Paolo and Francesca…

a novel about beautiful people in Italy.

Tag: jumpsuit

“the opera doesn’t last all night.”

The bell at her door rang shrilly; though she was expecting him Francesca was startled, and she dropped the lipstick she was applying.  Paolo rang the bell again.

“I’m coming!” she called out.

She opened the door.

“Come on!” he said, grabbing her shoulders to kiss her.  “I don’t want to be late.”

“Just a minute,” she said, turning back into the apartment.  She took her small satin Bottega Veneta minaudiere and a champagne-colored mink stole that had been her grandmother’s.  He closed the door behind her.

“You look incredible,” he said as they waited for the elevator.  “Is there a technical term for what you’re wearing?”

“It’s a jumpsuit,” she said, laughing.

“Ah, a jumpsuit,” he replied.  “It looks like it’s complicated to get into and out of.”

“Not horribly complicated,” Francesca said.

“Hopefully not too complicated for me to figure out,” he grinned.

“You do know we’re going to the opera,” she said as she climbed into the passenger seat of his Maserati.

He reached over the gearshift to stroke her leg.  “The opera doesn’t last all night.”  He turned the key in the ignition and they roared out of her drive.

[after this: trying to drive.]

trying to drive.

“I’m sure I caught you at a moment of weakness,” she said, walking her fingers up his thigh.  “And I intend to do it again.”  She marched on towards the fly of his tuxedo pants.

“I’m trying to drive,” he said, reaching over her arm for the gearshift.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, tracing her fingers around the bulge in his trousers.

“It is when you’re wearing a coverall.”

“Jumpsuit,” she corrected.

“Jumpsuit.  Whatever.  I won’t be able to get you out of it in this car, so yes, it’s a problem.”  He didn’t try to stop her hand, though, as she continued playing with his stiffening cock through his pants.

“I don’t think that’s a problem,” she purred.  “We’re almost home.”

“What do you think your uncle would say about you now?” he teased.

“Leave my uncle out of this,” she said sharply, retracting her hand.

“Whoa, wait.  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking–”

“That’s just wrong, Paolo.  He’s my uncle.  It’s not funny.  That’s like saying, ‘imagine your mother watching you jerk off.'”

“I didn’t mean it like that.  I’m sorry.”  He pulled into the courtyard of her building and turned to look her in the eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, more quietly.  “That was rude and out of line and now I’ve ruined the amorous mood that you had going here in the car–” and he moved closer to her face– “and I’m going to have to sleep on the couch by myself and dream about you in the next room, all warm and lithe and perfect under those sheets–” and then he kissed her, carefully at first, then probing, and reaching with his hands for her breasts.

She kissed him back, and moved her hand back to where it had been, touching him through the fine wool of his Tom Ford tuxedo.  She unzipped him and reached in to free his cock, grasping it all around and beginning to jerk him off, first slowly, then working up to a faster rhythm.  He reached in between her legs and began rubbing.

“Damn your jumpsuit,” he said raggedly.

“We’re steaming up the windows,” she observed, maintaining her steady conquest of his shaft.  She felt him tighten.

“Wait–” he said, barely able to speak.  “I don’t want to make a mess–”

She leaned over and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock.  He came almost immediately in her mouth, and stroked her hair as he leaned back in the seat.

“Oh, Cesca.”  He was still breathing heavily.  “Damn.  Oh, fuck, that was good.”

She sat up and wrapped her fur around her shoulders again.  “Let’s go inside,” she said.

He zipped up and got out of the car, and they walked across the cobblestones to the front door.  “You don’t think anyone saw that, do you?” he asked.

She looked around the courtyard and back at the car.  “Listen.”  The building was silent.  “Everyone’s asleep.  And look at those windows,” she said, pointing to the Maserati.  “You couldn’t see in them if you tried, they’re so steamy.”

Paolo grinned.  “You’re wild, you know that, don’t you?”

“You make me wild,” she whispered in his ear, leaning on his shoulder.

pants, no pants.

She awoke to the phone ringing on her nightstand.  Paolo turned over and pulled a pillow over his head and she reached for the phone.

“‘Giorno,” she said groggily.

“You’re in the Corriere today,” her mother replied excitedly.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“You’re wearing pants.  Why are you wearing pants to the opera?”

“Mama–”

“Was anyone else wearing pants?  I don’t think so.”

“Mama, it’s Valentino.”

Her mother sighed.  “Valentino isn’t what it used to be.”

“You could say I looked pretty,” Francesca replied.

“You looked pretty, considering you were wearing pants.  And I have to say, that Paolo Romaldo is very handsome.”

Francesca looked at the sleeping man beside her and smiled.  “I know,” she said.  “We saw Marco last night,” she added.

“And how was he?” Anna asked.

“Very well.  The same.  He never changes.  He asked after you.”

“I’m sure he did,” her mother replied.

Paolo stirred again.  “I’ve got to go, mama.  Thanks for calling and letting me know about that.”

She hung up the phone.  Her mother woke early; luckily, the rest of her friends would be up much later.  She should be able to sleep a bit longer.

“What was that?” Paolo mumbled.

“My mama.  There’s a picture of us in the Corriere,” she answered.

“Mmmm,” he said into the pillow.  “I bet you look hot.”

“I bet you look hot,” she said, burrowing down under the covers.

She must have dozed off, because she woke up again more than an hour later to a phone ringing again.  But this time it wasn’t hers, it was Paolo’s.  She nudged him.  “Your phone,” she whispered.

“Ugh,” he said, rolling over to grab it off the opposite night table.

“Buongiorno,” he said.  “Si…si.  No,” he laughed.  “I know.  Yeah.  Ok, I’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night.  Ciao, To.”  He set down his phone and turned to her.  “We’re in the paper in Torino, too.  That was Verrino, calling to tell me he’d seen it.”

“Verrino…?”

“Defensive back.  Tomasi Verrino.  He’s a good guy.”

“As long as it’s not some other woman calling to give you a hard time,” she said.

“No other woman,” he said, kissing her bare shoulder lightly.  “Not for me.”

She moved closer to him, letting him envelop her in his arms.  “Thanks, baby.”  She reached down between them for his penis, wrapping her fingers around it lightly.  He kissed the back of her neck as he grew thick and stiff in her hand.

“Oh, Cesca,” he said as she moved under the covers towards the foot of the bed and took his cock in her mouth, first just circling the head with her tongue, then diving deep down his shaft.