Rosa

Chapter 41

The jet was fast approaching their destination. Its flight path gradually dropped from higher altitudes to lower ones. Rosa peered out of the window during the descent. Wispy white clouds gave way to the sight of a vibrant coastal city. The Mediterranean Sea hugged the shores in a glimmering stretch of crystalline blue. The city itself, Reggio Calabria, was nestled by the foothills of the Aspromonte Mountains. Buildings with terracotta roofing and stuccoed walls colored in vintage creams, salmon-hued peaches, mustard yellows, and saffron golds were clustered along the rocky terrain.

"Your home," Rosa admired out loud, "c'est beau."

It is beautiful.

He gazed at her and smiled softly. "I agree. Molto bella."

She looked his way. Dark eyes pierced amber ones. The unwavering manner Cristiano was staring at her made it feel as though he wasn't talking about the beauty of the city, sea, or mountains at all. Rosa blushed and lowered her lashes. A whore like her should've felt ridiculous for reacting like a goddamn schoolgirl to this man. But she wasn't embarrassed by her feelings for Cristiano. A newfound sense of ease had risen between them after they shared their tragedies with each other. Rosa felt as though she understood him, at least, well enough to lower her guard and bask in the sweet sensations he kept stirring in her heart.

Cristiano asked, "Is this your first time in Italia, Rosa?"

Rosa blinked and tried to recall the last time she passed through Italy. No recollections came to mind. Throughout her years of being trafficked across Europe and, later, in her extensive travels for, hum, work, she had yet to set foot in Italy, surprisingly enough.

"Oui," Rosa replied, tilting her face back toward him, "I am something of a vierge when it comes to your motherland."

He murmured, teasing, "A virgin, you say? You will give Italia your innocence, then?"

"Only if you promise to be gentle," she teased back in chiding tones.

"I cannot promise anything," Cristiano refuted with a slight smirk, drawing Rosa from her seat onto his lap until her softer, curvier body rested flush against his solid muscled frame, "you have a way of turning saints into sinners, and I have never been a good man."

She slid her palms over his shoulders. "Maybe you are right, mon beau. Or maybe I have a way of turning big bad wolves into lambs."

Looking a little miffed, he pulled back from her and protested, "I am no lamb."

"Non?"

"No."

Grinning, she leaned over to kiss him. "And here I thought you had already agreed to be my little bitch?"

Frowning, he feigned forgetfulness. "Did I?"

One of her hands slipped down to fondle his cock over his trousers. "Dieu, I cannot wait to be the one in charge of our petit jeu."

Little game.

His breath gave a hitch as he hardened in her grasp. "Only when you and I are alone, anima gemelli."

"Of course," she said a wicked curve on her mouth.

Cristiano narrowed his eyes and reached under Rosa's skirt to give her inner thigh a light warning squeeze. "In front of everyone else, you will behave and play nice, no?"

"I will be a fucking saint," Rosa promised with a wink, "as long as you behave and play nice with me, mon petit agneau."

My little lamb.