He flops back and bumps into a dresser, toppling a Murano vase. The glass is heavy, too heavy to break into a hundred shards, but it still bursts with a ching. Cesare merely grunts. The tiny bites on his neck, the warm breath on his collar - her beautiful voice, too, sweet with arousal and the lilt of French... who could resist her suggestion? It sounds like a suggestion, but it's more of a command.
"Bellissima," he whispers, not yet taking his hand away, not with her this wet and welcoming. Burying his face in her hair, his lips seek the shell of her ear. He licks it - licks himself into the blissful haze he needs in order to forget how stupid he'll look with his pants pooling around his ankles.
When she takes him in hand, her touch is very sure... and very firm. Only then does his thumb leave off. With a hiss he slides down the wall, a headspan or so, just enough to lift her.
Oh. Oh, she is light. And warm and narrow and a proper little crab, clambering up, the pinpricks of her nails a counterpoint in his nape. "Vittoria-" He moans, then bites his tongue.
*snuggles* *shakes fist at IJ* Oh, please, please, the Santidad is his father; he'll be content with a simple Excellency. ;)