When he finally presses his knees into my sides and rises up, sensations sizzle through me, igniting every nerve-ending with remembered pleasure. I grab onto his upper arms and squeeze my eyes shut to centre myself. He lifts off me and descends slowly but smoothly, with obvious experience, and gains momentum quickly until I cannot stop my hips from rising up to meet his.
Neither of us speaks for long minutes, both breathing increasingly heavily. When I open my eyes, he has a pronounced sheen of sweat on his brow and is staring hard at me as though he has been waiting for me to see him, another total turn-on. Dropping his head down, he swipes the length of his tongue along the underside of my nose before straightening up and smirking at me. My body is not used to being the one aroused, and I can feel the orgiastic coiling of muscles and nerves inside my lower core, readying for release, something I consciously hold back. I move a hand and reach for his straining erection that glistens with pre-cum, but he pushes my hand away. If he is playing a game of who will climax first, we will be here until nightfall.
I wait a moment for his eyes to close in concentration before twisting our bodies to one side and unbalancing him. How I manage to keep inside him is pure luck, but I waste no time hammering into him brutally, taking control and giving him everything I have. My ploy works. He’s taken by surprise, his eyes widening helplessly and his legs clamping around me. Unable to stop the orgasm from ripping through him, he spills onto his chest and stomach. The clenching of his muscles undoesme also, and I let out a moan as I release my load into the condom.
When we finally stop moving, we are both slick with sweat and panting. I wonder if I have crossed a line by taking control, but when my eyes finally focus, he is smirking up at me. He asked for anything at that moment, and I would give it to him. As though hearing my thoughts, he pulls my head down and kisses me deeply.
Something inside me fractures, and I am not sure what. His tongue explores my mouth, and soon mine is wrestling with his, moving past his lips into his mouth. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I find this amusing, wondering if there is such a thing as post-play.
Before long, I can feel myself getting aroused again, but then a loud chime echoes throughout the building. Lorenzo stops instantly and pushes me away. He turns his head towards the door as though he is uncertain whether he heard the sound.
“Are you expecting somebody?” I ask. Last night’s visitors did not ring the front doorbell, so I assume this caller is either anticipated or known to them.
He jumps up naked from under me, reaches for his jeans and pulls out his phone. After pressing and tapping buttons on an app, he stops and frowns at the display before turning the screen to show me. The front video shows a lone but familiar figure standing at the front gate, staring around herself, puzzled.
Alice.
Chapter Eleven
Alice
On our way downstairs, I confide in Lorenzo about Alice and reassure him that I don’t believe her to be a threat. But I tell him that I won’t discuss anything contentious with her. I descend the steps to the front gate alone while Lorenzo stays at the doorway to activate the barrier mechanism.
When the iron gate finally opens, Alice stands in her usual designer splendour, in a deep burgundy dress and a small Delvaux handbag clutched to the side of her faux-camel skin coat. With the Tuscan country lane as a backdrop, she looks like a star from the subtitled Italian film Albert made me sit through, directed by Federico Fellini, where the actress dances in a fountain. Alice poses with one hand on her hip, holding back one side of the coat and flaunting her stunning figure, while gazing at me with disbelief.
“So youarealive?” Her words carry a familiar chastisement.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, curious at the remark.
“I was worried sick you might be sleeping rough. At first, you weren’t answering any of my calls or text messages. Then your number was disconnected.”
I know Alice well enough to know when she is holding something back.
“My phone died on me,” I answer, not untruthfully. “Then I lost the damn thing before I had a chance to back anything up. But I picked up a local pay-as-you-go replacement.”
“And you didn’t think to call me?”
“You know I don’t keep a diary. My phone is my memory where phone numbers are concerned.”
“Fair point. Anyway, I’m here. And it’s good to see you looking well. This is the place, right?” she says, accepting my response as her gaze appraises the villa. “The one Albert left you in his will?”
“Eagle House.”
“But Edward’s solicitor told him—”
“Everybody assumed the place was in ruins,” I say. “Including me. Until I got here. Why are you here, Alice?”
“Nobody knew where you were, Gabriel. Not your work colleagues, nor any of your friends. Or if they did, they were keeping tight-lipped. I told Edward somebody ought to find out. Grief can be a horrible thing to deal with alone. But you know what he’s like and how busy he gets. And I’d run out of options. Coleman inadvertently helped me in the end. When I told him I was worried about you, he said if he were in your shoes, he’d head for the farthest place on the planet. Fiji or Chile. Somewhere the Callico poison had yet to infect. Then I remembered Edward mentioning the wasteland Albert left you in Monticiano. Anyway, I got the address from Hammond-Clyde and told Edward I had a work trip to Italy—which is true—and that I planned to pop along and check on you. He told me to let sleeping dogs lie, but I came anyway. Do I get a hug, or what?”
I relax and step forward to embrace her, inhaling her trademark floral perfume. Despite her poor timing, I’m pleased to see her, a familiar and friendly face from a less hospitable past.
“Alice, welcome to—” I begin.
“Wonderland?” says Alice, as I step back, and we both laugh.
“You’d better come in. Don’t you have luggage with you?”
I lead her up the steps to the open front door, which now stands empty. Behind me, Alice keeps talking.