Page 84 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Stella released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Her grip eased and she ran her palms over his shoulders, down his biceps and back up.

It was the most incredible experience of her life. She struggled for words to tell him but they were beyond her.

Yet already, what she felt was altering. She didn’t think either of them had moved but now there were other sensations, delight stirring. As if sensing the change, Gio shifted back, almost drawing a cry of protest from her, until he returned, the slide of their bodies eliciting a sensual shiver.

Stella moved to meet him, exulting in the intense friction, increasing by the second. Slowly they developed a rhythm of advance and retreat and she clung tight, already feeling the tension build to breaking point.

‘I…’

But no other words emerged. It was too late, the cresting wave about to break. She lifted her hand to his face, palm on his jaw, thumb against his mouth, trying to convey something for which she had no language.

Then the tension became ripples, the ripples became shudders as the most intense pleasure engulfed her. It was joy so incandescent she felt she’d flown too close to the sun, yet she gloried in it.

Gio slid his arm around her back, pulling them together, and she felt him come alive in a whole new way. His big body convulsed and deep inside she felt the frantic pulse of his climax, reawakening her own.

They clung together, breaths burning, bodies shaking, sharing a rapture so great she lost all awareness of time or place.

Later, much later, she became aware they were lying on their sides. Her knee up over his hip, his solid thigh between hers. His arms were around her, her head cushioned by his muscles. She inhaled the scent of Gio and something musky and new. Sex. Completion. Absolute joy.

Stella’s eyes closed and she smiled, burrowing closer. She never wanted to move again.

They sat at a small restaurant’s terrace, perched over the town. It was relatively private since, despite the warm weather, the tourist season wasn’t yet in full swing. Below them a multicoloured jumble of buildings spilled down the steep hill to the sea.

Stella was transfixed by the view and Gio couldn’t drag his attention from her. His blood fizzed in his veins, just being near her.

She’d turned his world on its head. Every time he felt he understood her she surprised him again.

He was sure,almostsure she was sexually inexperienced. Her unabashed wonder yesterday, when they’d first had sex, and the tightness he’d encountered made him suspect…

No. She couldn’t have been a virgin. Just thinking it proved how much she messed with his head.

Yet Gio had trouble now believing she was a conniving spy. What was the story here?

Or was sex overshadowing logic?

As if sensing his regard, Stella sent him a sideways glance. Her cheeks pinkened. Or was that a remnant of the blush she’d worn when they arrived? She looked down and he saw she’d picked up her paper napkin, folding it with restless fingers.

He’d driven them here because she wanted to see the area. But instead of getting out of the car immediately, he’d switched off the engine and reached for her.

She was a drug in his blood, drawing him back again and again. He’d wanted her from the first. But her eagerness for him escalated want into something he could barely contain. When they’d emerged from the car her glossy hair had been messy from his needy grasp and her skirt crumpled.

They’d made out like teenagers in a public street, desire rising so urgently, he’d considered booking into a nearby hotel, though the villa was only fifteen minutes away.

How did she do that to him?

A waiter came with coffees and Stella thanked him, commenting on the view. The young guy couldn’t take his eyes off her and soon they were chatting away. Until Gio shifted. The waiter caught his look and hurried away.

‘You said you didn’t speak Italian well,’ Gio said in that language, ‘but you’re fluent. You had no trouble understanding the local accent just now.’

Stella blinked as if only just realising she’d spoken Italian. But instead of looking guilty, as if found out in a deliberate lie, her expression was uncertain. She gave a one-shouldered shrug.

‘Why did you tell me that, Stella, when it wasn’t true?’

Her brow knitted. ‘It’s no big deal. It was just nice speaking English with you. I realised in Rome that I’d missed it—I hadn’t realised how much.’ She reached for her coffee cup, twisting it on its saucer. ‘Anyway, not everyone would agree that I’m fluent. My family tells me my accent is too strong. My brother Rocco rolls his eyes at my pronunciation.’

Gio found that odd. Her Italian was beautiful, a little accented but charmingly so. He liked listening to her.

‘That’s very harsh.’