a crowd of strangers? He shifted in his seat and accidentally splashed some of his water across his tray table, earning another glare from his seatmate. Smooth, he thought. Real smooth, Alessandro. As he stared at the water snaking its way across the table, he found himself wondering just what awaited him in his tiny hometown of Stalton Harbor, Maine—winter population: 3,000; summer population: 8,000. Ever since he had decided to go home he'd been dreaming of a true Maine meal: a big helping of steamers, an ice-cold Portland-brewed beer, new potatoes, one of his mother's late June strawberry-rhubarb pies, and homemade vanilla ice cream. He frowned as he realized he would miss the corn on the cob and blueberry pies that would come later in the summer, but then perked up as he remembered that it was soft-shell lobster season. Those little buggers were just starting to shed their winter coats, and he was more than willing to save them the task of completing new ones. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against his chair, imagining consuming his feast on the large front porch of his family's sprawling, shingled, white-washed nineteenth-century Queen Anne cottage, drinking the last of his beer as the setting sun cast purple shadows over the Atlantic. After eating his fill he would stumble up the stairs, climb into his old wrought-iron bed under one of his great-grandmother's patchwork quilts, and fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below. When he woke up from what he was sure would be a good night's sleep he would go for a run through the wooded trails that rose up behind the house, and watch as the rising sun greeted the early morning exodus of fishing boats from the harbor. He would spend the afternoon on the porch, drinking iced tea on his favorite white wicker rocking chair and reading an old book from his father's library, before feasting on local delicacies for dinner and repeating the entire glorious process again. He might even find time to squeeze in a nap on one of the second floor sleeping porch's hammocks. By the end of his daydream, his parents' house seemed more relaxing than all of the resorts he had been to in the last few years combined. He was beginning to wonder why he hadn't gone home sooner. He was roused from these pleasant thoughts by the sound of a young woman's voice. "Holy shit! You're Alessandro Conti, aren't you? I can't believe it! Alessandro Conti! On my airplane! I can't wait to tell everyone about seeing you—but I doubt they'll believe me. Oh wait, here, use this." Alessandro looked beyond his confused looking seatmate—who had apparently moved on to an article from the Journal of the American Statistical Association—and up into the face of a young woman. She looked to be around his age, twenty-six, and was bouncing up and down on her toes while grinning down at him. She was also holding out her boarding pass in front of his seatmate's nose. It took the wheels in Alessandro's head a bit too long to realize that she wanted an autograph. His heart sank as he looked beyond her. The line of passengers moving through his first-class cabin had ground to a halt. Worse, about a dozen sets of eyes were focused on him. He could tell that the majority of them had no idea who he was, but... oh no, one of them holding a magazine that had a cover story about his latest film. He smiled at the woman as he took the pass from her. He chatted with her for several seconds after signing his name, but was relieved when the flight attendant arrived to shoo the passengers along. So much for flying incognito. Turning away, he sank low into his seat and focused once again on the tarmac outside. He tried to return to his happy thoughts of home, but he couldn't. Instead, his mind turned to the not-so-pleasant things that awaited him, like the stares he was sure to get. In some respects, the hometown stares were nothing new. His father was an author, and had won a Pulitzer Prize a couple of dozen years ago. While this face hadn't changed the opinions that anyone in Stalton Harbor held, there were always a few summer tourists who would point and stare at his father, or drive by their house hoping to catch a glimpse. As Alessandro had grown, some of the stares had been directed at him, in a sort of reflected glory. His mother's family also attracted local attention. In the 1800s her family had been one of the wealthiest to build a summer cottage in Stalton Harbor, which had until that construction boom been home mainly to farmers, fishermen, and shipbuilders. Since that heyday of summers past when Maine had been a popular summer destination for wealthy "Boston Brahmin" families, many of the older families had sold their homes as newer generations proved unable to solve heated ownership arguments or lost the family fortunes. Some of the grand old homes had been turned into B&Bs, resulting in the current harbor-side row of tidy white houses, lipstick pink geraniums, creaky wooden signs, and parking lots full of out-of-state cars. Those that remained private tended to turn over every ten years of so, their ownership and never-ending renovations moving with the tides of new fortunes in Boston. His parents' home was one of the few exceptions, and in the twenty-seven years since his mother had moved to Stalton Harbor, she had evolved into a local institution of sorts, filling the void left by her deceased yet still beloved grandmother. During the winter her old green Subaru could be spotted at the local library where she volunteered; during the summer her rusty, hideously-purple bike could be seen parked outside the small art gallery she owned and operated. Being the oldest member of his mother's family had meant taking up the family mantle of unofficial town leadership that had been handed down for generations. It had been a terrifying prospect to him when he was a boy. He wasn't sure how people in Stalton Harbor would react to him now. He hadn't given it much thought when he booked his flight home, or if he had, he had assumed that they would treat him as they always had. But what if they didn't? A small part of him—the part that always prepared for the worst-case scenario—feared that he would be the subject of stares and awkward autograph requests from people he'd known his entire life. Alessandro closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to conjure up images of steamers and rocking chairs again. But instead of some sort of idyllic scene he saw a vision of the thing that terrified him most about heading home. More than the stares. More than autograph requests. He saw the image of Margaret Barnes. He inhaled sharply, and then let out a short, snorting laugh before stopping and glancing sideways at his seatmate. Luckily, the man hadn't noticed a thing; he was scribbling away on a page filled with Greek letters and complex equations. Margaret Barnes. Or rather, Maisie Barnes, as he and everyone else had always known her. Maisie, everyone's favorite girl next door. Quite literally, his girl next door. Her ancestors had helped found their harbor town, and her extended family dotted the peninsulas and islands that ran along the coastline. Her family farm was one of the last in town, and occupied the land directly to the west of his family home. Maisie was also the girl—woman now—who had haunted his dreams for months. The dreams since he had broken up with Isabella—one part heaven, one part hell—made it impossible for him to classify Maisie in this, his little game of mental preparation for the week ahead. Was their meeting something to look forward to, like the ocean-side meals and crisp ocean air runs? Or was it something to dread and prepare for? Her image flitted across his mind. Much to his annoyance it had developed a habit of doing this, even when he was awake. Usually he did his best to push her out of his mind but this time he pulled her back into his consciousness, allowing his mind's gaze to settle on her. She was shorter than he, about 5'7". She was thin, but not Isabella thin. His ex, Isabella, was a model. Isabella was strikingly beautiful—dark hair and eyes, and a thin frame that made her look amazing regardless of what she wore—or didn't wear, he thought as he reflected on some of the high points of their long relationship. But Isabella wasn't exactly... feminine. He felt guilty thinking it, even now that they were no longer together. Yes, Isabella had breasts, and yes, she had what he guessed one could call hips. But sometimes she seemed a bit... boyish? He remembered a costume party where they had run into a man in drag as an Isabella impersonator. Alessandro had done a double take when he saw the faux-Isabella—the face had been a bit off, but their figures had been almost identical. Isabella had thought the entire thing hysterical, and had insisted on a picture that showed Alessandro with an arm draped over each of them. She had dubbed the picture, "Alessandro and his two Isabellas," before giving it a place of honor on their living room mantle. But Maisie was different. There was no way a man could ever imitate her figure. She had that type of healthful appearance that came from a childhood spent waking up to morning chores on a farm, from the runs she had taken along the rocky coast each afternoon in their youth, and from years of eating what grew on the farm: fresh fruits and vegetables, eggs, and cheese from their temperamental yet lovable goats. He remembered her as she had looked the last time he had seen her, naked and asleep in bed in a cheap motel room. She had had a trim waist, but with a tiny, almost imperceptibly rounded belly that he had adored and worshipped that night, one that had shown that while she may go for a daily run to clear her head, she still enjoyed settling down to an actual meal. She wasn't one to subscribe to Isabella's diet of coffee and cigarettes. Soft, natural, and feminine, that was Maisie. Her waist had flared out to small but round hips, which in turn melted into long and shapely legs that had still had a hint of teenage coltishness to them on that night. Legs that, for the past month in his dreams, had been wrapped tightly around him, her heels digging into his backside as he moved above her, drinking in the sight of her soft, creamy-white breasts as he pushed into her and she arched under him, as he brought her to the brink of orgasm and then listened as she called out his name.... Alessandro gripped the arms of his seat. He puffed his cheeks out as he let out a breath, trying to relieve the tension coursing through his body. Pushing the not-exactly-airplane-friendly image from his mind, he looked around and noticed that he had missed their takeoff. He shifted in his seat again, hoping no one noticed that his pants were suddenly uncomfortably tight. Peering next to him, he was relieved to see that his seat mate had tilted his seat back and closed his eyes. Alessandro turned to look at the clouds, hoping something a bit more... appropriate would enter his head. Seven Years Since The Motel Instead, his rebellious mind returned to Maisie. He focused his attention on her pale complexion, and her long, thick strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were set above a small, straight nose, a nose that was graced with a tiny set of small freckles in the summer months. Her freckles could only be seen in the sunlight, and only from a few inches away. He hadn't been close enough in the sunlight to see those freckles in years. Would he be allowed close enough to see them again this week? Her mouth had always been a bit narrow for her face, but she had soft, thick, lush lips that were a deep shade of reddish-pink, almost like a summer raspberry. Alessandro knew exactly where his mind wanted to go with that mouth, and before he could stop it an unwanted—but highly desirable—image of that small, ripe-raspberry mouth wrapped around his cock swam into his head. Definitely not images for close quarters, he thought as the glistening mouth in his vision moved up and down on his cock, swallowing him deep into her throat. He closed his eyes, wanting her here with him, wanting to feel her tongue tease his tip as he moved in and out of the moist depths of her mouth, their eyes meeting as he ran his hand through her long hair and reached completion in the heat of her mouth. His eyes flew open and darted around the plane, desperate for something unpleasant to focus on. He was behaving like a fourteen-year old boy, and he seemed completely unable to stop himself. As his eyes settled on the sapphire ring of a woman sitting in the center rows, Alessandro instead thought of the eyes that had been gazing up at him in his last inappropriate vision, one that he had never had the joy of experiencing. He supposed that one could describe Maisie's eyes as blue, and for much of his childhood he had simply thought of her as having blue eyes. But that didn't do them justice; her eyes were stunning. A wide outer ring of navy surrounded an ice-flecked royal blue center, which in turn melted into a brilliant olive green core near her pupil. In all the years he had known her, he had looked deep into those eyes on only one occasion, but that one moment was all it had taken for him to be mesmerized by her beauty. Once again, Alessandro drew himself from the memory of that night in the motel and groaned. Shit. What the hell was he going to do when he saw her? Scream at her for what she had done to him the following morning? Have an awkward conversation with her, pretending that everything was just fine, that nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them? Would he touch her? Would he kiss her? He lingered over that last question a bit, running his fingers over his lips while lost in his thoughts. He remembered her kisses too well. Not only that first kiss when they were in middle school. No, he remembered the kisses that came later: the searching kisses of questioning, and of initial exploration; the frantic, almost manic kisses of need and lust; and those last long, slow, almost playfully luxurious kisses of... of... what? What were those kisses, and what were they to each other now? They weren't friends—they hadn't spoken in seven years, not since the motel room—but he couldn't say they were nothing to each other, would he? After they had known each other since birth? After what had happened in that motel room? Those final kisses had left him aching for more, for her touch, her smell, her taste. Why had those kisses not told him what would happen between them over these last seven years? Why had they not told him what she would do to him the next morning? A couple of months ago, when he decided to go home for his sisters' college graduation party—he couldn't make the actual graduation ceremony—he had thought he would be able to avoid Maisie. Granted, their houses were only a few hundred yards away from each other, which would make avoiding her difficult, to say the least. Still, he had managed to avoid her in high school when he had wanted to, and he was sure he could manage again. How hard could it be to avoid one woman? Last night as he had packed for his trip it had dawned on him that it would be impossible to avoid her, no matter how hard he tried. She would be at the graduation party. After all, she was his sisters' best friend. The thought gave him a sudden jolt of annoyance. After all, when had that happened? When had Maisie gone from being his best friend to his sisters'? Alessandro had been born in February, and Maisie had arrived the following September. They had been best friends since the time they were old enough to recognize each other until... well, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure when their friendship had faded. He knew it had been strong when they started grade school. He had started kindergarten when he was five, but Maisie's early September birthday made her ineligible for that school year. In response, he had sulked through kindergarten, refusing to learn how to write his name, purposely spilling finger-paint on the other children, crushing his snack-time cookies into the carpet, and, though he still denied it when his mother brought it up, had asked for "my Maisie," as if she were some sort of toy he needed to take with him to school. His moping and tantrums had led his teacher to recommend holding him back the next year, and the two of them had been reunited in kindergarten the next year. So when had things changed? Sixth grade maybe, when their hormones kicked in and her friends started pointing and giggling about him? Perhaps it had been in seventh grade, after the awkward spring kiss under the apple blossoms in her family's orchard, a first for both of them that they never mentioned again? Maybe at the beginning of eighth grade, when he decided that he would follow his mother's family tradition and go to boarding to school the next year, leaving her behind? Or maybe later that same year, when he found out she had, with the encouragement of his mother who had recognized her brilliance, secretly applied to—and been accepted at—the same school he was bound for? Or maybe it was when, on their very first day at that boarding school during their freshman year of high school, she had called to him using her nickname for him—Lessi—from across the quad? In Stalton Harbor, he had often felt as if he had no privacy. It was a small town; all the year-round residents knew one another, and he had received extra scrutiny due to his parents' standing in the community. Boarding school had offered him a chance at true anonymity. Who cared that his mother was from a wealthy family, or that his father was a famous author? That was par for the course at the old New England prep schools. Heck, his parents didn't run or own Fortune 500 companies, they weren't involved in politics, his last name wasn't synonymous with wealth... he was a virtual nobody. He had thought he had a chance to be himself, find himself, and define himself. That must have been it. While the other moments may have dented their friendship or altered it in some awkward way, he had single-handedly broken it on that first day of school. He had ignored her for three full years, or acted like a snotty bastard whenever they were forced to interact. By their senior year, he had realized what an ass he had been. He had tried to be nice to her, and to re-start their friendship, but the damage had been done. They spoke more words to each other in the motel room that night than they had for four whole years. Still, he didn't regret leaving Maine. He had yearned for independence and his version of the stereotypical boarding school personal awakening, the kind he had read about and seen in movies growing up. He had achieved that experience, and had benefited from his time away from home. He did regret not realizing that he didn't have to lose Maisie to find himself. What the hell was he going to do when he saw her? -------------------- "Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent to Boston's Logan Airport. In preparation for landing, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position...." Alessandro awoke with a start. They were in Boston already? How the hell had that happened? He rubbed his eyes and peered out the window, his heart doing a confused flip-flop of anticipation and fear at the sight of the coastline. He would have liked to take a connecting flight up to Bangor. However, his sister, Carolina, had informed him that since she was already going to be in Portland that day—doing what, he had no idea—she could pick him up there. Renting a car and driving to Stalton Harbor was out of the question. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, he had never had a good sense of direction. Navigating his way home from the airport was out of the question, even with GPS; he got lost every time he tried to drive in Boston, and the trip would take forever. He didn't even want to think of how much his family would mock him if he hired a driver. Instead, he would be taking the train up to Portland. He grabbed a cab from the airport to North Station, pulled his University of Maine hat back on, and climbed aboard. Originally, he had hoped that Americans' general ignorance of foreign actors would allow him some degree of anonymity. He had spent most of the past six years working as a stage actor, primarily in London but also a bit in New York and Stratford-upon-Avon. He'd been in several major Italian films and had appeared in a few English-language indie films over the past couple of years, but none had received significant attention in America. His face had been splashed across Italian tabloids several months before, though that attention had since died down. True, he had a new big-budget movie coming out, but the producers had decided to push back the original summer release to December. Only those who followed the business closely would recognize him. But his dream of anonymity had ended with a spot on an American magazine's 50 Most Beautiful People list. The attention had snowballed since then. "Number 24 on our list is Alessandro Conti. This 26-year old actor has been gracing London's West End and Royal Shakespeare Company for the past five years, while his tanned and toned 6'1" frame, dazzling smile, coffee brown hair and deeply expressive toffee-brown eyes have been tearing up ladies' hearts. Luckily for women everywhere, his well-publicized, recent — and, sources tell us, final —break-up with the 30-year old Italian supermodel Isabella Bettini means he is back on the relationship market. A native of coastal Maine, this son of author Giovanni Conti is a perfect mix of rugged Yankee and refined European sophistication. If you haven't familiarized yourself with Mr. Conti yet, look for him in the new, independent film 'The Queen of Spades,' which has been generating buzz for both his nudity and Oscar potential, or this winter's 'The Warrior,' which is already being talked about as this year's potential box-office blockbuster. He lives in New York and London, but is currently in Rome filming 'The Rashomon Man,' another independent film due out sometime next year." His sister Carolina had sent the link, and as much as he hated to think of the article, he grinned as he recalled the accompanying text, where she let him know that she would, "push his refined European ass into the Atlantic if he didn't bring her back an awesome graduation present." The magazine caption had been accompanied by a giant, high-resolution picture of him from a recent vacation he had taken with Isabella for her 30th birthday last fall. He was shown emerging from the ocean, giving a stunning Isabella a cheeky grin. The turquoise water behind him showed off his bronzed body, which was glistening in the sun as water from his hair dripped down his chest. Though the picture didn't capture a close-up of his eyes, he could tell even from the full-body shot that the hot sun had captured their amber specks, allowing the world to see how his eyes danced with wicked desire for the woman he was looking at. His smile faded as he remembered the rest of the day. Oh, the initial sex had been good, as it always had been. But what had came after the sex had ended their relationship. It had also set off his recent obsession with Maisie. -------------------- Alessandro was late getting off train; it had been hot in his car, and he had fallen asleep. Spotting Carolina in the parking lot, he snuck up behind her and put his hands over her eyes. "Guess who?" "Hmmm... someone with a refined European ass?" "Very funny." He picked her up and twirled her around in the air, causing her to shriek with laughter. He smiled as he placed her back on her feet. "How are you, Leena?" "Good, and happy to see you in Maine! Good flight?" "Eh, not bad. I slept through most of it. And before you even think of it, your graduation gift is in the bag, so no need to dump my 'refined European ass' in Casco Bay on the way home." "What, just one present? Hmmm... we'll see. It had better be a good one, brother mine. And I hope you didn't have the gall to buy Gemma the same thing. If you did, I might throw you in for that, too. God knows she would never have the nerve to do it." She pushed him further away from her with a playful smack on his chest, and gave him a wink. "Believe it or not, I realized quite a while ago that your identicalness is only skin deep, and that you missed out on the 'pleasant personality' gene, unlike Gemma." He cocked an eyebrow as he teased her. "Speaking of Gemma, where is she?" "At home, entertaining our grandparents. And you'd better behave yourself between here and home, or I'll make you take grandmother and grandfather with you when you go sailing." She flashed him an evil grin as she lunged forward and pinched his cheeks in an exaggerated imitation of their grandmother. "Ouch! Stop that. Wait, what? Mom's parents? They're there already?" Carolina nodded, unable to suppress a smirk. Alessandro groaned. "They're just going to harass me the entire time about how I should be getting my MBA and going into banking, or something. If I had known they were coming I wouldn't have come home." "Why do you think we didn't tell you." Carolina raised an eyebrow as she surveyed him, but then relaxed her face. "We've all missed you so much. It isn't the same at home without you, and visiting you isn't the same as having you home. Don't stay away for so long again. Promise?" He was stunned. Gemma was the shy, serious twin, the one who had no problem expressing her emotions. Carolina was the carefree, teasing, and somewhat snarky twin. He had never been able to read her, to know what she was thinking. For her to be serious, for her to ask him not to stay away.... "I promise. I promise you, Carolina, I won't stay away so long again." For a second he thought he saw a tear in her eye, but then she reached out and gave him a hug. By the time she pulled back and smiled up at him, it was gone. "Enough of this nonsense," she said, snapping back to her usual demeanor. "Get your butt in the back of the car. You might be one of Hollywood's darlings right now, but there's no way you're sitting up front with me." It was only at that moment that Alessandro noticed there had been a woman standing next to the car the entire time. Maisie. He stared at her, unable to say anything at all, before forcing a small smile as he nodded at her. He tried to look away, but as his eyes lowered from her face and took in her body, he found that he couldn't. She had on a cream-colored sleeveless blouse. A wide butter-yellow ribbon sat just below her breasts, accentuating the difference between her round breasts and her slim ribcage. She had on a fitted cerulean --blue print pencil skirt that fell to just above her knees, revealing just a small sliver of skin above a pair of tight-fitting, high-heeled, saddle-brown leather boots. He swallowed hard as he looked at her boots. They unnerved him, for a couple of reasons. First, because seeing her in such fashionable clothing made him acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd seen her. He had never seen her in boots other than her farm boots, let alone a skirt outside of church. Had everything about her changed as much as her sense of fashion? Second, because those boots were doing terrible things to his mind and body. They made him want to throw her down on the hood of his mother's car, hike her skirt up to her waist, rip her panties off, hold her wrists above her head, and thrust into her over and over again as hard as he could, just like she had begged him to all those years ago. He imagined yanking down her top with his teeth and burying his lips between the lace-clad mounds of her breasts, pushing her to a screaming, shuddering orgasm that sent him over the edge and into ecstasy with her. With those boots wrapped around him, heels digging into his back, of course. Maisie didn't seem to be phased at all by his presence. She gave him a curt nod as she turned towards the passenger's seat, hair, hips and ass swaying above a long slit up the back of her skirt. God he wished that slit went just an inch or two higher. And why did heels have to make a woman's gait so damn sexy? He wasn't ready for this. He had thought he had until tomorrow, at least, before he saw her. Carolina had mentioned that she was already going to be in Portland today. Was she here to pick up Maisie? "Hey, Alessandro." Carolina snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. Startled, he pulled his eyes away from Maisie and looked down at his sister. "Were you listening? I know you're jetlagged, but come on. Mom's been chomping at the bit all day, and dad's been pacing. Don't keep them waiting any longer than they have to." His mind was a jumble of thoughts as he took the seat behind Carolina. He had no idea what to do, and the fact that his sister was here didn't help matters. He couldn't shout at Maisie. He couldn't touch her. He definitely couldn't kiss her. Instead, he just had to pretend that nothing had happened between them. Instead, he joined Maisie in peppering Carolina with questions as they left the station. "The graduation went pretty well, I guess, though they pronounced my name Car-o-line-a instead of Car-o-leen-a. That was kind of annoying. I mean, is it really that hard of a name to pronounce?" Alessandro laughed. This was a conversation they'd had many times. It felt good to have it here, in Maine, on the way home. "Well, you do realize there are two states that pronounce your name differently, don't you? Perhaps everyday at your new job you can wear a nametag that says 'Car-o-leen-a' so that no one ever makes that mistake again." "Very funny, Alessandro." "Hey, did you find a roommate yet? Or get the apartment," Maisie asked. His insides squirmed, just as they had every time Maisie had spoken on the drive. It had been so long since he'd heard her voice! "Yeah, to both. My new roommate's a bit of a neat freak, but I guess that will be okay. Maybe I'll never have to clean again? And the apartment is great." Carolina shot Maisie a furtive sideways glance as she continued. "And the guy across the hall? Wow. I mean... wow. So fucking hot. My roommate and I have decided that whoever gets him into their bed first—" "Hey!" Alessandro cringed as he cut his sister off. "Try and behave yourself a little, will you? And for goodness sake, Carolina, I'm your older brother. Can't you edit your words around me? I don't want to know about your sex life, at all, even if it's just a vague reference." "Okay, then let's talk about your sex life, Alessandro. It's time to spill. You've avoided the subject for months, and now I have you where you can't escape. So talk: why did you break up with Isabella? She was so nice, and when we saw you guys last summer everything seemed really good. What happened?" Seven Years Since The Motel Alessandro sat back, stunned. This could not be happening. Maisie, who had been laughing at Carolina, stilled. The tension in the air was palpable. "Look, Carolina, I don't really want to talk about it." He was quiet but firm. If there was one person he didn't feel like talking about Isabella in front of, it was Maisie. "But you haven't wanted to talk about it for months, to any of us. You may live far away, but that doesn't get you out of the fine Conti tradition of knowing everything about everyone in the family. You should talk about it; you probably need to talk about it, and there's no substitute for family. It's bad enough that you didn't even tell us about the break up—we had to find out reading about it on some Italian gossip site." "Well, it's good to know you check up on me online. Good to know that my own family drives traffic to the gossip sites, and that my own family loves to look at all those wonderfully invasive pictures they took of my private life with Isabella." His voice was low and angry, and his fists were clenched on his lap. "I've already apologized to mom and dad about not telling you guys personally. You're right; I should have told you we broke up. But I have no obligation to tell you why. Besides, when was the last time you told us anything of substance about your life?" "Oh come on, Alessandro! You know we only look at those sites to make sure no one is saying anything untrue, that no one is saying or doing anything that could hurt you. You know that. But don't you dare try and deflect my questions. We're worried about you, and have been for months." "Look Carolina, it's complicated." He stared out the window again and hoped that this would end the conversation. "But didn't you love her, Alessandro?" His head shot up to look at her again in the mirror, and he could have sworn he heard Maisie gasp. "Please Carolina, don't make me answer these questions." "But I don't understand, Alessandro. How can you—my own brother—be with someone for over five years and not be in love with them? You went on vacations together, you spent holidays together, and we met her family so many times. You even bought places in London and New York together. I liked her so much, and you seemed so happy with her," she cried, and for the first time Alessandro realized that she was angry with him. When he didn't reply, she pressed on. "Was it just sex for you? Was that what it was? Were you just using her? She loved you, I know she did. Were you really that cruel?" "Enough!" he shouted, losing his composure. "Drop it, Carolina! It's none of your business!" There was silence in the car for several minutes. He looked up into the mirror and saw Carolina staring ahead at the road, a look of fury in her eyes as she gritted her teeth. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Leena, I'm sorry I yelled. Okay? I just don't want to talk about it. We're still good friends; really, we are. It just wasn't going to work out long term. And it was mutual. There was no super dramatic break-up, nothing like that. We're both fine, really. Don't worry about me, or her." He stared out the window and watched the scenery slide by. They were passing the exits to Freeport, and the summer traffic around the outlets was already clogging the roads. He glanced to his left; the traffic heading south to Boston was awful. He was glad that today was a Sunday and not a Friday. He would have been surrounded by those cars going north had he arrived two days earlier. As he stared at the stopped cars on the southbound lanes, he thought back to his break-up with Isabella. It had happened on vacation, the day that damned picture of them emerging from the beach had been taken. After returning from the beach and having several rounds in bed, they had laid side by side, panting as they stared up at the ceiling. As their breathing had slowed she had turned to look at him, her eyes trailing up and down his naked body. After a bit of playful bantering, she had asked him the question that had ended it all. "Do you want children?" "What?" He remembered that she had asked with a bit of a giggle, and that he hadn't been sure if he had heard her correctly. "I asked if you want children. With me, actually," she had asked again, though this time she had been serious. He had paused for what had seemed like a very long time. "Are you telling me you're pregnant?" She had snorted at that. "No, I'm not. But I'm not exactly getting any younger you know. True, women can have children when they are older, but in terms of fertility I'm getting old. My career as I know it is coming to a close. No, don't argue with me on this one. I can feel it, Alessandro. I've been in this business for over fifteen years, and I'm sick of it. I want out, and I want children—lots of children. I want a big family, like the one I had growing up. If you don't want children with me, then...." He remembered that her voice had risen as she trailed off. She had looked scared but determined, like she wanted the truth, and he had wondered if it was some sort of ultimatum. His first thought had been that having children wasn't something twenty-five year old men usually thought about. Well, maybe they thought about it abstractly, thinking of themselves as middle-aged men with a couple of kids, but that was all. Right? He remembered closing his eyes and trying to imagine these future children. It had been hard at first, but then he had broken into a grin as an image of a boy and a girl entered his mind. They both had dark brown hair—like his hair, and, he supposed, like Isabella's hair. They were ahead of him, running through fields of grass, shrieking with laughter as he chased after them. But when the children—his imagined children—had turned to face him, his grin had vanished. Their eyes were not his medium-brown eyes, nor were they the dark chocolate-brown of Isabella's eyes. Instead, each child had a pair of deep blue eyes, with outer navy rings and olive-green cores. Each child had his hair. And Maisie's eyes. He had realized with a jolt that they had been running through a field that lay between Maisie's family farm and his parents' house. He remembered jerking his eyes open and staring ahead of him in the hotel room, eyes wide with shock, the smile on his face long gone. He was sweating and struggling to control his breathing, partly from their earlier activities but also due to a rising panic in his chest. He had always tried to avoid thinking about Maisie. When he did think about her, it was usually nothing more than a passing thought he pushed out of his mind as quickly as possible, as if it were from another life, one that he had screwed up. He had forgotten where he was until Isabella spoke. "You don't want children," she had whispered. "What? No. I mean, yes, I do want children. I saw them, or rather, imagined them. My future children, that is." She had turned to face him with a questioning look. "Then what? Why do you look like you've see a ghost?" She had stared at him, searching his eyes; it had felt like she was seeing inside him. "Oh, no, Alessandro, please no. Please tell me... please tell me it isn't what I think it is." "Not what?" "You saw children, but they were not with me." He would never forget the look on her face at that moment: a mixture of heartbreak, anger, and a firm inner strength. She had always been good at reading him; he had met her when he was nineteen and she was twenty-four, and she had watched him grow from a boy into a man. She knew him better than almost anyone. He felt sick even thinking about it now. How could he have thought about children with another woman as he lay next to his naked girlfriend? A woman who had meant so much to him for the past several years, who had taught him so much? Part of him had wanted to lie to her—to tell her that he loved her and wanted to be the father of her children, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, that she was his best friend, and that he never wanted to leave her. Another part of him—the part that ultimately won—knew that she had deserved the truth. Lying to her wouldn't be fair. They had made love once more that night. She had initiated it—he remembered he had felt guilty the entire time—and when they finished there had been tears in her eyes. They left for home the following morning. He had moved into a hotel when they arrived in London, and moved out of their apartment the next week. He had gotten over her and considered her a friend, but had kept his distance, at her request. Alessandro was roused from his depressing thoughts as he felt the car slowing again; they were leaving the interstate and turning onto Route 1, which they would take almost all the way to the Stalton peninsula. He had spent less than an hour with his sister, and he was already on edge due to her probing questions. He had spent less than an hour in Maisie's presence, and already he couldn't look at her without imagining himself buried inside of her. How the hell was he going to get through the next week? -------------------- Thanks to PennLady and sillypanda for their suggestions and editing. If there are mistakes, it's because I made some changes after they looked at the text!