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He captures your attention the first time you see him at the market; though in truth, you almost didn’t notice him. He’s standing off to the side by a wall, unobtrusive, unremarkable at first glance. Almost as though he wants to remain unseen in the crowd. He does it well, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s been there before and your gaze simply… passed over him.
It’s impolite and certainly improper for a young lady to stare but you can’t help it, not now that you have seen him. He’s watching the crowds as they pass by, the throngs of noisy people milling about in front of the shops, and you have time to study him. Though he remains still, his stance has a sense of… tension to it, like the coiled grace of a predator just before it strikes. He is neither tall nor short, though the breadth of his shoulders hints at a pleasing physique. Any other detail is obscured by the white robes he wears. They are unusual, not particularly eye-catching but still unlike any you’ve ever seen before, and he wears his hood up, obscuring his features in shadow, all save for his mouth, surrounded by a short, dark, well-kept beard.
And oh, that mouth… full lips, ones you want to feel on yours; or better yet, pressing against your skin. Heat rises in your face, colouring your cheeks at the thought— and just then, his head turns toward you and you freeze, caught staring with carnal fantasies still playing in your mind. Though you still can’t see his eyes, you know he has seen you, and his lips curve slightly into a knowing smirk that sends a delicious shiver through the core of your being.
Abashed at being caught, you drop your gaze to the ground; and when you look up again—
He’s gone.
After that, you watch for him. He is there often, quietly observing from a different spot around the market streets. And he always sees you, that crooked smile touching his lips when he does; and he always disappears again, vanishing into thin air the moment you lose sight of him. You’re not certain whether or not he’s also there on the days you don’t see him; if, perhaps, he’s taking the opportunity to study you in return. It’s an unsettlingly pleasant thought, and one that returns to your mind while lying in bed late at night.
He’s there again, today. You’ve gotten better at picking out the places he likes, where he can be somehow hidden yet in plain sight. This time, when he looks back at you, he tilts his head and you finally see his face. He’s… beautiful, the rugged scar on one side of his mouth only adding to his good looks and the intriguing air of danger that he wears as comfortably as his armour and the sword at his hip.
A pause; the sounds and bustle of the people around you fading away as his dark eyes lock on yours— and then he winks, turns, and slips away into the crowd. Vanishing as though he’d never been there, as always.
Except…
This time, as you finish your purchases and begin making your way home, someone in the small crowd heading your way speaks quietly just behind you.
“You have been watching me, signorina. I find myself wondering why.”
You know it’s him before you glance over, and his voice is everything you’d dreamed it would be. Low, warm and rich, with a hint of playful amusement. His accent marks him as not a son of Roma; though certainly still Italian.
He’s casually walking a pace beside and behind you, as though he only happened to be going the same way. That dangerous, coiled grace is even more apparent now that he’s moving, and you have a feeling that he would know it if you tried to lie.
“I have been, signore. I apologize for my rudeness, but… you intrigue me,” you answer honestly, glancing sideways at him with a smile. He returns it, and something flutters and tightens in your stomach. The crowd has thinned as you leave the market streets behind, and you come to a stop, shifting the heavy bags in your arms to get a more comfortable hold. “You are not from the city, are you?”
“Indeed not. I am from Firenze, though it has been many years since I lived there.”
“Firenze… I have never been, but I have heard it is a beautiful city.”
“She is a lovely city,” he says. “Though not so lovely as you.”
A blush rises once again in your face, and you duck your head, pleased but shy. At least this time, he has not disappeared before you glance up at him again. “You are too kind, signore… ?”
“Ezio. Just Ezio,” he adds when you wait expectantly for the rest, the faintest hint of rebuke in his pleasant tone.
“Very well, ‘just Ezio’ da Firenze. Would you be so kind as to escort me home? The city streets can be dangerous at times,” you say, some small part of you aghast at your own daring. Normally you would never be so… forward; but this man… Ezio… He is different from the young men who court you.
With a knowing glance at the brightly lit, busy, and entirely safe street, Ezio dips his head in a polite nod. “Of course. Allow me to help with you those,” he offers, and you gratefully pass him some of the purchases you’d made for the household.
It is not long before you reach your home, the pleasant company and conversation making the journey pass more quickly than usual.
“It has been a pleasure,” Ezio murmurs as he returns your possessions.
“It has,” you answer, hesitating. He is simply watching you with that quiet smile, and though you mean to say thank you and bid him a good evening, instead you find yourself leaning in to whisper, “The third window to the left, on the second floor. Should you wish to… converse further, tonight.”
“I may be in the area,” he says, taking your hand in his. He holds your eyes as he raises it to his mouth to press a light, but not entirely chaste, kiss to your fingers, and the warm promise in his voice sets your breath quickening just as much as the soft touch of his lips. “Addio, signorina.”
You leave your window unlatched that evening when you retire to bed, watching the sky darken through the glass and wondering if you’d somehow imagined everything.
Though you have certainly enjoyed the private attentions of one or two suitors, you had never before been so bold as to invite a nighttime visit like this. But Ezio… you cannot deny that you want him more than any other man you’ve ever met, and the thought that he may not come is nearly unbearable.
He moves so silently that you don’t know he’s there until you hear a quiet rustle and look up to see him crouching on the ledge of your now-open window.
“Buonasera, mia bella.”
That low, sensual voice brings you to your feet instantly to meet him, just as he hops down silently into your room, cape fluttering in the cool night breeze.
“Ezio! I… I did not think you would actually come tonight.”
“How could I not?” Ezio murmurs, and he cups your cheek gently in one hand and your heart races. “I would never be so rude as to decline such a gracious invitation.”
Anything you might have thought to answer is lost when his lips press against yours, his mouth warm and soft, his beard rough on your skin in the best possible way. Time blurs, the soft wet caress of his tongue and the firm pressure of his hands coaxing whimpers from your throat as he undresses you both. His skin bears all the scars you imagined it would, and more; his body lean but powerfully muscled, and the sight of him bare in the moonlight takes your breath away.
You take his hand and lead him to your bed and he follows readily, the kisses growing hungrier still as he covers your body with his, moving on top of you, his desire hot and hard between your legs. It’s certainly not your first time, but he’s careful anyway, tender in a way you hadn’t quite expected as he reaches down and presses two fingers inside you.
You barely manage to muffle your gasp as they slide in, easily, and an incongruously filthy smile spreads across his face.
“So wet for me already, tesoro?” Ezio murmurs, his voice a throaty purr that makes your legs quake against his hips. “Is this what you have been thinking about, all those days you were watching me?”
Words fail you and you can only nod, arching up against him with a stifled whimper as his fingers move inside you, a teasing promise of what you want from him most. He doesn’t make you wait for it long, covering your mouth in another deep, hungry kiss as he slips his fingers out, leaving you briefly empty and wanting— until he shifts, lining up by feel alone, and a low, wanton moan escapes you into his mouth as he finally pushes inside you.
“Mio Dio, you feel wonderful,” he groans, sliding deeper, and that thick, stiff heat is like nothing you’ve felt before; as though he was made to fit you. He keeps talking as he fucks you, with slow, deep, luxurious thrusts that steal the breath from your lungs and let nothing but panting moans leave your lips. “Even better than I imagined.”
You whimper yet again, and his lips curve in a smile against yours as he thrusts a little harder; a little faster. “Yes, it is not only you who has been thinking about this. You like knowing that? That I thought of kissing you, touching you… taking you? Until I had to chase my own pleasure, alone, imagining you with me like this.”
The thought of Ezio growing hard, pleasuring himself with thoughts of you filling his mind just as you had done, touching yourself late at night to thoughts of his cock in you just as it is now, it sets the fire of desire burning even hotter deep within you. It’s all you can do to keep quiet, rocking your hips in time with his, his skin slick with sweat where your bodies meet and part and join again with his every thrust into your aching sex.
Ezio chuckles, reaching down with one hand, his thumb unerringly finding that little nub of pleasure that no other man has ever even known to look for. He circles it, stroking, pressing, neither too hard nor too gentle, and a tremor wracks your body, all your awareness narrowed to the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch, and the slide of his cock as he drives into you harder.
“I thought you might like that. You did the same, did you not? I could see it in your eyes… The desire for more, for this… Do you know much I have wanted to make you come for me, to make you scream my name when you do?”
“Ezio—” Your voice is a whimper, need tightening within you, and it’s all you can do to stay quiet when you do want to scream it for him.
“Yes… come for me, mia bella,” Ezio whispers, his voice hoarse, his hips pumping harder until you can hear the obscene slapping of flesh on flesh, and all it does is push you higher still. “Show me how much you like having me inside you, let me feel you.”
You couldn’t have held back longer even had you wanted to, the demanding heat in your center cresting and bursting and leaving you shuddering silently with pleasure. Ezio doesn’t stop fucking you through it, his breath coming harsher with a quiet grunt on every thrust.
“Ezio— Ezio, please—”
“Tell me how you want it,” Ezio grunts, watching you as he fucks you. His body is tense atop yours, his back arching and flexing under your hands with every sharp snap of his hips. “Quickly.”
“Stay in me, Ezio, I want…” You trail off, panting, unable to put such an indecent desire into words. To want such a thing… you shouldn’t, and yet you do; more than anything.
“You want me to fill you?” he asks, husky and urgent, and you moan, trembling as you nod. “Even knowing you may never see me again?”
“Yes, Ezio please, yes—” you manage, holding his gaze.
He thrusts deep one final time with a gasp, his body going rigid save for the irregular jerking of his hips between your spread legs. You watch him as he comes, burning the sight of him into your memory even as his cock pulses within you, the sudden sensation of thick heat spilling inside you making your head spin with a shocked, dizzying pleasure.
You only realize you’ve been murmuring his name over and over when his mouth meets yours again in a breathless kiss, his skin slick with sweat under your hands and his muscles taut and quivering. Words seem unnecessary at this point, and you focus instead on enjoying him, both of you trembling as you slowly catch your breath again.
But all too soon— though in reality not soon at all— it’s over and Ezio is standing and stretching, still lithe and dangerous, all languid grace and deliberate movements as he dresses again.
You don’t bother to dress, nor do you mind the slick feeling of him between your thighs as you bid him farewell. Though you know you should be saddened by his departure, somehow you’re not, having known from the start it would never be more than this.
You have to ask anyway, to be sure; though you do it with a contented smile, utterly sated, reaching up to cup his jaw lightly. “I will truly never see you again, then, mio bello misterioso?”
“No, mia cara. You will not,” Ezio says gently, a genuine, soft regret in his voice as he presses one last kiss to your forehead.
You watch as he climbs effortlessly onto the windowsill, something bittersweet aching in your chest— and then with a soft rustle, he’s gone.