Salvatore Dalla

I was surprised; Amapola cooked incredibly well. I had eaten this dish before and enjoyed it, but hers was sensational, and I couldn’t explain why.
We were full, but she still insisted on bringing the cannolis. She really loved the dessert. Amapola was a bit more relaxed, having had two glasses of wine during dinner, so when she entered my room, she didn’t wait for my instructions and went straight to the terrace, lying down on one of the chaises.
I walk over to her and hand her one of the glasses. She sits up, looking at me, suddenly more anxious.
"Speak, Amapola," I say when I notice her silence.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, I told you to speak, belsa."
"Where is my father? What have you done with him?" she asks, and the anxiety for the information becomes obvious.
"What do you think I did?" I sit next to her.
"Did you hurt him? Is he still your prisoner?" Tears suddenly fill her eyes.
"Is that what you think I did?" I ask, and she shrugs.
"I don’t know, Salvatore, but I hope he’s okay," she says, crying.
"He is, Amapola, don’t worry."
"Where is he?"
"At his house," I inform her.
"At our house?" she asks, surprised.
"No, Amapola, at his house. Your home is now mine." I make my point clear, and she nods. I can see she wants to say something but holds back. I wonder how long she’ll stay quiet because Amapola definitely isn’t the type to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself.
"Is he okay?"
"I assure you, he’s been living much better than before. I made sure he lacked nothing. In fact, I never let anything be missing for those who serve me."
"Has he been serving you?" she asks, surprised.
"You ask too many questions, Amapola."
"But he’s my father," she justifies her curiosity.
"Such a difficult woman." I run my hands through my hair, a bit irritated. I’m not used to explaining myself to anyone about what I do.
Without warning, Amapola sits on my lap, straddling my waist. She surprises me even more when she kisses me on the lips. The taste of wine mixed with the dessert she just ate is like an aphrodisiac for me, so I respond by devouring her with my lips.
Amapola grinds against my lap, making my member hard instantly. I’m surprised by her boldness; after all, she had no experience until the night before.
But like the nymph from the story she told me earlier, she seduces me, and suddenly, I find myself giving in, removing the clothes that separate our bodies.
With my hardened member between her legs, I hear her voice again, bewitching me.
"Tell me, Salvatore, tell me what my father has been doing." She grinds, throwing her head back, giving me access to that little piece of heaven.
"Are you trying to manipulate me, mia bella?" I ask, sucking her neck hard. Even though I’m a bit angry at what she’s doing, I can’t pull away.
"No, mio angelo, I’m just worried about him," she moans loudly when I take one of her breasts into my mouth.
"Non preoccuparti, mia bella, I made sure he’s okay," I say, intensifying the sucking on her breasts.
"He must be worried about me," she whimpers.
"When we return, I’ll let you go see him," I say, pulling her hips away from my throbbing member to put on a condom.
"Do you promise, Salvatore?" she asks, looking into my eyes, searching for the truth in my words.
"Yes, Amapola, I promise," I say, placing the tip of my cock at her entrance and making her slide slowly onto it.
"Grazie, mio angelo," she says, but just like me, she gets lost in the sensations when I intensify the thrusts inside her.
Amapola makes me do things I never imagined. I don’t explain my decisions to anyone, not even my brothers, but I did for her, even though I knew it was just to reassure her. This was definitely not a habit I intended to keep.
Caught up in the moment and a bit angry at what she’s making me do, I’m neither gentle nor delicate. I fuck Amapola in every way I can, but each time I move her into a new position, she follows, moaning louder each time, showing as much pleasure as I feel.
After coming twice in a row, we lay on the chaise. Amapola snuggles up next to me, resting on my arm with her eyes fixed on the starry sky.

"Amapola?" I call her attention.
"Yes."
"Don’t think I don’t know what you did, and don’t get used to thinking you’ll get whatever you want from me just because you grind on my lap."
"Perdoname," she says, averting her gaze to mine. "That wasn’t my intention, I’m just worried about him," she explains. "I wanted to push away the anguish I was feeling so I could give myself fully to you." I’m surprised by her sudden words, but I can see the truth in her eyes.
"Va bene, Amapola, you don’t have to make that face." I trace my finger over the wrinkle that formed between her eyebrows. "I just want to make it clear that you shouldn’t get used to it." She nods and looks back up at the sky, and I mirror her.
"I like the night," she says, and I agree, caressing her back.
"I do too, mia bella. Sometimes I feel like it’s an extension of me, reflecting the darkness I carry inside."
"Salvatore," Amapola calls me, and I shift my gaze to hers.
"Yes?"
"Even the darkness is necessary for us to see the stars, and that’s why I like the night... and you, too."
Words escape me, and I can’t respond to her sincere statement. I watch as her eyelids grow heavy, and Amapola falls asleep. I, too, surrender to sleep, the night, and my own darkness.