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Forlì, 1480.
"Please," she says, voice high and breathy. Deliriously happy with just a hint of desperation, the kind brought on by a mouth tantalizingly close but not close enough.
Ezio slides his hands up her thighs in one smooth stroke. It's soothing yet teasing, given what else those hands could be doing. He lifts his chin just enough to see under the top edge of his hood. She's leaning back on her elbows, head tilted back.
"Please what?" he asks, intentionally pulling away a little.
"Do it," she says. "Do it!"
"Well," he says, hands sliding up again before gripping gently, as if to hold her in place as he lowered his mouth to her. "If the lady insists."
All for winning a horse race.
"Please," she says, voice high and breathy. Deliriously happy with just a hint of desperation, the kind brought on by a mouth tantalizingly close but not close enough.
Ezio slides his hands up her thighs in one smooth stroke. It's soothing yet teasing, given what else those hands could be doing. He lifts his chin just enough to see under the top edge of his hood. She's leaning back on her elbows, head tilted back.
"Please what?" he asks, intentionally pulling away a little.
"Do it," she says. "Do it!"
"Well," he says, hands sliding up again before gripping gently, as if to hold her in place as he lowered his mouth to her. "If the lady insists."
All for winning a horse race.