by Avery Aster
“Mmm coming, ahh, oh my fuck.” She moaned louder. Her vagina throbbed around his cock. Lex screamed in pleasure.
Drive. Impel. Push.
A piercing shriek rose from her gargled howl.
Her vocal ecstasy sounded off rich and strident.
He withdrew his fingers from her ass, throwing his hands over her mouth to stifle her scream. Pressing her face hard against the mattress, he felt her orgasmic smile under his palm. “Bella, we are not at home,” he gruffed. Massimo loved hearing her scream bloody murder when she came. Convinced the entire Milan Fashion society would wait outside with signs up scoring them a perfect ten.
Tap. Tap. Tap. He kept pumping.
“Come on my tits.” She cupped her globes together for his climax.
“Shit yeah, my bellissima.” He withdrew his cock and nuts from her, watching her juice a reluctant queef in his absence. Standing up over her, he ripped his condom off, focused on orgasm. Massimo massaged his foreskin back, urging a hot brim straight to the tip. Yes.
“Gimme your load.” He craved her seductiveness.
A fire stirred in his belly. His balls prickled. His fingers pruned as sweat tipped off his nose.
He jacked.
He tugged.
He jerked harder.
Massimo pushed himself against the wall beside the bed and shouted, “Coming!” His voice roughened into a man yell trying to out vocal her ecstasy as his load erupted through his cock. The first release blasted a few feet, raining below on his Lex.
“Mine.” Her mouth opened wide.
Fisting harder, he shouted, “Fuck!” His second spunk didn’t shoot as far as his first because it was thicker, and the load striped her cheeks with one icing.
Lex’s tongue circled her lips with a grin, lapping his cum.
Frantic to finish, he dropped against the pillows, burying his cock down her ravenous throat as he promised. “I love you, Lex!” He held Lex’s head up, admiring her while she swallowed his orgasm.
She made low “gug, gug, gug” noises. She’d sucked hard as his dick’s tip shuddered in raw sensitivity. Every last drop was drained, but Lex kept sucking his dick until his erection subsided to a full cock. Massaging her breasts, which glistened with his release, she nestled up to him.
“Ti amo,” he whispered. Massimo slid his cock back inside, telling her how much he loved her. He envisioned her pregnant for a second, knowing she’d be beautiful.
Exhausted, her body went limp in his arms. She closed her lashes. Her final flutter came over her profile with a smile. “I love you,” she whispered, dropping her head against the pillow. Her mouth parted, showing her perfect white teeth.
Massimo studied her beauty as she inhaled.
She stirred her feet against the sheets and zonked out cold upon exhale.
He thought about sleeping. But couldn’t. Not with the cackling say so coming from the door’s other side. Massimo had heard those shrill voices before at the Rolex Capri Sailing Week.
Scilla and Ottavia were rousing trouble as usual.
* * * * *
Lex woke to Massimo’s midnight eyes on her. Allowing him to watch her, she didn’t speak. His assurance radiated all over his face as eagerness for her love. Or at least that’s what it felt like. He’s always serious. She fought the urge inside her to roll over and lighten the mood. His love declaration overwhelmed her. She’d waited her whole life for him. Lex became reborn. Never making love to anyone as exceptional as Massimo, Lex admitted to herself she’d never made “love” until tonight.
As any jaded New Yorker, for a mere second she’d questioned his seriousness. Massimo didn’t speak words he didn’t mean. From what she’d witnessed, his lifestyle embodied playboy, but he wasn’t a player. Her observations from the way he’d treated her this week to what Jemma and Queen Luciana discussed—Massimo remained real. He’d let his guard down too. He’d let her in. When his walls evaporated, as hers did tonight, ecstasy flooded in. It was something she’d hoped for but never expected. She couldn’t dream him up in her mind. But he’d come true. A gift.
“How long did we sleep?” she questioned. She didn’t want to leave this room, but New York Fashion Week rang in her head as a reminder. Lex realized she’d be leaving her Masi, her prince, her Massimo Tittoni soon.
His lips planted on hers for a minute, and then he mumbled, “About uno hour or due or tre.” Clueless to the time, he tapped her butt to get up. He rolled over, stretched his arms, and stood. “Let’s head home, bella.”
“Can you help me?” She stood, examining her wrinkled dress. “I can forget about going back to New York. Jemma’s gonna shoot me the second she sees this dress. I’m dead.” Lex noticed some crystals had popped off. Shit.
“No she won’t,” he replied. Massimo held her arm giving her balance as she stepped into the gown pulling the fabric around her. He zipped her up and added, “Jemma adores you almost as much as I do.”
The once tight dress hung loose on her body as she smoothed the hemline. Hopeless.
She turned, helping Massimo with his button down shirt and sports coat. Lex looped his belt around his waist as he slipped on his shoes. “Even with bed head you’re hot.” Lex ran her hands over his black curls trying to get the cowlick down.
“I love you,” he declared. Massimo wrapped his arms around her squeezing tight. His sentiments weren’t a dream after all.
“I love you too.” She picked up the pillows from the floor trying not to get emotional. Keep calm, girl.
“We have everything?” he asked. Taking a glance around the room, he added, “Ready?”
“Yes, sir,” she confirmed as she grabbed his arm. Lex realized she’d not taken her shoes off the entire night. She glanced down at their sparkle. They were the Tabitha Simmons Chandelier Stilettos Vive gave her for her last birthday. Used in a Debauchery magazine photo shoot, they meant more to her tonight. She’d cherish them forever.
He unlocked the door to a black hallway. The lounge music played acoustic guitar.
Voices came from the front.
Some celebration was taking place. Empty champagne glasses lined the walls. Some were nested in crevices they weren’t intended for. A pocket mirror, cutoff straw and empty baggies shadowing a white powder residue from an eight ball sat next to the trash can.
Cigarette smoke came from a woman ahead. A black bob accentuated her harsh features. Her legs spread over a settee. She didn’t wear any underwear. Neither did Lex. But she didn’t spread her pussy out in public acting all Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.
WTF?
Two men in the corner didn’t notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. They talked among themselves as their benzo high crashed.
“Let me return the key and pay for a new bed. Be right back.” Massimo stepped up to the front.
Inebriated, the woman caught Lex rubbernecking and opened her legs wide. She pointed her hookerific vamp nail in her twat’s direction for a possible invitation.
Yak o nasty. Lex dipped her head with a “no, thank you.” But no words came from her lips. For Christ’s sake, she became speechless.
Taking the rejection, the woman crossed her legs and batted an over-glued lash. Without Massimo noticing, she mumbled zoccola, puttana and troia several times under her breath. Maybe she suffered from Tourette’s syndrome and didn’t realize Lex understood whore and skanky pig in Italian.
“Evening,” Lex said, being cordial, but giving her a glare as if to say “shut your mouth honey,” the woman stood.
Don’t even try it. Nothing could ruin her perfect night.
She’d kill her with kindness.
Miss Potty Mouth stepped forward, ignored Lex and fussed, “Principe, we waited for you.” She strutted toward Massimo revealing a gaunt physique, a retired ballerina perhaps.
“Scilla,” Massimo necessitated a courtesy hello then reached for Lex’s hand. His company’s importance highlighted.
The woman’s attention returned back to Lex
as she squawked. “Ciao, Signorina Easton, I’m Scilla.” The woman stepped closer and seethed, “Massimo’s former gal. I read about you in the mornin’ paper, no? I have Easton fashions in my closet. I wear ’em when I go to the…how do you say in English…gymnasium, sì.”
Spare me.
“Scilla, do not start. You are an acquaintance.” Massimo blocked their handshake signaling Lex shouldn’t waste her time. “We are on our way out.”
“Nice to meet you, Scilla,” Lex stuck out her hand for a shake to overcome Massimo’s abrupt dismissal. She thought about Scillya and how odd to have a name sound similar to “I’ll kill ya.” She insisted, “Please, call me Lex.” She’d give the girl one more chance to make nice. After all, she’d stood close to Massimo when she arrived at the red carpet. She’d remembered seeing her with a shorter, much uglier woman.
From the far corner, a short plump shadow stepped up. She’d overheard the banter.
Speak of the devil.
Close to Scilla’s age, she hid her mug behind an exaggerated hairstyle and chided, “Well, well, well, if Scilla ain’t your dame, Your Majesty, then uh—what am I?” Her dull, uncommunicative eyes exuded a phony curiosity—one Lex had grown up with.
Eddie Easton wrote a song about women such as these two once, titled Sandman’s Witching Hour. The power ballad skyrocketed as his first platinum hit in the United States, winning two Grammys and eventually being ranked by MetalMusic magazine as the twelfth best nineties song. The lyrics, which Lex understood but not even Birdie deciphered, honored his groupies and whores. It was about the women he screwed in his motor coach, playing his guitar from Toronto to Miami, and Boston to Seattle. Lex despised the song even more than Birdie’s Lucifer’s Mistress.
Lex noticed she came from chatting with two men in the dark, who remained detached from her activities.
Her über tan skin became visible as she stepped into the light. The UV damage suited her lackluster manner. Death becomes her.
“I’m Ottavia, Massimo’s second girl.” She extended a greeting. Shaking Lex’s hand hard, tight, and with excessive vigor, she continued, “Or is it his third or fourth girl? I can’t remember.”
“Enough,” Massimo snapped.
With a bold surge she met Ottavia’s glare and gave Massimo a once over. Confused, he didn’t know the girls well, in particular the dwarfed cow, and his jaw hung open.
Ottavia’s round shoulders raised, bushy eyebrows arched, and chubby cheekbones attempted to be sucked in. Her every esthetic choice sparred for a fight, in particular her costume ring on her pinkie finger she twirled around and around.
She peered over at Scilla who sported an identical stance. Shit. Possibly Massimo didn’t recognize girl code. Lex did.
Girl code spoke to her Manhattanite sensibilities and confirmed these two skeezers sought trouble. A drug hangover brings out the worst in people.
Massimo’s annoyance grew apparent as he stood between them with intent to separate and dismiss, “Arrivederci.”
“Good night,” Lex gestured. She returned their uniformed fakeness with a grin. Hitting the elevator “call” button with her left hand and holding her lover’s hand with her right.
“Ignore them per favore,” Massimo whispered in her ear, squeezing her tight to his side to turn around and pay them no mind.
“Sorry.” Lex glanced up to catch the panel blink “main floor.” Five flights up. She inhaled sensing them close behind—
“What’s a matter, principe?” someone shrieked. The voice came over Lex’s shoulder. Similar in volume to a Mack truck’s horn stuck at the Queens Midtown Tunnel’s exit and honking on a Friday at five p.m.
Lex understood they weren’t going anywhere.
The earsplitting noise pressed on and yapped, “You can be buono boy with this New Yorker on your arm?”
Chapter Nineteen
OMFG!
Smack down. She knew it.
“Massimo, what are they talking about?” Lex turned, facing both instigators as they invaded her personal space.
These euro divas didn’t hold up to her American stock.
“Scilla is high on drugs,” Massimo muttered under his breath, darting Lex a fixed stare to ignore them. He turned back around.
Trapped for conversation, Lex faced them. She didn’t trust her backside to anyone.
“Mm ’kay, Scilla hasn’t snorted an ounce in—days. Aren’t I right, Scilla?” Ottavia spat as she’d overhead Massimo’s accusation. She kept her attention on Lex.
Massimo squeezed Lex’s hand to turn back around and not feed into their abhorable behavior.
“True, so true, Ottavia.” Scilla stood in Lex’s face. Her thick stench shrunk the room. Lex noticed white powder looped around her snout, probably cocaine or crystal meth. Inching closer Scilla’s padded breasts grazed up against Lex’s sensitive nipples.
You gotta be kidding me. Tit boxing freaked her out.
Scilla leaned her lips in to kiss Lex while Massimo shouted and the guys from the back room cheered on.
Uncertain Lex stood in disbelief. You wouldn’t dare—
Scilla’s lips grazed her mouth with a horse lick.
Pop! Flash. Ottavia zoomed forward snapping a photo with her camera phone. The long-haired woman took another picture. “This’ll be good for da’ tabloid magazine, sì? American designer at sex club with her girlz gone wild.”
Similar to lightning, the white brilliance startled Lex’s eyes. She blinked blur after blur attempting to refocus. Ottavia’s tabloid threats echoed in her ears. Lex felt sick. I knew this week was too good to be true.
“No, no pictures!”Massimo shouted as a second photograph was snapped. “And do not touch her, Ottavia. I mean it.”
“Please get your camera outta my face,” Lex pleaded. One was enough, two became two too many. Realizing Ottavia would sell the pictures to the tabloids, she reached for the gadget hard pressing Scilla off to the side for Ottavia.
“Do not encourage them Lex. Stop!” Massimo’s arms came wide for Lex, but she lunged ahead.
Ottavia positioned for a third shot.
Lex charged for Ottavia’s camera as a third strobe burst.
“I can’t see.” The light shined about an inch from her eye. Her arms swung as she regained her bearings. She toppled over Ottavia.
“Cazzo.” Ottavia jumped back with a defensive jolt, slapping Lex sideways.
“Ouch!” Her cheek had been ripped. Ottavia’s jewelry cut her face.
Closed into a fist, Ottavia’s right hand followed her left and decked Lex.
She screamed. Warm liquid flooded her nostrils. “You bitch.” Lex pinched her nose with her right hand and breathed from her mouth. They filled with blood. What the—? Her left hand touched her face, confirming the burning sensation as a deep cut.
Massimo guarded her with concern, holding his hands up as his face went grim. “You okay?”
Lex wailed, “I didn’t do anything to deserve this.” Her eyes refocused. The white dancing dots became less. “I want her arrested.”
“Scusi, scusi, scusi,” Ottavia poohed and stepped back in horror over what she’d done. She shoved the camera down her hot pants’ front. Her actions prevented anyone who didn’t crave Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, or Syphilis from taking it. She turned to make a run for it.
Ignoring Massimo’s question and attention, Lex jumped around him and grabbed Ottavia by the hair. “You aren’t leaving ’til I have your camera.”
“Ahh!” Ottavia’s roots popped out.
“Fake ass hair!” Lex shouted.
“Let go!” Massimo commanded. His face tensed, illustrating shock over Lex’s attempt to fight back.
Unable to let go she’d gone beyond all sanity in her defense. Lex held Ottavia’s scalp tighter.
“Scilla—slut, come help me,” Ottavia gargled.
Retreating to a dark corner Scilla made it apparent she’d sit the rest out.
The guys in the back stood in arousal. Girl fights
made their dicks hard. Lex assumed these ladies did this routine often.
“Get security down here right this instant.” Massimo shouted toward the waif concierge guy who was reading a magazine, unimpressed with the brawl. He didn’t care about the house rules, which preached no photos permitted.
“Cunt,” Ottavia snarled.
Lex stretched her victim’s neck back and the veins blued visibly.
Ottavia swatted at Lex. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Stop! Let me take care of this!” Massimo yelled, taking hold over Lex’s hands. “Please, Lex, let me.”
Rage consumed her. She’d heard Massimo speaking but didn’t understand his words. Her ears were filled by her heartbeat. “Give me your camera,” she snapped.
“What the—Lex, you are hurting her.” His face twisted in revulsion over his lover’s actions.
Hair tracks snapping, she let Ottavia know she wasn’t giving up.
“It’s in my fica stretta, reach for it—you stupid bitch.” Between her yelps, Ottavia laughed over her fears, illustrating lunacy. Ottavia chanted lude names in Italian at Lex causing her to pull harder as Massimo’s face turned green. The pictures must be worth more to Ottavia than her own head.
With one free hand, Massimo reached for his back pocket. “I’m calling the polizia.” His cell’s screen lit up, bringing additional attention to the freak show, and he cried, “Fuck—no service.”
“Last time I ask. Give me the camera.” Lex yanked down on the hair tracks.
Ottavia dropped to her knees.
“I’m not reaching into your pants.”
“For me Lex, stop.”
Lex heard her lover’s voice. What? What am I doing? Oh my god.
“Release her,” Massimo pleaded. He slid his phone into his pocket. He wrapped both hands around hers and tugged on her wrists. “Stop.”
Freeing her grip, she cried, “Oh my god, I’m so—I am sorry.”
Ottavia fell to the floor in dramatics. She acted as if she’d run the New York marathon and required a Gatorade Thirst Quencher.
