Roman Rhapsody Pt. 01

Prologue

Rome, Italy

July 19th

11:47 PM

The room was dark, barely illuminated by the orange hues of the Roman sunset slanting through the window. I clenched the rope binding my wrists, my heart pounding in anticipation. My palms were clammy as I tried to steel myself, a hum of tension beneath my skin. My wrists were red and irritated from the frayed rope that bound me.

Suddenly, footsteps outside the door trailed into my ear. The door knob jiggled, and turned idly, the person on the other side clearly in the midst of an adrenaline rush, the sensations within my body intensifying like a wildfire. Then, the door whipped open, pounding the wall, and revealing the most delicious sight I'd ever seen.

He stooped to enter the room, his towering height stretching to the ceiling. His muscular arms pulsed as if his blood were surging with anticipation for the night ahead. As he observed me, bound and helpless on the bed, my heart stuttered at his dark Italian features. His tongue glided across his lips as he watched me, I could see the hunger in his eyes, and could almost feel his claws sinking into me. This was the man of my dreams. This was Roberto Damiani.

"How does it feel to belong to me?" he said, his brown eyes piercing me like a sword, his accent unmistakably Italian. He stepped toward the bed. His heavy footsteps echoed through me, igniting tremors that pulsed throughout my body.

He ran his tongue over his lips and asked, with a devilish grin spreading across his face, "Are you ready for what's coming?" He sank his hands onto the foot of the bed, panting heavily. Grazing one knee against the sheets, a hearty laugh escaped him. "Tomorrow morning, you'll be a new woman, a changed woman." He moved with the precision of a predator, his body low and controlled as he positioned himself over me. The hair on his muscular legs brushed against my velvety skin.

Finally, after years, I was about to get what I'd fantasized of, to shed my virginity. Roberto studied my face one last time, then leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to my neck. He drew his tongue across my throat, his warm breath on my skin. Then, in a whisper, he said the last words I'd hear as a virgin: "Are you ready?"

CHAPTER 1

24 Hours Earlier

I gazed out the window as the landscape zoomed by, the sky stretched above like an endless canvas of blue. A drip of sweat fell from my forehead, my breath quickening as I clenched my fingers on my knees. In a matter of hours, I would go beyond the confines of the United States of America for the first time in my life, and I was petrified.

"Be very careful," my mom said, her gaze fixed on the freeway ahead. "This world is crazy and ugly, and the last thing I want is for my baby to get caught up in something overseas."

I rolled my eyes. "You're just paranoid." But deep down, I couldn't deny that I secretly shared her concern.

This trip to Italy, the one I had longed for years, had been twelve months in the making. After working two part-time jobs while struggling to juggle my college courses, the typical plight of a twenty-year-old, I felt relieved that all my efforts had paid off. Now, I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, leaving behind my stall-town life for a two month sojourn in the Bel Paese.

Before I knew it, we pulled into the departures drop-off loop of Detroit Metropolitan Airport. People bustled about, a collective murmur of farewells filled the air, the sound of suitcase wheels rolling against the concrete a subtle background.

I exited the car, staring up at the towering airport before me, my heart fluttering, and my adrenaline pumping, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"I love you, Jenna," my mom said, giving me one final hug before waving me off on my way.

Check-in and security proceeded smoothly, enabling me to reach the gate just in time for boarding. As I boarded the plane, I found myself amongst a sea of striking individuals. Everywhere I glanced, my gaze met impeccably-groomed, young Italian men who possessed an allure that set them apart. Their dark features, runway-model style, and captivating hair made them an intriguing species unto their own. A desire swelled within me to know them intimately.

As the plane rocketed down the runway, tears of joy streamed from my face. I'd realized my dream, and one thing was certain: this would be an unforgettable escapade. We soon reached cruising altitude, and I decided to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes; reading, but not just any book - I had brought Christian Grey along for the trip.

Soaring above the clouds, I withdrew my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey from my carryon bag, and cracked it open to where I'd left off. My heart hammered against my ribcage as Christian seduced me through the written word. This was my fantasy, my deepest desire, a yearning to surrender, to experience the thrill of dominance and submission, and at the same time, to be cherished, enveloped in a love that shielded me from harm in the hands of my dominant.

Before I knew it, the airplane broke through the clouds and descended into Rome. I peaked out the window, anticipation tingling within me, evoking a profound sense of wonder. I was finally here! I had finally arrived in Italy, a land pulsating with vibrant tales of a bygone era.

After navigating passport control, my exodus from the airport unfolded as I set off on a new chapter in this Italian land. With a determined stride, I walked toward the line of taxis parked at the curb outside the airport, I slipped into the backseat, its engine purring with anticipation, and met the gaze of a young, handsome driver in the rear-view mirror.

"Where would you like to go, signorina?" he said, his seductive accent sending tingles rippling through my body.

As we drove past the Italian countryside, my mind slipped into the realm of day dreams. I imagined myself on a bed, the cute driver's hands clasped around my throat, the weight of his strong muscles pressing me deeper into the mattress.

"I yearn to be yours," I said, "to surrender and be under your control." I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for Anastasia Steele and her fictional escapades. If only it were possible to actually sign myself away to the man of my dreams by contract, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

A bump in the road jolted me back to reality.

"Here we are," the driver said. "Rome Marriott Park Hotel."

The hotel was gigantic, walking into the lobby felt reminiscent of the parlor of a millionaires summer house. The cool air of the lobby enveloped me, a stark contrast from the humid Roman air outside.

After a routine check-in, I entered my room to see an extravagant ambiance, a stark contrast to the simplicity of my hometown life. I'd been lucky to have afforded a suite, draining most of my savings in the process. There was a spacious king bed, ornate gold-colored crown molding, and an awe-inspiring bathroom that surpassed my wildest dreams. Overjoyed with excitement, I couldn't help but giggle as I reveled in the room. My eagerness extended beyond the hotel, however, I was bursting with anticipation to go out into the eternal city.

The hotel, nestled on the outskirts of the city, had an hourly shuttle service to and from the city center. Embarking on the shuttle, a wide grin stretched across my face, hardly able to contain the ecstasy building within me.

The aura of the city pulsated through the window as we drove into Rome, a prelude to the extraordinary experiences in store.

When the shuttle finally arrived at the Roman Forum, awe overcame me. I felt as if the glory of the eternal city itself shimmered under the fire-hot Italian sun. Amongst remnants of a civilization that shaped the course of history, the sheer magnitude of it all left me humbled.

As I scanned my surroundings, my eyes fell upon the romance of a young Italian couple. He was caressing her hair, and she dangled her hands around his neck, staring up at his god-like face. These Italian men were undeniably good-looking. Since arriving on Italian soil a mere three hours earlier, I hadn't encountered a single man who did not have model-level qualities about him.

Observing the scene before me, an overwhelming sense of jealousy consumed me. I wanted to be in her shoes, to submit to his all-consuming power and stare up into his blazing eyes. I had lived twenty years but had never known the warmth of a man's embrace, the sweetness of his lips, or the thrill of his desire. It was a longing that permeated my being, a craving that ran deep within me, leaving me yearning for a connection that would transport me to realms unknown.

A police car wailed by, penetrating my fantasy, the distinct European siren grounding me back into my Roman reality.

I turned away from the couple and approached a fence that gave a breathtaking view of the Roman forum, taking in the history and awe. Turning my head, I saw the Colosseum and could almost hear the whispers of gladiators past murmuring through the ages.

Immersed in the enchanting world of Rome, I embarked on a captivating journey that day. By seven o'clock, I had traversed the labyrinthine maze of ruins and arches that comprised the Imperial Forum, indulged in a captivating tour of the Colosseum, reveled in the majestic beauty of Renaissance churches, and delighted in the flavors of carbonara, concluding with a delectable cannoli for dessert. It was an ethereal day, a slice of heaven.

Before returning to the solitude of my hotel room, a spontaneous urge tugged at me, nudging me towards one final location: the majestic Circus Maximus. From snippets of online research that I'd conducted throughout my journey, I knew this ancient venue held a secret gift -- a unique vantage point from where Rome's enchanting sunsets were at their most captivating. A finale of the day that was nothing short of a spectacle.

Braving Rome's labyrinthine streets, I found myself climbing an age-old, magnificent set of marble stairs. Each step upward was like delving further back into Rome's rich history, feeling the weight of centuries beneath my feet. When I finally emerged at the top, breathless and heart pounding, I was greeted by an exquisite piazza, a silent ode to Rome's glory.

From this elevated pedestal, the city of Rome sprawled beneath me. I could clearly see the remnants of the ancient Roman Forum, its once bustling agora now eerily quiet. Beyond that, the mighty Colosseum stood, a timeless monument, majestic despite its age and scars from the past.

But my final destination was still at a distance. Leaving the piazza behind, I followed a small, serpentine path that spiraled downwards. Each twist and turn was like an unwinding mystery, leading me towards the Circus Maximus. The landscape changed subtly, transitioning from historical ruins to an oasis of lush, verdant green nestled cozily in the heart of Rome.

As I entered the Circus Maximus, the contrast was startling yet comforting. The vast expanse of well-tended greenery was akin to stepping into a pastoral painting. The ambiance was serene, tranquil, its quietness broken only by the rustling whispers of the wind brushing past the grass blades. There, at the crest of the hill, I found a solitary bench, inviting me to rest my weary legs.

Exhausted but content, I allowed myself to sink into the bench, my gaze slowly sweeping over the historical ruins laid out in front of me. The panoramic view was breathtakingly stunning; a testament to Rome's timeless beauty. My heart pounded in my chest, the magnitude of the scene in front of me leaving me momentarily breathless. As the sensory overload ebbed, I found myself lost in the captivating view, and the scene left me gasping for air.

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by an unexpected voice, soft yet firm. "Scusi signorina, un documento per favore." The words hovered in the air, creating a momentary ripple in my solitude. I turned, finding myself under the penetrating gaze of a striking Italian police officer. He was an embodiment of Italian youth - his skin smooth, the dusk light painting a glow on his face. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of brown, held a certain boyish charm that I found myself drowning in.

He noticed my hesitation, the pause in my reply, and his gaze softened. "Do you speak English?" he inquired, his words colored with a thick Italian accent.

Caught off-guard, I fumbled over my words, finally managing to stutter out a response. "I.... uh..... yes... I do."

A brief nod, and his professional mask was back on. His gaze turned analytical, studying me with an intensity that was disconcerting. "Could I please see a document?" His words, though polite, left no room for arguments.

"A document?" I echoed, confusion trickling into my tone. The sudden request for identification was puzzling.

"Yes," he asserted, with an air of firmness. "Passport, ID, license, I need to see some kind of identification."

And just like that, the serene beauty of the sunset, the tranquil solitude of the Circus Maximus, were all forgotten, replaced by the startling reality of my situation.

A look of bewilderment crawled across my face. "What for? Have I done something wrong?"

The police officer crossed his buff arms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "In Italy it is the law that everybody must have identification on them at all times. We do random ID checks. Can I please see your passport, madam?"

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, sweat poured from my face. I had left my passport in the hotel, where I thought it would be safe and protected. I had no identification on me. "I apologize," I managed to say, "my passport is back at my hotel. But I can go retrieve it and come back."

The cop's face hinted at a grin. "I'm afraid that is not an option ma'am."

I watched as his hulking chest heaved with each breath as he just stared at me. A flutter of wind swept through his lush hair, causing my heart to flutter.

His imposing presence intimidated me and my legs trembled with fear. Yet I couldn't deny the exhilarating thrill that simultaneously surged through me. This attractive figure was now in control of me, eyeing me up and down as if I were mere property.

"I am sorry madam," he said, "I must take you to the police station. In Italy it is illegal to not be in possession of a valid identity document at all times. Please put your hands behind your back."

The world constricted around me, squeezing me into a suffocating embrace. My lungs convulsed, struggling to find air as panic surged through my body, forcing my breath into erratic spasms. The adrenaline coursing through my veins surged relentlessly, intensifying my inner chaos. With each heartbeat, my vision blurred, transforming the surroundings into hazy fragments of reality.

"Put your hands behind your back!" he boomed, his voice deep and commanding.

I summoned all my willpower to regain control, fighting against the tremors in my limbs. With determined effort, I pushed through the suffocating grip of the panic attack, compelled to obey my master's command. Reluctantly, I turned away, my hands quivering as I cautiously extended them toward the formidable figure of the police officer.

The chilling click of the metal handcuff echoed in my ears, intertwining with the whirlwind of emotions consuming me. In that moment, a complex fusion of sensations surged through my being. The tendrils of fear and anxiety dissipated, giving way to an unexpected current of provocative playfulness.

Compelled by an irresistible impulse, I found myself irresistibly drawn to press my body against his chiseled, unyielding frame. It was as if the act of being arrested by him awakened a hidden desire within me, a primal force that reveled in the forbidden, blurring the boundaries between fear and pleasure.

As he guided me towards the police car, a firm grip enveloped my upper arm, a tangible reassurance of his presence. The warmth of the officer's breath brushed against the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, while his voice, laced with an alluring intimacy, caressed my ears, "Fear not, bella. I will be your guardian, your protector."

In that moment, the weight of my anxieties and fears dissolved into the ether, vanishing like mist under the sun's gentle touch. I felt a profound sense of security, sparking an intense desire for connection and intimacy. The boundaries between captor and captive blurred, replaced by an enigmatic bond that kindled an inexplicable desire within me.

"My name is Roberto Damiani," he said, the musicality of his accent filling the car as we sped away, sirens blaring. "And yours?" he inquired, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

A blur of crumbling ruins zipped by the window as the final vestiges of sunlight dipped beneath the distant horizon.

"I'm Jenna," I said.

Roberto grinned at me through the rear view mirror. "Do you have a last name?" he joked, his tone more playful than serious.

"Sumisley. My name is Jenna Sumisley."

"Jenna, beautiful name," Roberto said, rounding a corner. He drove like a powerful gladiator, dominating the road, his fist commanding the steering wheel into submission.

We whizzed through Trastevere, Rome's most charming quarter, passing beautiful piazza's, centuries-old buildings, and exquisite cobblestone streets.

"Are you from England?" Roberto asked, returning his gaze to the rear view mirror.

"I'm from America," I said.

"Ah... the United States of America, land of freedom and opportunity. What is a pretty American girl like you doing all alone in Rome?"

"Just a vacation," I sighed, " a vacation gone wrong, evidently.... today was my first day in Italy...."

Roberto flipped a switch on the roof, killing the siren. "I am so sorry signorina, I didn't mean to ruin your first day in Italy." He pulled over, bringing the car to a gradual halt. He turned to me, eyes full of an unspoken sincerity that added an unfamiliar softness to his stern police demeanor. His chestnut hair fluttered through the open window, his steady gaze offering both comfort and intrigue. "Signorina, I'm truly sorry. I did not intend to have our first encounter like this," he said, sincerity etching his face. "I promise to make it up to you. How about we start with a traditional Italian meal? My nonna's recipes never disappoint."

The engine roared back to life as we resumed our journey. We soon arrived at the parking lot of the police station. My heart began to vibrate in my chest, almost bursting out of my rib cage.

Roberto swiftly removed the key from the ignition and turned towards me. "Wait here one second, I will be right back." He rolled down the windows before leaving the car.

He walked up to the station, exuding a confidence that seemed to be a natural part of his bearing. The other officers, puffing on cigarettes, greeted him with clear respect -- a testament to his standing among them.

I watched their animated Italian conversation, their laughter and back-patting painting a familiar scene of camaraderie. It seemed like typical boys being boys. There was something remarkably attractive about the way he fit in so naturally among his peers, his authoritative presence subtly mellowed by an underlying sense of camaraderie and respect. It was a side of Roberto that hinted at a complex and interesting personality underneath his professional exterior.

It reminded me of my father and his friends, the men who had been the only constant male figures in my life. They had that same camaraderie, that same easy laughter. It reminded me of a home I hadn't been a part of for so long. It triggered a longing in me, a craving for companionship and a desire to be a part of that world, his world

Soon enough, Roberto made his way back to the car, leaning casually next to my window, his arms resting on the car's frame. "I'm afraid we have a problem, Ms. Sumisley. The police station is closed. We cannot perform an identity verification check until the morning. So, we have two options. You can either spend the night in jail...."