"So I can get it here?"
"No."
She pouts dramatically as I grab the bedside phone and press the button for the main desk. I ask that some espresso and cornettos be sent up. It only takes a few minutes before there's a knock on the door. I answer it, letting the man wheel the tray in, and wait until he's gone again before bringing it over to Karissa. I hand her an espresso and set the tray near her feet.
"Seriously? A croissant?" she says, picking one up and eyeing me as I sit down beside her. "Now this I know is from France."
"I think they originated in Austria, actually."
"Jesus, Naz, next you're going to tell me pizza isn't Italian."
"Oh, no, pizza is certainly Italian, just not pepperoni pizza. You order that on your pizza here, and you'll get peperoni, with one 'p', instead."
"What's the difference?"
"They're sweet peppers."
She scrunches up her nose. "Way to kill the fantasy."
"It's what I'm good at. One of the many things, anyway."
Before she can respond, I reach over and run my hand up her inner thigh. She squirms, taking a sip of her espresso, and moans just as my hand reaches her bare pussy. I graze her clit, lightly stroking it, as she continues to sip from her cup, throat muscles flexing as she swallows. Her moans grow louder, throaty groans of pleasure, as I rub circles a little harder, caressing her beneath the robe. I can't see what I'm doing, but I know her body better than my own.
Even blind, I could rock her world.
I set my own drink aside, moving the tray of food out of the way, and shift in the bed to settle between her legs. She doesn't move an inch as I shove her robe up, starting at her knees and trailing kisses up her thighs, my hands settling on her hips.
Bringing my mouth to her pussy, I slide my tongue along her center before licking her clit, lightly sucking on it. She cries out, the sound muffled as she still sips on that goddamn drink. She guzzles what's left of it, throwing it back like it's nothing, before flinging her hand. The small cup goes flying across the room, slamming into something before hitting the floor.
"Oh God," she groans, her hands resting on the top of my head. "That's it."
I lick and suck, nibbling on her inner thighs, pumping two fingers inside of her, curving them to hit her g-spot. She comes apart, easily, quickly, her legs shaking as she grips my hair tightly. Her back arches as an orgasm sweeps through her. I can feel her pussy contracting from the pleasure, squeezing my fingers, her body practically begging for more of me.
Before it even subsides, I'm on top of her, my knees pushing her legs apart wider as I pull my cock out of my boxers, shoving my pants down just enough to thrust inside of her. She wraps her arms around me, her cheeks flushed, her lips curved in a sly smile. I kiss her, my tongue meeting hers, and grin against her mouth.
I know she can taste herself on my lips, but she tastes like espresso.
"Was it good?" I whisper.
"Best fucking coffee ever," she mumbles.
Karissa's running around again.
Dodging from room to room, tugging on her curled hair, slathering on lotion, putting on jewelry, and changing her shoes a dozen times.
I stand out on the balcony, holding my phone, and watch her curiously. I wonder if this is how she acted in the past every time I invited her to dinner or told her I was coming over.
It amuses me.
She seems so nervous.
Like I make her nervous.
Not in the way I'm used to with people. It's the kind of nervous energy that radiates off of her and soaks straight through to me, the kind that makes my chest tight at the sight of her. She doesn't have to try to be beautiful. It comes naturally.
But she tries, anyway.
She tries because of me.
The glass door to the balcony slides open. She appears there, wringing her hands together.
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" she asks. "The dress is too much. I shouldn't have picked it."
I sent her out on her own earlier--with an escort, of course, a translator provided as a courtesy by the hotel. I told her to pick a dress for tonight, that I'd made us plans, and acted as if I couldn't care less about what she did. I cared, though, and I would've rather gone with her, but I had business to attend to.
Business forced onto me by Ray.
One of his Sicilian contacts was in Rome for the afternoon, and Ray wanted me to meet him to get some files. I don't know what it's for, nor do I care.
Not my business.
It never is.
As much as I didn't want to leave Karissa alone, I preferred it to bringing her around those guys. We can be brutal in America, but the kind over here are savages.
I tried to call Ray, to tell him it was handled, but he didn't answer.
"You look beautiful," I tell Karissa. "It's not too much."