Nobody's Girl

by Love, Michelle

  “It is – when we find new artists and developed them. When we don’t, it can be a bit of a drag. Desiree is opening her first major gallery on the Left Bank soon, so I’m over scouting talent for her. Besides, any excuse to spend time in this city is a good one.”

  They were still holding hands and for a second they both looked at their conjoined hands, then at each other. Neither made a move to break away.

  “What do you do?” He asked her – mostly out of politeness, she knew. He must know she was homeless.

  “Back in America, I had just graduated college. Here…I help out on a fruit stall occasionally.” She figured she might as well be honest with him. “The owner lets me sleep under it during the day, so I can be safe.”

  “And at night?”

  “I find places to get food. Swim. Explore the city. Amazing how different it is at night.”

  Ivo nodded and she liked that he didn’t judge her. “I can imagine. Sofia…Desi and I were talking while you were sleeping. She tells me she might have some work…if you’re interested. At the gallery. It might be cleaning or manual labor, or I don’t know what. Maybe even painting. The walls, I mean,” he said with a grin, and Sofia knew that he hadn’t looked in her pack then. He didn’t know she was an artist. Thank god because now she could never tell him. It would seem like…she didn’t want to think what it would seem like.

  Sofia closed her eyes for a long moment. She heard Ivo shift his chair closer. “You don’t have to think about it yet,” he said, mistaking her silence for discomfort. “Just get better.”

  His fingers squeezed hers. “Do you want to be alone?”

  She shook her head. No. She really didn’t. She’d had enough of being left alone and this lovely, gorgeous, sweet man was who she wanted to sit with for a while. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Really, it was like staring at the sun. She swallowed hard, afraid she might be mooning at him. “So, your accent…French?”

  He grinned. “Italian. My mother is Italian, my Dad’s American.”

  “Ivo Zacca…” Sofia’s memory was jogged by his last name. Her eyes opened wide. “You’re Walter Zacca’s son?”

  Ivo grinned shyly. “That obvious?”

  “You look like him,” she admitted, “but more like your mother. My mom was a huge fan of your mom’s.”

  “Was?”

  Sofia felt the familiar pain in her chest but it was so good to be able to talk about her mom to someone “She died six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry. Was she sick?”

  “Brain aneurysm. Gone in a second. Just like that.” Ouch. The pain never lessened. “I was with her,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Just gone, Ivo.” She shook her head in disbelief and Ivo squeezed her hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Sofia.” He hesitated before placing his palm against her cheek. “No-one should have to go through that. What about your dad?”

  Sofia leaned into his touch. It felt so natural to be this intimate with this man, even if he was a virtual stranger. He was so warm, so kind…and he smelled amazing, like warm cotton and spicy cologne. “My biological dad I never knew. My step-father…he threw me out of his house on the day of my mother’s funeral.”

  “Asshole,” Ivo spat, his eyes angry. “Who the hell does that?”

  “I never saw it coming, Ivo.” God, it was so good to talk about this. “Never. He gave me what my mother had left me and told me to get out. I still don’t understand why. Until my mom died, he was the model father. Then, nothing. Cold as stone.” Sofia gave a heavy sigh and then smiled. “Sorry, wallowing in self-pity won’t help anyone.”

  “I think you’re entitled.” His thumb was stroking the back of her hand now, and they gazed at each other for the longest time.

  “How is it I feel I know you?” she said, and Ivo grinned.

  “I don’t know but it’s weird and good at the same time. I’d like to spend more time with you, but there’s no obligation at all, I want to make that clear. I’m worried I’ll come off as some sort of creepy stalker.”

  Sofia laughed. “Well, now you mention it…no, I’m kidding. I’d like to get to know you too.” She stuck out her hand. “Sofia Amory.”

  He shook it. “Very glad to meet you, Sofia Amory. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.

  She smiled at him, her face flushing. “Me, too, Ivo Zacca. Me too.”

  It was two weeks before the doctors would let Sofia leave the hospital. In that time, Ivo had introduced her to Desiree, and between them they had persuaded her to take the job. “But I won’t take charity,” she warned them. “I will work my ass off for you, Desiree, and Ivo, as soon as I make some money, I’m paying you back for the medical bills.”

  Ivo stopped himself from saying that unless she won the lottery, it was unlikely. He knew how important it was to Sofia that she didn’t appear a gold-digger.

  “After your rent and food and heating, etc. etc.” He said and she rolled her eyes.

  Desiree was still wary of Sofia, but she wouldn’t tell Ivo why. Ivo guessed Desiree knew he was falling for the young woman, and he could understand her reticence. He and Sofia didn’t know each other. Desiree had offered Sofia a spare room in her apartment and Sofia had tentatively agreed.

  “She does scare me a little,” Sofia confided as she packed her stuff into the ever-present backpack on the day she was being discharged. Ivo helped her put her jacket on.

  “Don’t tell her this, but me too. Listen,” he took Sofia’s hand as they walked out of the door into the corridor. “Desiree is tough, yes, but she wants the best for you. We both do. If Desiree seems a little aloof, it’s because she’s had to be to get where she is, you get what I mean?”

  Sofia nodded. “I really do. Growing up in Westchester as a mixed race half-Indian girl? I get it.”

  Ivo smiled. “Now, how about we go grab some lunch, then when Desiree is free, she’ll show you around the gallery.”

  Tamara Rutland was bored. Six months since her hated step-mother had died, and that scrappy ragdoll of a daughter had been kicked out, and Tamara had expected that she would fill their gap in her father’s life, that he would finally see her as his rightful heir. His companion. Instead, Fergus had taken to screwing around and burying himself in work. Tamara knew about the fight with Jonas, of course. Her nose wrinkled when she thought about her brother. They had never been close. Jonas had all the soft decency that their mother, their stupidly trusting mother used to have. He didn’t have the ruthless streak that marked Tamara out from her…peers. Tamara didn’t have friends, she found no use for them, other than to torture, to fuck their boyfriends then tell them about it, all for sport. More than once she had been on the receiving end of a mad girlfriend’s wrath. Tamara took the beatings – enjoyed them – they made her feel alive. Lately, though, that kind of sport seemed too tame.

  In New York’s seedier areas, however, she had discovered a new hobby. She overheard a conversation at one of her father’s interminable parties. The speaker had been a woman Tamara loathed so she hovered on the periphery of the group.

  “Seriously, Bianca and I went just to check it out, but when we got there, everyone was naked, masked so we thought, ‘what the hell?’” Her companions had laughed. The woman took a slug of her scotch. “And you would not believe what went on in that club. Spanking, chains, nipple clamps, whips – people fucking each other, two or three at a time…god. Anything was acceptable and because we were all masked, it gave it that frisson of excitement, you know? Bianca was convinced by one man to whip him until he bled! You’ve never seen such a hard-on after she had finished with him. I was almost tempted to ride him myself, but Bianca had done all the work, so it was only polite that she got to fuck him.”

  “And did you…indulge?”

  The woman smirked into her glass. “A lady never tells.”

  Tamara had butted in then. “In which case, you must be about to blab. Hilary, you’re one of the most vanilla pe
ople I’ve ever met – you’re borrowing this story from an article you read in Cosmo, right?”

  Hilary glared at her. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, Tamara. Surprised we didn’t see you down there, what with your known talent for sucking whoever’s cock is nearest.”

  Tamara had given her the finger and moved away. but it had given her an idea. An internet search later and the next weekend, she made her way into the city, her long raincoat covering her newly purchased leather harness, and the cool air touching her bare groin. It was only a few blocks from the subway to Tension, the newest and hottest BDSM in New York.

  In the club, she slipped off her coat without hesitation, inclining her head at the doorman’s obvious admiration. “You can’t afford me, darling.” She touched his cheek then squeezed his cock, before laughing and walking off.

  In the bar, a low, sensual beat pounded, and Tamara’s heart began to pound. Yes. Yes, this is what she needed. She stopped by a table selling sex toys and bought a flogging whip. She snapped it again her hand – pleasingly painful. The woman selling the toys smiled at her. “You look like you’re used to those.”

  Tamara wasn’t, but she didn’t want this woman to know that. Instead, she gave her a cold smile and went deep into the crypt-like club. At first all she could see was a sea of writhing bodies, moving around to thumping bass soundtrack. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the club had alcoves built into the walls, and in those, people were fucking, or performing sex acts on each other. Tamara felt her body react to the sight, getting wet. She walked to the bar, ordered a double vodka and scanned the room.

  When she saw him, her nipples hardened and a low moan escaped her lips. He was sitting alone at a table, his eyes hooded and unreadable. His dark hair was sept back from his face – a beautiful but dangerous face, his brown eyes large but lacking warmth. Tamara watched as a gorgeous young woman approached him, buck-naked, and straddled him. He leaned back as the girl unzipped his pants and drew out the biggest cock Tamara had ever seen. That thing is a monster, she thought, salivating. She watched as the man fisted the hair at the back of the girl’s head and kissed her deeply before the girl slid from his knees and took his cock in her mouth. He closed his eyes for a second as she began to suck at him, then looked directly at Tamara. Almost unconsciously her hand drifted down between her legs and she began to stroke herself, gently moving her body to the tune of the song, as he watched her. He didn’t take his eyes from her as the girl worked on him, only shuddering as he came, shooting into the other girl’s mouth. She swallowed him then just as silently moved away. His cock was still ramrod stiff, and Tamara didn’t hesitate.

  She walked over to him and without a word, lowered herself onto his prick, and began to ride him. His kiss was rough, almost violent, his fingers digging into her tender flesh as they fucked. Tamara still had the flogger in her hand and she brought it up to strike him across the chest but he caught her hand.

  “No.”

  She got it. He was a Dom too. Her chin lifted defiantly but his eyes dared her to defy him. He jerked, coming, shooting thick cum into her cunt, then almost immediately lifting her off, and zipping himself up.

  “Thanks.” He said, and walked out of the club, Tamara staring after him. Thanks? Thanks? Asshole. She stood, needing to save face. After a few minutes, she felt someone else watching her. This one was cute too, a little less god-like, but he had bright blue eyes and curly light brown hair. There was an arrogance to his smile she liked and so when he approached her, she didn’t glare at him. He bent his head to kiss her, sliding his hand between her legs to stroke her clit. He touched the flogger.

  “How much?”

  Tamara smiled. “A thousand to be beaten. Two to fuck me. Three to fuck me in the ass.”

  Her admirer smiled. “Let’s called it an even ten thousand for all night and everything then, shall we? I have a room reserved here.”

  He took her hand and led her back through a labyrinth of dark corridors. Tamara heard the echo of cries and begging and orgasmic pleasure reverberate off the stone walls. She had never been turned on so much in her life. Her client opened a door for her. “Is this to your liking?”

  Inside the room was painted a dark eggplant color, with orange lamps dotted around the place giving it a sensual glow. A four-poster bed was in the center, a St Andrew’s cross at one end, with cuffs and restraints nailed into it. A long wooden bench, and shelves of toys, lube, ball-gags, whips, paddles and a selection sex toys. Tamara sighed happily. Her client smiled.

  “What’s your name?”

  “T…” She’d almost given her real name – stupid, did she want to look like a freaking rookie? “Taryn.”

  “Well, Taryn, I’m Grant.”

  His real name. So what? She pointed to the bench. “Get naked, Lie on your stomach on the bench.”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The first time she brought the flogger down hard across his buttocks, Tamara almost came. The exhilaration, the power she had over him was orgasmic. She began to cuss him out as she punished him, and when he begged her to whip his cock, she felt herself become dripping wet. “Turn over, scum,” she growled and his erection bounced upwards. She brought the flogger down across it, making sure the whip caught his balls too, and to her amazement, he just got harder and harder, groaning through the pain.

  “Fuck me now,” she ordered and grinning, he complied, thrusting deep into her cunt, hands gripping her hips as they moved together.

  In the early dawn light, Tamara finally caught the subway back to her New York apartment, utterly spent, but ten thousand dollars in cash richer, and thoroughly sated. At last, at last, she had found a world where she belonged. Tamara showered and brushed her teeth, grinning to herself. Why work when you could get rich fucking and causing pain? It was her calling; the two things she knew without a doubt she excelled at.

  Screw you, Dad, for ignoring me. From now on, this is my world.

  Chapter Four

  Sofia slapped the paint onto the wall, then smoothed it out, making sure there was no bubbles or imperfection in it. The white matte paint went on easily and she found it meditative and relaxing to sweep it across the expanse. Soon, priceless artworks would be hung on it and she owed it to them, and to Desiree and Ivo, to make sure the gallery looked it best.

  She had been here a month now, working long hours, longing even than Desiree demanded, to help the gallery get ready for its grand opening in two months. Sofia was desperate to pay back her two mentors for all they had done for her and yet…she cautioned herself against getting too close to either of them. Desiree was also her landlady, but Sofia tried to not to infringe too much on her life. Unlike Sofia, Desiree was a social creature and often had dinner parties and gatherings. Sofia would join in to be polite but more often than not, she would use the fact Desiree was distracted to go hide out and sketch. Since talking with Ivo and Desiree non-stop about art, she had become even more obsessed, striving to better her own techniques, learning new ones, experimenting. She found she loved color and abstract more and more and played with colors that shouldn’t go together but did.

  And then there was Ivo. They spent time together almost every day, playfully flirting as well as talking late into the night sometimes. Sofia’s heart soared whenever she saw him, and his smile indicated he felt the same, but she held back. She couldn’t let herself fall for him, because if she did, she could lose him and that would kill her. There were times when it was all she could do not to touch him, to stroke her hand through his hair. The days when they casually held hands seemed to be drifting away, and it made her sad. She had never wanted anybody so much in her life – she had never wanted anyone else, period.

  But he was so, so out of her league. A couple of weeks after she had left the hospital, his parents, divorced but obviously still best friends, came to see him and he had introduced her to them. They were a riot, so much fun, and they made a fuss over her but still Sofia felt the divide.
They lived in a world she was no longer entitled to visit.

  She was thinking about this as she and Ivo sat in a café near Notre Dame. On the plate in front of her, a pastry lay untouched and Ivo nudged her. “Are you sick again? Because that’s the first time I’ve seen you leave something uneaten in I don’t know how long.”

  He was teasing of course, and she smiled. “No, I’m good, just thinking.”

  “About?”

  She met his gaze. “I don’t know where I fit in this world anymore.”

  Ivo’s eyebrows shot up and he put his coffee cup down. “Sofia…you fit into this world. You have steered your own path, you are unique.”

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t and that’s the trouble, Ivo. I went from my step-father’s house to being a homeless kid to Desiree’s house. All was decided by others not me.”

  Ivo looked a little confused. “You feel…dictated to?”

  She shook her head. “No, believe me I am grateful, it’s just…I can’t paint walls forever. I just don’t know what it is I’m looking for.”

  Ivo nodded, understanding. “Well, what’s your passion?”

  She met his gaze. You. You are my passion. She knew her desire must be written all over her face. She saw it in his too. He leaned forward. “Sofia…”

  His lips were so close to hers. Sofia drew in a deep breath, anticipating the feel of his mouth on hers, finally.

  “Ivo? Ivo Zacca?”

  Sofia’s eyes flew open and they both looked around to see a beautiful blonde woman, nervous, almost shaking, staring at them. Ivo’s eyes clouded over but he forced a smile onto his face.

  “Clemence?”

  The blonde woman nodded. “Of course, it’s me.” She had her hands on the large bump in her belly. Ivo looked shocked and in a flash, Sofia knew why. This must be his ex-girlfriend, the one he had broken up with seven months ago.