No Questions Asked - Chapter 1: Loudest is the Silence (Carlotta Montelli Stuffing)
Chapter 1: Loudest is the Silence
(This story contains plenty of stuffing and messy overeating!)
Rain was falling down on the street, cooling down the night after the warm, summer day. Lone dog was heard barking, probably arguing against wet fur.
The knock came late. At first Luca thought it must’ve been a mistake or some local kids playing a prank. But it wasn’t just any knock. He recognized this pattern. The last time he heard it was half a year ago.
“What the heck is she doing here now all of a sudden?”
He'd been halfway through a beer, sitting in his apartment in sweatpants and an old shirt, not expecting company. Certainly not expecting her of all people.
“Half a year of no contact goddammit. And she appears now, without even a word of a notice! Good grief, this woman.”
When he opened the door, Carlotta Montelli stood there in the hallway, dressed immaculately as always. The deep red blazer fitted perfectly. White blouse crisp and high-collared, tied with that thin black ribbon bow at her throat. High-waisted black skinny jeans that made her legs look impossibly long even if she’s quite short. Black flats reflecting the light of his door lamp. Her silver-white hair fell straight and perfect, small red earrings visible when she shifted slightly.
For a moment she looked composed - the same calm, untouchable surface he remembered from their time together. But her gray eyes didn't hold still. They flicked from his face to the doorframe to somewhere over his shoulder, restless in a way the Montelli heiress never was.
"I didn't plan to come," she said, her voice even and trained, the aristocratic cadence firmly in place. "I was nearby. Finished work. I should have gone home."
A pause. She looked to the side, and Luca caught the faintest flush on her pale cheeks. She inhaled slowly, precisely, then met his eyes again.
"But working in the field for a month and a day does things to a person."
Luca leaned against the doorframe, studying her. They hadn't spoken since the breakup six months ago. Clean break, mutual decision - or at least that's what they'd called it. She'd walked away with the same controlled grace she did everything with, and he'd let her go because fighting Carlotta Montelli when she'd made up her mind was pointless.
“Certain… cravings that can’t easily be satisfied.”
Her tone sharpened slightly, defensive against her own hesitation. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not here to talk about the past. I just need..." She stopped, searching for the right word. "Something uncomplicated. One evening. No promises. No questions."
Her hand lingered on the strap of her small black bag. Thumb rubbing against the leather edge in the only tell she ever gave when she was uncertain.
The faint scent of her perfume slipped through the space between them. Citrus and smoke. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed that smell.
She forced a faint smirk, the practiced mask sliding into place to hide whatever crack was forming in her composure. "Think of it as a transaction. Mutual benefit, nothing sentimental. You get me for the night; I get... what I want. After that, we go back to silence."
Then, softer, as if the words cost her: "If you say no, I'll leave. I won't ask twice."
But she didn't move. Didn't step back. Just stood there in her perfect outfit with her perfect posture, waiting for an answer.
And then her stomach rumbled. Rather loudly at that.
Carlotta's eyes widened slightly - the only crack in her composure - and she pressed her lips together, that pale lip color suddenly looking very deliberate as she fought to maintain her expression.
Luca couldn't help it. He began to laugh.
Because he knew. He knew exactly what she really wanted. What she really meant by "what I want."
“Six months. Six months and you come here like nothing has ever happened, demanding this like I’m owing you anything.”
"When did you last eat?" he asked, his voice casual but knowing.
"That's irrelevant."
"Is it?"
Her jaw tightened. "I'm not here for-"
"For what? For me to order pizza? To watch you stuff yourself until that perfect blazer can't button anymore? Until those pants feel too tight and you're squirming because you're too full and too turned on to think straight again?"
Carlotta's face flushed properly now, the pale makeup unable to hide it. But she didn't deny it.
"I came here for a reason and you know exactly why damn well," she said stiffly.
"You came because you finished a mission, you're wound tight as hell, and you've been fantasizing about eating yourself stupid and getting fucked while you're too full to move." Luca stepped aside, gesturing into his apartment. "So let's stop pretending this is just about sex. Like hell it ever was with you."
Carlotta stood in the doorway, clearly wrestling with her pride. Her hand tightened on her bag strap. Her perfect posture didn't waver.
But her stomach rumbled again.
"Fine," she said finally, voice clipped. "But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t want to relive it all again. To stuff me till I can’t get up on my own. Till I can’t think straight. Till you need to fuck some sense into me again.”
Luca gulped. He wanted to argue some more. Because what the fuck? Appearing here and now just like that. And not even because she likes him. Just because she’s horny as fuck! But Luca would lie if he’d say he wasn’t interested. In fact, this unexpected appearance has reawakened all of the cravings long dormant. He too, wanted exactly that.
Luca could not pretend.
“Fuck.”
He noticed Carlotta’s gaze fell down to his waist briefly. She knew damn well how to pull his strings. And what’s there to lose? One night she said.
“Let’s make it unforgettable then.”
Luca pulled out his phone. "What do you want? Pizza? Ravioli? Or… That one place?"
Carlotta stepped inside, her flats clicking softly on his floor, and closed the door behind her with a quiet click that felt far too final for a "transaction."
"All of it, order all of it," she said, setting her bag down with deliberate care. "Wait, no. Order even more than ever this time."
Luca looked at her - at the immaculate outfit, the controlled expression, the way she stood with her hands at her sides. The words she spoke didn’t fit the woman that stood there. And yet, that’s the contradiction he fell in love with all the way back then.
"All of it and more…" he repeated. "You sure?"
Carlotta met his eyes, and for just a second, he saw what was underneath the composure. Hunger. Desperation. Need.
"Would I be here if I wasn’t damn sure, Luca Fisalia?"
Luca started ordering. Pizza. Ravioli. Penne All’ Arrabbiata. Bolognese. Everything he remembered she'd secretly devoured when they were together, when she'd let the mask drop and become something… else. Something with plenty of room inside.
Carlotta stood in his living room, still perfectly composed in her red blazer and black jeans, and waited.
But Luca noticed the way her hand drifted to her stomach - flat, toned, perfectly maintained. The way her gray eyes tracked the flat plane of her abs.
Flat…
Luca hung up the phone after ordering from every place he could come up with.
“You’re not skimping on the fun I see.”
“Because it’s your treat. It’s not like I’ll eat any of these. You Glutton.”
Carlotta's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. She stood in his living room, the red blazer hanging open, unbuttoned, framing the crisp white blouse and those high-waisted pants. The jeans sat perfectly on her narrow hips, the slim waistband emphasizing just how flat her stomach was. Toned. Controlled. Maintained with the same discipline she applied to everything else.
Luca loved this calm before the storm, stealing glances at the elegant woman in his living room. Lingering with this sweet contrast was a delicious prelude to the coming feast.
"Forty minutes for everything," he said, tossing his phone on the couch. "You want a drink while we wait?"
"Sure, red wine will do nicely." Carlotta said calmly.
He poured two glasses. She took it with practiced grace, sipped once, then set it on the side table as if she needed her hands free for some tactical purpose.
"You look good," Luca said, deliberately casual. "The outfit. Very... poised.”
Carlotta's gray eyes flicked to him, a tiny, playful smile pushing onto her lips. "I always look poised. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here."
“Right. Until you don’t.”
Carlotta flushed.
"I'm here for practical reasons," Carlotta said, her aristocratic cadence firmly back in place. "Physical satisfaction. Definitely nothing more complex than that."
"Right. Physical satisfaction." Luca sat on the couch, deliberately relaxed. "That's why you're already thinking about how those jeans are going to feel when your stomach starts swelling. Why you chose the high-waisted ones specifically - because you like feeling the waistband dig in."
Carlotta's hand twitched slightly, almost moving to her flat stomach before she caught herself. "I like to feel them exploding." She corrected, allowing herself a brief grin.