I try on about thirteen dresses before Gianfranco arrives to pick me up. I meet him outside, and he waits for me at the passenger side door, holding it open.

“Ciao, bella, you look fantastic,” he says as I pass and catch a waft of his scent.

I look at him from inside the car. “Ciao. So do you.”

I wasn’t sure what to wear, but it looks as if we’ll be a knockout together. He’s in a navy suit, and my DVF dress is almost the same color, with a striking white floral pattern.

He takes me to the Ristorante Grotto Palazzese. It is an open-air enclave, or cave, right next to the sea.

“This is my favorite place,” I say.

After he parks, he presses his lips close to my ear. “I know. I heard what you said.”

The warmth of his breath chills my neck.

He gets out of the car and walks around to my door and opens it for me. He takes my hand and helps me out.

“Thank you,” I croon.

He bends his arm for me to walk by his side. I cradle my arm in his, and we enter the restaurant. A wooden floor goes from one edge of the cave to the other, like the deck of a boat. There is still plenty of daylight left, so the stone walls are lit by dancing aqua reflections from the water below. Our host shows us to our seats. We’re located at the edge, where just several feet below, the waves come crashing into the cliff.

“How about some wine?” Gianfranco says.

“That sounds fine,” I say, taking in the view and taking a break from enjoying his sparkling eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“I can never tell until I see what’s in the kitchen.” I open my menu.

This restaurant only ever has two options for dinner. One is a six-course meal; the other is a four. The dishes change every week, and this week, they include varieties of shrimp, fish, pasta, and a mango-chocolate parfait.

“So how hungry are you now?” he asks.

“I’ll be having the sex.” I gasp, putting my hand over my mouth.

He looks at me, his face contorted. “The what?”

“The six. I’ll be having the six-course meal.” I set my menu down and take a large drink of wine. Jeez. What the heck was I thinking?

Gianfranco winks. “Me too.”

Our eyes remain connected until the waiter returns.

“Have you two decided?” our server says.

“We have,” Gianfranco says.

He places our orders and the waiter leaves. Afterward, we talk about my hiatus, which starts on Monday.

“I’ll have four months off, so I might as well go home and visit family,” I say.

Gianfranco jerks back. “No way… you said you like to travel, no?”

“Yes.” I tell him what happened when I arrived in Italy, my adventures with Elsa, and that I’d love to do it again, but she’ll be busy.

“Then we shall travel together.”

I beam. “That will be nice.”

A flash of light splashes in our eyes, and we look for the source. An on-looker is taking our photograph. Gianfranco jumps out of his chair and snags the camera from the man’s hand.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

The guy tries to explain.

“You are from that pesky paper, the Enquirer. Si, si?” Gianfranco holds the camera over the edge of the railing, threatening to drop it over the cliff. “Now you leave. I will leave this with the host for you to pick up later. Go on, get.” He shoos the man away with his other hand. After the man leaves, Gianfranco sits back down. “I hate it when they bother me. If you let them, they just come more. If you weren’t here, I’d have thrown his camera into the water.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He cocks his head, looking surprised. “Really?”

I nod. “Really.”

He flips it over the rail into the sea, and I laugh. He laughs too, then leans forward as though he has something to whisper to me. I lean forward so that I can hear what he has to say.

Instead, he kisses me on my lips.

My body electrifies, and I whisper, “What was that for?”

“You are now an accomplice to my crime. If we are to go to jail, I want a kiss.”

I chuckle. “Then we’d better have another.”

This time, our kiss is serious.

A throat clears on my left. “Your food.”

I find myself blushing, embarrassed.

We sit back and let the onslaught begin. One delicious course comes after another until the final course arrives.

“This one, we shall share.” Gianfranco sets the dish in the middle of the table and digs his fork through the thick parfait coated in cocoa crumble and caramel sauce. He tips the bite into my mouth.

My eyes roll back in my head. “Divine.”

He feeds me, them himself, then me again. Each time, I can almost feel the heat from his hand and his electricity touches the inside of my mouth through the tines of the fork. I swallow each bite, staring deeply into his eyes.

When we are finished, he looks off into the darkening sky. “The night is still young. Will you make it longer for me?”

I feel a fluttering in my belly. “I thought you would never ask. What would you like to do?”

He stands, outstretching his arm. “Come back to my place with me.”

I remove the napkin from my lap and take his hand.

With the host, Gianfranco leaves a large tip and specific instructions to give the cameraman enough to replace his camera.

The host thanks him and tells him it was an honor to serve us. Apparently he is an admirer.

On the way back to Gianfranco’s house, we discuss the many places we might like to visit together. I ask him about his art, hoping that he’ll show me Fixation when we are at his place. I want to know more about him and see how far he’s come.

We pull into the drive. I can’t believe that several weeks ago, our relationship started here. He opens my door as a cool breeze comes up the hillside from the ocean.

Again, he offers his hand. “My lady.”

I take it, feeling overcome by his chivalry. “Will your butler be getting the door?”

He laughs, takes out a key, and opens it. “He’s not here over the evenings.”

He opens his palm for me to pass. The castle is warm inside. We walk through the hallways and into the room where we did the interview. He pours me a glass of wine. After a few drinks and some trifling conversation, his hand rubs the back of his neck

“Are you all right?” I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable, tired, or nervous.

He removes his hand from his neck. “Oh, quite.”

I stand and approach him. “Then what is it?” I run my fingers through his silky smooth hair.

He stands, our bodies only inches apart. “It’s…”

I can taste his breath, and I’m sure he can taste mine.

“I’m ravished by your beauty.”

I smile, my mouth falling open a little. “And I am yours.” I feel the currents in my body when our breaths merge.

His hand strokes the nape of my neck. His tongue rims my lips, delicately but not without intensity. My knees want to buckle, but my racing heart keeps me upright. Every part of me anticipates what comes next.

He takes me more firmly with a deep kiss, and my limbs grow weak, settling into his hands. I gasp when he sweeps me off my feet to cradle me, and he carries me out of the chamber.

“And where are you taking me now?” I ask.

“I want you to try something with me. Something I’ve never done before.”

“Will it hurt?” I almost want that, as long as it hurts so good.

His mouth turns down at the corners. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

My body lies limp in his arms, waiting for whatever comes next. The large doors to the room I first saw him in swing open with a thrust from his leg. He lays me on the silk rug covering the stone floor, then he makes his way around the room, lighting candles. When he’s finished, he kneels at my feet and opens my legs—my body tenses with anticipation.

His hand brushes against my bare thigh, and he stares at my center. I feel the tips of his fingers edge toward my warmth, then across it, gracing my already throbbing clit.

My back arches toward the ceiling twenty feet above, and my eyes fall to his masterpiece on my left. When I turn back, his face is slowly moving toward my pussy. My panties slide from my bottom as if they were taken by the wind, and he begins making love to me with his mouth as I’ve never experienced it before.

My palm rests against his forehead, pushing and pulling. It doesn’t know what to do. The way his tongue sweeps my clit. It’s a concentrated effort. He stays in one place—stroking and stroking. This is too much for me, and at the same time, I want more—each brush sends building sensations through my body. I moan. I want to explode with orgasm.

His finger enters me, my door already wet and open. It rubs my spot, and my body quivers. I lift my head. I want to see his eyes.

I moan, and my head falls back. My feet slip as my body backs away uncontrollably, only he doesn’t let it. His finger keeps pressing, tantalizing my inner nerves. What’s never felt obtainable before builds like fire inside me. All the while, his tongue feasts on my throbbing hard knot.

“Ahhh!” I come. “Ahhhh!” I come again. My hand moves to the back of his head and pulls him in. “Ahhhhhh!” My body shakes against the floor. That one was bigger than them all.

I can barely breathe before I feel his finger slide out of me and up my stomach toward my chest. He opens my wrap dress while basking in my scent, gently licking his lips. I’m raw with emotion and electrified by his touch. Every time he nears my center, I quiver.

“Do you feel that?” he asks as if there’s no end in sight.

Our eyes finally connect. His fingertip swells my nipple with hardly a touch.

I nod slowly, trying not to shift from his touch.

“I do too.” His tongue crawls from my clit up my body to my neck, where he sucks me as though I’m nature’s nectar. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

I am amazed. “Neither have I.” And he hasn’t even entered me yet.

My chin raises, and I swallow. I feel him against me, pressing against his pants. I slide my hand down to his waist, unbutton him, and wrap my hands around him. My eyes expand when I realize his size. I unzip him so that my hands may wrap around his waist and help his pants fall before I guide him in. I open myself, letting the weight of his body push his shaft deep within me.

I gasp and tense, torn by desiring his slow, all-encompassing thrusts and fearing I’ll tear. Yet each movement, sensual and deep, touches me. I choose not to despair at his size, and my body swoons from a maze of new sensations. I take one last deep breath and let go. My eyes roll back. He falls deeper within me, each indulgent thrust catching my nerves—all of them.

I clench his penis, feeling my build, and along with me, I feel his. He thrusts steadily, methodically increasing in pace, yet I still feel his long strokes against my opening. I’ve never… my insides clamp him like an angry fist, followed by my guttural moan. He keeps going. I lay helplessly on my back, and before long find another orgasm, and another, before I feel our souls finally return to the room.

I look down. His seed is all over me. Our sweaty bodies cool against the floor as we breathe in unison. The entire room smells of sex, I’m sure.

He rolls beside me, covering me with his thigh, and kisses my lips gently.

“That was some idea you had,” I say.

He smiles. “We never made it there.”

“Where?”

“To my idea.”

“Oh my gosh.” I tremble with fear, unsure if I can sustain another round. “Is it some other chamber where you have whips and straps dedicated to torture?”

He laughs. “Is that your wish?"

I shrug, feeling like anything would be safe with him. He stands, his shaft dangling above me, and gets a large piece of canvas from the corner of the room. He lays it next to me on the floor.

“Was this your idea?”

He nods.

“Are you going to paint me, Gianfranco?”

“I am.”

My body reels from another new sensation. “I’ve never had anybody paint me before… well, I mean… I’ve never done this before.”

He looks at me while spreading the canvas across the floor. “Neither have I.” He takes a pallet and readies it with paints.

I lay still, staring at him in awe. His sweat has largely dried, and he’s so perfectly shaped. “If anything, I should be drawing you.”

He smiles. “We might just have to try that.” He kneels by my side.

I shift nervously, making him some space.

“Just stay as you are.” He puts out his hand, motioning me to stay.

I lie still, remaining unsure. His brush dabs the pallet, and he looks at me. I gather he’s planning on where he would like to start before marking his canvas.

I try as hard as I can to hold my position, awaiting his first stroke. He remains studying me, the canvas on his other side.

He leans forward, brush in hand. My gaze follows the tip of his brush straight to where it makes contact above my nipple.

I take a short breath through my mouth. “It’s cold.”

“I could warm it for you,” he says while drawing a long stroke across my left breast.

I feel my eyes sparkle. “I’ll be okay.”

He refreshes his brush and makes a stripe across my other side.

I can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I am quite sure.” He breaks his concentration from his fresh marks. “No one has inspired me like you before.”

I melt, and he returns to his work. I watch. Every part of him remains undistracted, intent, focused on me. My body feels warm and fulfilled, as it did when he was touching me, on top of me, feeling me, holding me, licking me, fingering me, fucking me.

I let my legs fall open. “Do you have a pillow?”

He leans forward with a kiss. “But of course, and how about a bottle of wine?”

After he fetches a pillow for me, and some wine, I let him work. It satisfies me to watch him create with me and on me. Watching him be enthralled by what he is doing to me because he says it’s me satisfies me.

His candles burn. Our glasses empty, and he works on, gently pressing my body against the canvas as every motion is art itself.

“If you are finished, at any time, you must tell me,” he says, assuring my comfort.

Does he even now how full I am? It’s like standing in the sun’s warm rays after the cold clouds break. I’ll let him continue as long as he pleases while I admire his perfectly sculpted physique.