Rushed(84)

He stopped, then swallowed his words and looked out the window. "Apologies."

He stayed next to me while I looked out the window, trying to find words to say, to explain why, and failing. We took the elevator down in silence, and back on the ground, he kept a respectful but watchful distance from me.

"Tomasso," I said, stepping closer so that I didn't have to yell, “Say something.”

He blinked and shook his head. "Not much to say. I thought you were interested—you weren't. My mistake. I’ll stick to my job . . . what I should’ve been doing anyway.”

I shook my head, frustrated. "It's not that. Of course I’m flattered by your attention. But . . . can we just talk in private? I feel like I’m in a stupid movie, standing here talking with you about this while tourists walk by!"

He looked around and pointed. "The fountain. About as private as it’s going to get around here, and at least we can sit."

We walked the distance to the fountain, and I spent the entire time trying to put what I wanted to say into English. It was difficult—there’s a difference between talking business and talking emotion in a foreign language. We found a bench near the fountain, and I sat down, Tomasso next to me. "Tomasso, I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . you said it yourself—you need your family. And as crazy as mine is, as f*cked up as Porto Alegre is, that's where my family is. You know that we can't—my father wants an alliance with your family, but you aren't Brazilian. He’s proud of the heritage we have, and, well . . .”

"Norte Americanos need not apply?" he asked with a harsh chuckle. "I've heard something like that before. Different word, same sentiment. I know what you mean. Another time, another place sort of thing. Just . . . never mind. Come on. We should get back before my father wonders what's going on."

The ride back was quiet, and after making sure I was comfortable in my room, Tomasso left. I could hear heavy hip-hop music start a few minutes later from down the hall in the gym, and I listened for a bit as he worked off his frustration.

What I didn't tell him was that part of the reason I pushed him away was because of my own personal history. My time at Brown hadn't been unpleasant for the most part. Sure, the weather hadn't been like Brazil, but my first winter had been memorable and quite picturesque. I'd even gone skiing, even though I was terrible at it.

That all changed during my sophomore year when I met Travis, who'd shattered my trust in love and in Americans in general. Heartbroken, I told my father, which just catalyzed his distrust even more. For me, since then, I'd never let myself get serious with anyone. And certainly not with an American. Men were for rubbing an itch that needed rubbed, and nothing more. I didn't need them for anything else.

But Tomasso was handsome and driven in a way that I hadn't seen in a man my age before. He'd also been through his time of indecision, and while he was hiding something from me, it wasn't something I thought was anything more than what we all hide from people we don't know that well.

I flopped down on my bed, frustrated. The way he smirked, like he was God's gift to women, the way his strong hand felt in mine when he reached out, and the twinkle in his eye when he looked at me, I could feel his desire as he pulled me closer . . .

I didn't realize that I was stroking my stomach with my fingers until the warmth had already spread up to my breasts and down between my legs. It’d been a long time, and I smiled as I let my fantasy play out in my head. After all, there was nothing wrong with a little fantasy, and my body needed some sort of way to release the stress that I felt within me.

My right hand came up, cupping my breast and kneading the soft flesh through my bra, which was beginning to chafe in a maddeningly pleasant way. The satin was rubbing against my nipples, while at the same time, I wanted more than the pleasure a mere fabric could provide.

Sitting up, I shrugged off my blouse and slid my skirt down my legs, leaving me in just my bra and panties, the cool air conditioning causing goosebumps to break out over my skin. Stroking the tops of my breasts and thighs with my fingers, I smiled, lying back again.

Bringing my right hand closer to the smooth fabric of my panties, I shivered as my fingers rubbed in small circles, finding the edges of my mound and sending little ripples of warm tension up and down my legs. Oh, it had been so long. With getting ready for my trip to America and being caught up in my work, even playing with a man had become too much time, and today with Tomasso was really my first chance to have some down time in weeks. Teasing the outer edges of my lips, I sighed softly, seeing Tomasso in my mind's eye. His muscles rippled as his fingers rubbed, and the smirk on his face was both cocky and tender at the same time. His lips were sensuous and powerful as he brought them to my breast, licking and sucking at my nipple until I was moaning, my eyes fluttering closed. "Mmm . . . so delicious."

"Please . . .” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "Don't hurt me."

"Never," he promised, his fingers slipping inside my panties to rest on the hot flesh of my *. His finger slipped between my lips, stroking up and down, gathering my moisture before rubbing, feather light, over my clit.

My hips surged, and I couldn't believe how amazing it felt. I wanted more, and I reached for him but couldn’t quite reach him.

I looked into his beautiful hazel eyes and gave my trust to this man, whose fingers and lips feasted on my flesh, stroking and touching until I was nearly sobbing in pleasure. I was begging, needing him to push me over the edge, and he took his lips from my nipple to look me in the eye. "This is mine."