Dramatic, Mushy, Complicated Love

assured her, quickening my pace and hooking my fingertips, hitting that spot every man should know about, but many did not. Lucky for me, I knew exactly where it was. Meadow’s legs began to quiver, her arms hooked under her knees and held them further apart.
“Luca!” Meadow’s deep rumble of my name heralded what I could feel was coming. Pulling out my fingers, I replaced them with my mouth, my tongue flat against the entrance, my mouth covering the puffy lips, and lapped up the sweet, tangy cream that just kept flowing like a never-ending drought-breaking rain shower.
“Fuck yes,” I growled, gulping and swallowing down my prize, unable to stop even though Meadow was now whimpering, her legs now gripping either side of my head, trying to close and stop me.
“Nothing will ever stop me from getting your taste, baby,” I vowed but slowed my suckling. In my jeans, my dick sang out happily as he released inside the confines of my jocks. The mess was going to be a pain in the arse very soon, but I didn’t give a shit right at that moment. Seeing Meadow come, hearing her pleasure meant more than a mess in my pants. Enduring an uncomfortable wet spot a small price to pay for finding the woman I wanted to keep in my life.

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if my life depended on it. I was walking around my kitchen, gathering fixings for salad sandwiches, very aware that Luca was watching me.
“What are you looking at, Spunk?” I asked coyly, pretending to be totally unaffected by the mind-altering orgasm Luca gave me not fifteen minutes ago on my couch.
“The most beautiful woman on the planet, wearing my tee-shirt like she was born to walk around in my clothes and a smile on her face that I put there,” he answered bluntly, making me lose my step and nearly face plant into the kitchen island.
“How do you always manage to make me weep inside like a giddy girl with those sweet things you say?” I muttered, feeling my face flame not only with his bluntness but with my announcement. I found myself being too honest with Luca about how he affected me. My usual cool and calm game I played when with a man went right out the window when it came to him.
“I’m not using lines on you, baby, I mean everything I say. I told you this already,” Luca reminded me.
“Yeah, you did,” I replied softly. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him at the restaurant; it was more like I had to pinch myself that I found a man that was a doer and not a gunner. If he just wanted to get into my pants, he could have easily talked me out of my no sex plan when he had me writhing and screaming out his name. I loved oral sex. Getting it and giving it. Luca surprised and shocked me when he pressed an opened mouth kiss to my swollen and wet folds from my climax, climbed gingerly to his feet helping me off the couch without any effort from him. He then snagged his shirt off the floor, carefully put it on me, and then declared that I needed to feed him … food.
He shocked me because … well … he didn’t ask me to return the favour. Most guys performed oral on a woman, so he didn’t have to listen to her bitch and moan when it was his turn. I say this only from personal experience, not in casting a general judgement on the whole male species, kind of way. Nope because Luca blasted that urban legend out of the stratosphere.
I admit that I did feel a little guilty, smiling like the cat that got the cream when in fact, it was Luca who got all the cream, not me. His was most likely squidgy and drying in his pants about now. He mustn’t mind because he never asked for a wet flannel or ask to use the bathroom. Why did I find that hot and not gross?
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—” waving a hand in the direction of his crotch, which was hidden by the island, I watched his blue eyes darken and hood as he thought about it.
“No baby, I can wait.” His deep frustrated growl brought the butterflies back to my belly.
My god, his voice was foreplay all on its own—no touching required to be wet.
Shrugging, but not worried by his reluctance to allow me to go down on him. His time was limited for lunch and we had already used up quite a bit of it on getting me off.
“Is there anything you don’t like?” I asked as I began to make the sandwiches.
“Nope. I eat just about anything. It’s the Italian in me, not the French.”
“Good to know, because I do too.” Piling thick chunks of home-cooked corned beef onto the bread, I added generous amounts of spicy mustard sauce, sauerkraut and finished it off with two slices of swiss cheese.”
“What part of you is that?” he asked, watching my every move.
“The part that grew up poor,” I laughed, transferring the two large overstuffed sandwiches to the already heated sandwich press. Thickly buttering both sides of the bread, I sprinkled a generous amount of store-bought already grated parmesan then closed the lid.
“My parents didn’t have a lot of money in the early days of our childhood, so we learned at a young age not to be too fussy.”
“Tell me about your childhood, you have spoken about your mum and sister. What about your dad and brother?”
Luca leaned his arms on the bench and waited for me. His chest was bare, and I was having an incredibly hard time concentrating on cooking simple toasted sandwiches, and now he wanted me to talk about my family.
Geez, the pressure!
Shaking off my rising libido, I set my gaze on Luca’s handsome face instead of his cut