Seven Years Since The Motel

byLettersFromTatyana©

Instead, his rebellious mind returned to Maisie. He focused his attention on her pale complexion, and her long, thick strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were set above a small, straight nose, a nose that was graced with a tiny set of small freckles in the summer months. Her freckles could only be seen in the sunlight, and only from a few inches away. He hadn't been close enough in the sunlight to see those freckles in years.

Would he be allowed close enough to see them again this week?

Her mouth had always been a bit narrow for her face, but she had soft, thick, lush lips that were a deep shade of reddish-pink, almost like a summer raspberry. Alessandro knew exactly where his mind wanted to go with that mouth, and before he could stop it an unwanted—but highly desirable—image of that small, ripe-raspberry mouth wrapped around his cock swam into his head. Definitely not images for close quarters, he thought as the glistening mouth in his vision moved up and down on his cock, swallowing him deep into her throat. He closed his eyes, wanting her here with him, wanting to feel her tongue tease his tip as he moved in and out of the moist depths of her mouth, their eyes meeting as he ran his hand through her long hair and reached completion in the heat of her mouth.

His eyes flew open and darted around the plane, desperate for something unpleasant to focus on. He was behaving like a fourteen-year old boy, and he seemed completely unable to stop himself.

As his eyes settled on the sapphire ring of a woman sitting in the center rows, Alessandro instead thought of the eyes that had been gazing up at him in his last inappropriate vision, one that he had never had the joy of experiencing.

He supposed that one could describe Maisie's eyes as blue, and for much of his childhood he had simply thought of her as having blue eyes. But that didn't do them justice; her eyes were stunning. A wide outer ring of navy surrounded an ice-flecked royal blue center, which in turn melted into a brilliant olive green core near her pupil. In all the years he had known her, he had looked deep into those eyes on only one occasion, but that one moment was all it had taken for him to be mesmerized by her beauty.

Once again, Alessandro drew himself from the memory of that night in the motel and groaned.

Shit.

What the hell was he going to do when he saw her?

Scream at her for what she had done to him the following morning? Have an awkward conversation with her, pretending that everything was just fine, that nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them? Would he touch her? Would he kiss her?

He lingered over that last question a bit, running his fingers over his lips while lost in his thoughts.

He remembered her kisses too well. Not only that first kiss when they were in middle school. No, he remembered the kisses that came later: the searching kisses of questioning, and of initial exploration; the frantic, almost manic kisses of need and lust; and those last long, slow, almost playfully luxurious kisses of... of... what?

What were those kisses, and what were they to each other now? They weren't friends—they hadn't spoken in seven years, not since the motel room—but he couldn't say they were nothing to each other, would he? After they had known each other since birth? After what had happened in that motel room?

Those final kisses had left him aching for more, for her touch, her smell, her taste. Why had those kisses not told him what would happen between them over these last seven years? Why had they not told him what she would do to him the next morning?

A couple of months ago, when he decided to go home for his sisters' college graduation party—he couldn't make the actual graduation ceremony—he had thought he would be able to avoid Maisie. Granted, their houses were only a few hundred yards away from each other, which would make avoiding her difficult, to say the least.

Still, he had managed to avoid her in high school when he had wanted to, and he was sure he could manage again. How hard could it be to avoid one woman?

Last night as he had packed for his trip it had dawned on him that it would be impossible to avoid her, no matter how hard he tried. She would be at the graduation party. After all, she was his sisters' best friend.

The thought gave him a sudden jolt of annoyance. After all, when had that happened? When had Maisie gone from being his best friend to his sisters'?

Alessandro had been born in February, and Maisie had arrived the following September. They had been best friends since the time they were old enough to recognize each other until... well, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure when their friendship had faded.

He knew it had been strong when they started grade school. He had started kindergarten when he was five, but Maisie's early September birthday made her ineligible for that school year. In response, he had sulked through kindergarten, refusing to learn how to write his name, purposely spilling finger-paint on the other children, crushing his snack-time cookies into the carpet, and, though he still denied it when his mother brought it up, had asked for "my Maisie," as if she were some sort of toy he needed to take with him to school.

His moping and tantrums had led his teacher to recommend holding him back the next year, and the two of them had been reunited in kindergarten the next year.

So when had things changed? Sixth grade maybe, when their hormones kicked in and her friends started pointing and giggling about him? Perhaps it had been in seventh grade, after the awkward spring kiss under the apple blossoms in her family's orchard, a first for both of them that they never mentioned again? Maybe at the beginning of eighth grade, when he decided that he would follow his mother's family tradition and go to boarding to school the next year, leaving her behind?

Or maybe later that same year, when he found out she had, with the encouragement of his mother who had recognized her brilliance, secretly applied to—and been accepted at—the same school he was bound for?

Or maybe it was when, on their very first day at that boarding school during their freshman year of high school, she had called to him using her nickname for him—Lessi—from across the quad?

In Stalton Harbor, he had often felt as if he had no privacy. It was a small town; all the year-round residents knew one another, and he had received extra scrutiny due to his parents' standing in the community. Boarding school had offered him a chance at true anonymity. Who cared that his mother was from a wealthy family, or that his father was a famous author? That was par for the course at the old New England prep schools. Heck, his parents didn't run or own Fortune 500 companies, they weren't involved in politics, his last name wasn't synonymous with wealth... he was a virtual nobody. He had thought he had a chance to be himself, find himself, and define himself.

That must have been it. While the other moments may have dented their friendship or altered it in some awkward way, he had single-handedly broken it on that first day of school. He had ignored her for three full years, or acted like a snotty bastard whenever they were forced to interact.

By their senior year, he had realized what an ass he had been. He had tried to be nice to her, and to re-start their friendship, but the damage had been done.

They spoke more words to each other in the motel room that night than they had for four whole years.

Still, he didn't regret leaving Maine. He had yearned for independence and his version of the stereotypical boarding school personal awakening, the kind he had read about and seen in movies growing up. He had achieved that experience, and had benefited from his time away from home.

He did regret not realizing that he didn't have to lose Maisie to find himself. What the hell was he going to do when he saw her?

--------------------

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent to Boston's Logan Airport. In preparation for landing, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position...."

Alessandro awoke with a start. They were in Boston already? How the hell had that happened? He rubbed his eyes and peered out the window, his heart doing a confused flip-flop of anticipation and fear at the sight of the coastline.

He would have liked to take a connecting flight up to Bangor. However, his sister, Carolina, had informed him that since she was already going to be in Portland that day—doing what, he had no idea—she could pick him up there.

Renting a car and driving to Stalton Harbor was out of the question. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, he had never had a good sense of direction. Navigating his way home from the airport was out of the question, even with GPS; he got lost every time he tried to drive in Boston, and the trip would take forever. He didn't even want to think of how much his family would mock him if he hired a driver.

Instead, he would be taking the train up to Portland. He grabbed a cab from the airport to North Station, pulled his University of Maine hat back on, and climbed aboard.

Originally, he had hoped that Americans' general ignorance of foreign actors would allow him some degree of anonymity. He had spent most of the past six years working as a stage actor, primarily in London but also a bit in New York and Stratford-upon-Avon. He'd been in several major Italian films and had appeared in a few English-language indie films over the past couple of years, but none had received significant attention in America. His face had been splashed across Italian tabloids several months before, though that attention had since died down. True, he had a new big-budget movie coming out, but the producers had decided to push back the original summer release to December. Only those who followed the business closely would recognize him.

But his dream of anonymity had ended with a spot on an American magazine's 50 Most Beautiful People list. The attention had snowballed since then.

"Number 24 on our list is Alessandro Conti. This 26-year old actor has been gracing London's West End and Royal Shakespeare Company for the past five years, while his tanned and toned 6'1" frame, dazzling smile, coffee brown hair and deeply expressive toffee-brown eyes have been tearing up ladies' hearts. Luckily for women everywhere, his well-publicized, recent — and, sources tell us, final —break-up with the 30-year old Italian supermodel Isabella Bettini means he is back on the relationship market. A native of coastal Maine, this son of author Giovanni Conti is a perfect mix of rugged Yankee and refined European sophistication. If you haven't familiarized yourself with Mr. Conti yet, look for him in the new, independent film 'The Queen of Spades,' which has been generating buzz for both his nudity and Oscar potential, or this winter's 'The Warrior,' which is already being talked about as this year's potential box-office blockbuster. He lives in New York and London, but is currently in Rome filming 'The Rashomon Man,' another independent film due out sometime next year."

His sister Carolina had sent the link, and as much as he hated to think of the article, he grinned as he recalled the accompanying text, where she let him know that she would, "push his refined European ass into the Atlantic if he didn't bring her back an awesome graduation present."

The magazine caption had been accompanied by a giant, high-resolution picture of him from a recent vacation he had taken with Isabella for her 30th birthday last fall. He was shown emerging from the ocean, giving a stunning Isabella a cheeky grin. The turquoise water behind him showed off his bronzed body, which was glistening in the sun as water from his hair dripped down his chest. Though the picture didn't capture a close-up of his eyes, he could tell even from the full-body shot that the hot sun had captured their amber specks, allowing the world to see how his eyes danced with wicked desire for the woman he was looking at.

His smile faded as he remembered the rest of the day. Oh, the initial sex had been good, as it always had been. But what had came after the sex had ended their relationship.

It had also set off his recent obsession with Maisie.

--------------------

Alessandro was late getting off train; it had been hot in his car, and he had fallen asleep. Spotting Carolina in the parking lot, he snuck up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.

"Guess who?"

"Hmmm... someone with a refined European ass?"

"Very funny." He picked her up and twirled her around in the air, causing her to shriek with laughter. He smiled as he placed her back on her feet. "How are you, Leena?"

"Good, and happy to see you in Maine! Good flight?"

"Eh, not bad. I slept through most of it. And before you even think of it, your graduation gift is in the bag, so no need to dump my 'refined European ass' in Casco Bay on the way home."

"What, just one present? Hmmm... we'll see. It had better be a good one, brother mine. And I hope you didn't have the gall to buy Gemma the same thing. If you did, I might throw you in for that, too. God knows she would never have the nerve to do it." She pushed him further away from her with a playful smack on his chest, and gave him a wink.

"Believe it or not, I realized quite a while ago that your identicalness is only skin deep, and that you missed out on the 'pleasant personality' gene, unlike Gemma." He cocked an eyebrow as he teased her. "Speaking of Gemma, where is she?"

"At home, entertaining our grandparents. And you'd better behave yourself between here and home, or I'll make you take grandmother and grandfather with you when you go sailing." She flashed him an evil grin as she lunged forward and pinched his cheeks in an exaggerated imitation of their grandmother.

"Ouch! Stop that. Wait, what? Mom's parents? They're there already?"

Carolina nodded, unable to suppress a smirk.

Alessandro groaned. "They're just going to harass me the entire time about how I should be getting my MBA and going into banking, or something. If I had known they were coming I wouldn't have come home."

"Why do you think we didn't tell you." Carolina raised an eyebrow as she surveyed him, but then relaxed her face. "We've all missed you so much. It isn't the same at home without you, and visiting you isn't the same as having you home. Don't stay away for so long again. Promise?"

He was stunned. Gemma was the shy, serious twin, the one who had no problem expressing her emotions. Carolina was the carefree, teasing, and somewhat snarky twin. He had never been able to read her, to know what she was thinking. For her to be serious, for her to ask him not to stay away....

"I promise. I promise you, Carolina, I won't stay away so long again."

For a second he thought he saw a tear in her eye, but then she reached out and gave him a hug. By the time she pulled back and smiled up at him, it was gone.

"Enough of this nonsense," she said, snapping back to her usual demeanor. "Get your butt in the back of the car. You might be one of Hollywood's darlings right now, but there's no way you're sitting up front with me."

It was only at that moment that Alessandro noticed there had been a woman standing next to the car the entire time.

Maisie.

He stared at her, unable to say anything at all, before forcing a small smile as he nodded at her. He tried to look away, but as his eyes lowered from her face and took in her body, he found that he couldn't.

She had on a cream-colored sleeveless blouse. A wide butter-yellow ribbon sat just below her breasts, accentuating the difference between her round breasts and her slim ribcage. She had on a fitted cerulean --blue print pencil skirt that fell to just above her knees, revealing just a small sliver of skin above a pair of tight-fitting, high-heeled, saddle-brown leather boots.

He swallowed hard as he looked at her boots. They unnerved him, for a couple of reasons.

First, because seeing her in such fashionable clothing made him acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd seen her. He had never seen her in boots other than her farm boots, let alone a skirt outside of church. Had everything about her changed as much as her sense of fashion?

Second, because those boots were doing terrible things to his mind and body. They made him want to throw her down on the hood of his mother's car, hike her skirt up to her waist, rip her panties off, hold her wrists above her head, and thrust into her over and over again as hard as he could, just like she had begged him to all those years ago. He imagined yanking down her top with his teeth and burying his lips between the lace-clad mounds of her breasts, pushing her to a screaming, shuddering orgasm that sent him over the edge and into ecstasy with her. With those boots wrapped around him, heels digging into his back, of course.

Maisie didn't seem to be phased at all by his presence. She gave him a curt nod as she turned towards the passenger's seat, hair, hips and ass swaying above a long slit up the back of her skirt.

God he wished that slit went just an inch or two higher. And why did heels have to make a woman's gait so damn sexy?

He wasn't ready for this. He had thought he had until tomorrow, at least, before he saw her.

Carolina had mentioned that she was already going to be in Portland today. Was she here to pick up Maisie?

"Hey, Alessandro." Carolina snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. Startled, he pulled his eyes away from Maisie and looked down at his sister. "Were you listening? I know you're jetlagged, but come on. Mom's been chomping at the bit all day, and dad's been pacing. Don't keep them waiting any longer than they have to."

His mind was a jumble of thoughts as he took the seat behind Carolina. He had no idea what to do, and the fact that his sister was here didn't help matters. He couldn't shout at Maisie. He couldn't touch her. He definitely couldn't kiss her. Instead, he just had to pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Instead, he joined Maisie in peppering Carolina with questions as they left the station.

"The graduation went pretty well, I guess, though they pronounced my name Car-o-line-a instead of Car-o-leen-a. That was kind of annoying. I mean, is it really that hard of a name to pronounce?"

Alessandro laughed. This was a conversation they'd had many times. It felt good to have it here, in Maine, on the way home. "Well, you do realize there are two states that pronounce your name differently, don't you? Perhaps everyday at your new job you can wear a nametag that says 'Car-o-leen-a' so that no one ever makes that mistake again."

"Very funny, Alessandro."

"Hey, did you find a roommate yet? Or get the apartment," Maisie asked. His insides squirmed, just as they had every time Maisie had spoken on the drive. It had been so long since he'd heard her voice!

"Yeah, to both. My new roommate's a bit of a neat freak, but I guess that will be okay. Maybe I'll never have to clean again? And the apartment is great." Carolina shot Maisie a furtive sideways glance as she continued. "And the guy across the hall? Wow. I mean... wow. So fucking hot. My roommate and I have decided that whoever gets him into their bed first—"

"Hey!" Alessandro cringed as he cut his sister off. "Try and behave yourself a little, will you? And for goodness sake, Carolina, I'm your older brother. Can't you edit your words around me? I don't want to know about your sex life, at all, even if it's just a vague reference."

"Okay, then let's talk about your sex life, Alessandro. It's time to spill. You've avoided the subject for months, and now I have you where you can't escape. So talk: why did you break up with Isabella? She was so nice, and when we saw you guys last summer everything seemed really good. What happened?"

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byLettersFromTatyana© 9 comments/ 23172 views/ 19 favorites

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