Page 51 of The Slug Crystal
"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," he confesses, setting me down gently on the widest lounger. "Standing in that customs line, clutching a blue snail and looking so beautifully determined."
The admission sends heat spreading through me. Marco has always seemed the most detached of the group, his interest in our quest more scholarly than emotional. To know he's been watching me, wanting me, since the beginning feels like a monumental confession for him to share.
He lowers himself beside me, his movements deliberate as he traces the curve of my cheek with gentle fingers. "May I?" he asks, hand hovering at the top button of my blouse.
I nod, suddenly breathless. "Please."
Marco undoes each button with the same careful precision he uses when handling anything scholarly, his eyes following his fingers' progress as if cataloging every newly revealed inch of skin. When he pushes the fabric aside, his intake of breath is audible in the quiet night.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, tracing the lace edge of my bra. "Like a Renaissance painting come to life."
His words, delivered in that scholarly tone now laced with desire, are more arousing than I could have imagined.
My fingers tangle in his dark curls, pulling him down to me for another kiss.
This one is deeper, hungrier, his tongue exploring my mouth with the same methodical attention he's given my body.
I tug at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He helps, pulling it over his head to reveal a chest more defined than his button-downs had suggested.
He has lean muscles covered with a light dusting of dark hair that narrows to a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath his belt.
"You've been hiding this under tweed and linen," I tease, running my hands over his chest.
"Field research requires physical fitness," he responds, his smile almost shy. "Though I admit, this is the first time in a while that my exercise regimen has been properly appreciated."
My bra follows his shirt, tossed aside onto the stone floor of the pavilion.
Marco's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me half-undressed in the moonlight.
His hand cups my breast, thumb circling the nipple with exquisite precision until it hardens beneath his touch.
When he lowers his mouth to replace his thumb, I arch off the lounger, a soft moan escaping me.
"Sensitive," he observes, his breath hot against my skin. "Fascinating."
His scientific commentary should be comical, but somehow it only heightens my arousal. This is Marco, after all, with his analytical mind and careful observations. Even in passion, he remains true to himself.
My hands find his belt, fumbling slightly in my eagerness. He helps, removing the rest of our clothing with efficient movements until we're both naked beneath the star-scattered sky. The night air is cool against my heated skin, raising goosebumps that Marco traces with gentle fingers.
"Cold?" he asks, concern momentarily replacing desire.
"Not even a little," I assure him, pulling him down until his body covers mine.
The weight of him feels perfect, his skin burning against mine.
His erection presses against my thigh, thick, hard, and pulsing.
I reach between us to stroke him, delighting in his sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around his length.
"Emma," he groans, the sound of my name in his mouth sounding like a prayer.
His hand slides between my legs, finding me already wet for him.
His fingers explore with deliberate strokes, mapping my body's responses with the same care he'd give to charting gastropod territory.
When he finds the spot that makes me gasp, he focuses there, his rhythm steady and unrelenting until my hips buck against his hand.
"Not yet," he whispers, withdrawing his fingers. "I want to feel you."
He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. His eyes find mine in the darkness, seeking final confirmation. I nod, beyond words now, and he pushes forward slowly, filling me inch by careful inch.
"Oh god," I breathe as he seats himself fully inside me.
Marco remains still for a moment, his forehead pressed against my cheek, his breathing ragged. "You feel incredible," he says, his voice strained with the effort of control. "Like nothing I've ever experienced."
When he begins to move, it's with the same measured precision that characterizes everything he does.
Long, deep strokes that withdraw almost completely before filling me again, each one slightly different as if he's conducting an experiment to determine exactly what brings me the most pleasure.
My legs wrap around his waist, changing the angle and drawing him deeper.
"There," I gasp when he hits a spot that sends sparks shooting through my nervous system. "Right there."
Marco, a quick study, repeats the motion exactly, maintaining the perfect angle with scientific accuracy.
His hand slips between us, finding my clit and circling it in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation is overwhelming, building pressure at the base of my spine that threatens to explode outward.
"I want to see you," he murmurs against my neck, his voice rougher than I've ever heard it. "Want to observe every microexpression when you come all over me as I slide inside you."
His words push me to the edge, the deliberate crudeness from his usually proper mouth unexpectedly erotic. I clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the pressure builds beyond bearing.
"Marco," I cry out as the dam breaks, pleasure washing through me in pulsing waves.
He watches my face with reverent attention, his rhythm faltering only slightly as my body tightens around him.
When I come back to myself, he's still moving inside me, his pace more urgent now, but never losing that fundamental control.
I reach up to touch his face, to trace the tense line of his jaw.
"Let go," I whisper. "I want to see you too."
Something breaks in his expression, the last wall of scholarly detachment crumbling as he thrusts once, then twice more before burying himself deep inside me with a groan that sounds like surrender. I feel him pulsing within me, his body shuddering against mine as his climax overtakes him.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, careful even in his undoing not to crush me beneath his weight.
One arm wraps around my waist, drawing me against him as our breathing gradually slows.
The night air cools our overheated skin, raising goosebumps along my arms that Marco soothes away with gentle strokes of his palm.
"That was..." he begins, then shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I find myself without adequate vocabulary to describe the experience. A rarity, I assure you."
I laugh softly, nestling closer into his embrace. "I've rendered the professor speechless. I should mark this day on my calendar."
His fingers trace idle patterns on my bare shoulder, scientific precision giving way to dreamy abstraction.
The intellectual connection between us remains, but it's transformed now, deepened into something more complex and intimate than either of us could have predicted when we stepped into the garden.
"We should return to the villa," Marco says eventually, though he makes no move to disentangle himself from me. "Tomorrow's journey awaits."
"In a minute," I reply, unwilling to break this perfect moment. "Some data points deserve extended observation."
His smile in the darkness is worth every shiver that racks through my body .
Thursday, 7:24AM. Morning arrives much too quickly. The sounds of activity already buzzing through the hallways registers in my brain before I’m fully conscious. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented until my bedroom comes into clearer focus. I’m in Italy and today we head to Milan.
By the time I make it downstairs, luggage in tow, everyone is gathered in the kitchen, maps spread across the island, and coffee cups littering every surface. Alex's terrarium is sitting off to the side, carefully secured in a special carrier Jake designed through a few strategic purchases.
"She lives!" Ben announces, sliding a mug of coffee in my direction. "We were about to send a search party to make sure you hadn't been carried off by Italian garden sprites."
My eyes dart to Marco, who stands by the window, his expression giving nothing away except for the slight softening around his eyes when our gazes meet. He offers a small nod, professional and discreet, though his fingers tap a restless rhythm against his coffee cup.
"Sorry," I mumble, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Rough night. Didn't sleep much."
"Thinking about Milan?" Jake asks, his concern genuine as he checks Alex's terrarium, making sure the snail has fresh water for the journey.
"Something like that," I reply, hiding my blush behind my coffee mug.
Luca clears his throat, commanding attention with the ease of someone accustomed to being listened to. "I've been thinking about our transportation options," he announces, leaning against the counter with calculated casualness. "And I have a proposition."
"If it involves another rental car and you driving, I'm out," Ben interjects, earning himself a glare from Luca.
"My plane," Luca continues, ignoring the interruption. "It's still at the airstrip. I can fly us directly to Milan, cutting our travel time significantly."
The offer hangs in the air, unexpected and enticing.
"Your plane?" I repeat, remembering our trip to Italy. Disbelief floods me as I realize we probably could have been flying around in Luca’s plane instead of driving all over Italy.
Jake frowns, ever the practical one. "But it's in Venice. We'd need to get there first."