Winter

by Michelle Love

  “God, Inca … Jesus …” Raffaelo collapsed on top of her, freeing her hands. Inca’s body was undulating with her breathlessness, but she grinned at him.

  “Raff … have you ever fucked in public? Or at least somewhere where you might get caught?”

  Raffaelo chuckled. “Feeling kinky, Miss Sardee?”

  “Always.”

  “Well,” he said, “we can certainly explore that. My club in the city has an office upstairs with a two-way mirror … when the room is dark, no one in the club can see, but we can see everything.”

  “Hmm.” Inca pushed him onto his back and straddled him. “Now that sounds like something we should definitely try.”

  Raffaelo chuckled and pulled her face down so he could kiss her. “I love you, Inca Sardee.”

  Inca nuzzled his nose. Then, as she impaled herself on his huge cock, she gave a happy sigh. “I love you, Raffaelo Winter … more than you will ever know …”

  When Inca was asleep, and when Raffaelo was able to drag himself away from her, he walked down to his study and closed the door behind him. He called the head of his security team and asked him to meet him.

  The man, Pietro, nodded to him as he entered the study. “What’s up, boss?”

  Raffaelo indicated he should sit. “Has anyone from my father’s team been in contact with you?”

  “Not as far as I know. Why?”

  “Because I think I saw a couple of his goons follow Inca and me earlier. I hardly need to tell you I don’t want my father anywhere near Inca—or Tommaso, when he returns. I’m concerned they may try to take Inca to mess with us.”

  Pietro made a disgusted noise. He had known Raffaelo and Tommaso since they were kids, and he was unfailingly loyal to the twins; their father was another matter, and Pietro had no time for the man. Edgar Winter was, in Pietro’s opinion, a nasty piece of work; jealous of his sons’ looks, tastes, and talents, he excelled in trying to destroy his offspring’s confidence and lives.

  “We won’t let that happen, Raff; I promise. But we won’t be able to prevent your father coming to the house; it does still belong to the family.”

  Raffaelo looked unhappy. “I know. Just make sure his security knows that Inca is off-limits.”

  “No problem. You know, if he’s here, then at least we can be sure to keep an eye on him.”

  “Right. I just worry about Tommaso’s reaction. Thank you, Pietro.”

  He went back to bed, curving his body around Inca’s. Although he had made his peace with sharing her with Tommaso–after all, he had been the cheater this time—this time alone with her was precious. She had entirely invaded his heart and mind; there wasn’t a second he wasn’t thinking about her or their future.

  Except … how could he think of their future? How would it work? While they were young and free, yes, they could revel in their unusual relationship. But what about when marriage and kids were an issue?

  Raffaelo sighed and buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, of her skin. For now, he would enjoy the fact that they were safe; that no one here would try to kill her … back in Washington, he had lived every day in terror that she would be murdered. That terrible night when she’d been shot …

  Inca murmured in her sleep and turned around, snuggling into his arms. Half-asleep, her lips sought his, and as soon as her skin touched his, his cock responded, growing thick and huge.

  “Bella … do you want me?” He wasn’t even sure if she was awake, but, without opening her eyes, she nodded, and slowly hooked her leg over his hip so he could slide inside her. Raffaelo moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to break the spell of this dream-like coupling.

  She whispered his name so softly, with so much love that his cock swelled inside her and he moved his hand down to caress her clit, intent on giving her the mellowest orgasm he could. His own was building, a slow burn in his belly, as he trailed his lips across her soft skin, kissing her closed eyelids and the sweet swell of her cheeks.

  Inca tensed and sighed through her climax, giving a soft moan that sent Raffaelo over the edge. Feeling himself cum deep within her, he allowed himself a fantasy that his child was conceived and that Inca would be his alone. He wanted more than anything to be with this woman forever—to have her to himself— but he would never tell her or Tommaso that. They were the two people he loved more than anything in this world and he would not cause them pain.

  So, he swallowed his own pain, and reveled in these small moments, just enjoying the fact their life here in Italy was the happiest he’d ever been.

  But, of course, it didn’t stay that way for long.

  Edgar Winter took the envelope from his head of security and opened it. The photographs were sharp and focused. Edgar started to smile. His son, Raffaelo, with a dark-haired beauty—God, she was something else—sitting in the middle of Sorrento, none the wiser that they were being watched. His son was kissing the beauty, his face soft with love.

  “Who’s the girl?”

  “Her name is Inca Sardee. American, from Washington State. I did some digging; apparently, she was injured in a shooting recently. As well, an ex-husband tried to kill her. Her mother was murdered too not long ago. Adopted mother, I should say. The birth mother was also murdered, but Ms. Sardee never knew her.”

  Edgar raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty horrific history. What does she want with my son?”

  The security man smiled nastily, his eyes triumphant. “Sons,” he corrected, and handed him another photograph. This one wasn’t so clear, taken from a distance through a window. What was unmistakable though, was that Inca Sardee was being thoroughly and enthusiastically fucked by both of his sons.

  “Well, well, well.” Edgar was almost giddy with glee. “My boys have gotten themselves a whore.”

  His security head grinned. “Looker, too.”

  Yes, she was. Edgar studied the photograph; her body was curvy and full, her skin beautiful, her long dark hair tumbling down her back. He looked at his guard. “I think it’s time I reconnected with my boys—and their lovely companion. Make the arrangements, would you?”

  Washington State …

  Belinda Clements hesitated before she pushed open the door to the police station. It had been years since she had spoken to Oliver Rosenbaum—years since she’d gotten him drunk and fucked him. He’d been so angry at himself the next morning and had warned her not to tell Inca. She had laughed in his face, but inside … she hadn’t told Inca. Why?

  Because she hadn’t wanted to burn her bridges with Olly. She’d been crazy about him since they were kids, only to see him with her mortal enemy, Inca Sardee. Belinda had always hated her for her beauty, her warmth and intelligence, and the way she was popular with everybody. It was sickening. When she heard that Inca had been shot, she cheered at the television. When she’d heard who the shooter was … God, the smile disappeared.

  So she was here now, a couple of months after Luna’s death. A decent interval. Inca had recovered, but had been spirited away by her Italian billionaires (God, that rankled), which left Olly all alone. She’d heard, via town gossips, that he was focusing entirely on work and was pushing everyone else away.

  Knox Westerwick was on the telephone, and didn’t even look up as she went in. Olly was pouring himself a coffee, but stopped when he saw her. Belinda smiled at him.

  “Hi, Olly.”

  “Hey.” His voice showed his surprise. “How long have you been back in town?”

  “A while.”

  There was an awkward silence, then Olly nodded towards the coffee pot. “Want some?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She took the coffee from him, then asked if she could talk to him for a while. He looked surprised. “Sure.”

  “How are you?” Belinda blew on her coffee to cool it and looked up at him. Olly shifted a little uncomfortably.

  “You know. Getting there. Keeping busy.”

  “I’m so sorry, Olly. I would have come before, but I tho
ught you might want to be alone.”

  Olly gave her a strange smile. “And we haven’t seen each other in what? Ten years?”

  “Ten years? Really? God, time goes so quickly.”

  Olly studied her. “What have you been up to?”

  Belinda smiled sheepishly. “Married twice, divorced twice. Could never stick at it. You? I heard you and Inca split.”

  Olly’s eyes took on a guarded look and he glanced away. “That didn’t stick either … but that was my fault, not Inca’s.”

  He was obviously waiting for her to say something bitchy about his ex, but Belinda shook her head. “I feel bad for the way I used to treat her. Put it this way … I know better now. I wouldn’t say we’d ever be friends but … is she still away?”

  Olly nodded, seeming to be relieved that Belinda was being pleasant. “Yes. After … what happened, she didn’t want to be around this place anymore. Can’t say I blame her.”

  Belinda put her hand on his. “No one would judge you if … well, never mind. Look, I wanted to say hi … maybe we could grab a drink one evening?”

  Olly hesitated, glancing over at Knox, who was studiously ignoring them, then nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  Belinda smiled. “I’ll call you. Soon, though, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Olly sat back in his chair, not knowing what to make of Belinda Clement’s visit. She certainly seemed … changed? Was that the right word? But he remembered all the times she and Inca had clashed, right from childhood, and he’d always had Inca’s back. So why was Belinda reaching out to him now? Did she sense that he was still raw from Luna’s suicide and see it as an opportunity to stick the knife in Inca’s back? He winced at that. Way wrong expression, dude. Knox had disappeared from the office, called out to an incident, and suddenly Olly wanted to talk to his oldest friend, his old love. He glanced at the clock. It would be early evening in Italy.

  Only hesitating for a second, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed. When he heard her warm voice, he knew he had made the right decision.

  “Hi,” he said, softly. “It’s me.”

  Inca was so happy that Olly had called her that her mood infected dinner. Tommaso had returned, and she and Raffaelo told him about their plans to open a teahouse in the city.

  Tommaso smiled. “I think that’s a great idea. I know how bored you’ve been.” He grinned mischievously as she laughed.

  “Oh, yes. So bored.”

  “Actually, Tommaso, we have an invitation for you.” Raffaelo tried to hide his smile as Inca giggled. “How would you like to come clubbing with us?”

  Tommaso looked surprised. “Really?”

  The other two laughed. “Yes,” Inca said. “We have … a plan.”

  “Okay.” He looked suspicious. “Will I like it?”

  “Oh, I promise, you will love it.”

  They took a cab into the city at ten p.m. Raffaelo’s club was packed with party-goers, the atmosphere sweaty and sultry, drinks flowing. The three of them stayed downstairs for a while, drinking and dancing, grinding up on each other. Inca was wearing a short, dark maroon dress, which clung to her full breasts and flared out at the waist, a simple long gold chain her only jewelry, her long dark hair tumbling in waves to her waist. She was a happy drunk, and Raffaelo nudged his brother as they watched her dance.

  “Look at her,” he said in an awestruck voice. “Have you ever seen anything that beautiful before?”

  Tommaso laughed. “No, brother, I never have.”

  Inca danced over to them, grabbing their hands and sliding them under her dress. She was naked, and she grinned at their surprise as they encountered bare flesh. “I belong to you,” she said to them.

  Soon, Raffaelo led them both upstairs to his office, where, as promised, an entire wall looked out onto the dancefloor. Inca grinned when she saw it and pressed herself against the glass.

  “And they can’t see in?”

  “Not when the light is like this. If the lights went out below, then yes, they could.”

  Inca turned around and faced them, pausing for a second but then pulling her dress over her head. Under it, she was wearing the leather harness, the straps crisscrossing her beautiful body, her breasts, over her belly, framing her navel. “Then let’s hope the lights don’t go out.”

  Raffaelo and Tommaso, both gaping at her, moved towards her, and she kissed them while they stripped off, dropping to her knees and sucking each of their cocks in turn, just briefly, before Raffaelo picked her up. Tommaso laid back on the desk and she straddled him. She took his cock in her hand and began to stroke him towards orgasm as Raffaelo plunged into her cunt from behind, fucking her hard as she jerked Tommaso off. Tommaso came on her belly as she cried out her own orgasm, then, swiftly, it was Tommaso inside her as Raff fucked her ass. Raff’s hands were massaging her breasts; Tommaso’s fingers stroking her belly, finger-fucking her navel.

  The three of them, fevered and delirious, tumbled to the floor of the office, then Raffaelo was thrusting into her cunt again as she lay beneath him. Tommaso, panting, kissed her mouth and her face, murmuring what he wanted to do to her.

  Inca shuddered through another two orgasms before they all took a break. “Wow,” she said, panting for air. “Now, which one of you is going to fuck me against that glass?”

  Tommaso sat down at Raffaelo’s desk and grinned at his brother. “It’s your office, brother …”

  Raffaelo threw his head back and laughed; Inca had never seen him so laidback and loose. Hardly surprising, given this situation. She kissed him as he took her in his arms. “I like Happy Raff.”

  He laughed. “How drunk are you?”

  “Very …”

  He kissed her, lifting her up and pressing her back against the glass. His cock nudged at her cunt and she smiled. “You’re so hard …”

  He thrust hard inside her, and she gasped at the feeling of him. Tommaso was watching, his favorite thing to do while they fucked. Afterward, Raff turned her so her breasts and her belly were pressed up against the glass as he took her from behind. Knowing that any minute the light could change, and a whole club full of people would see them fucking, was thrilling to her.

  Eventually, they had to admit exhaustion and, dressing slowly, they decided to walk through the warm night, back up to the villa.

  It was nearly dawn before they reached home and, falling into bed, they slept soundly until mid-morning. Inca was in the shower when she heard shouting.

  Dressing quickly, she ran to see what was wrong. She heard Tommaso angrily berating someone. “Why did you let him in? What the hell were you thinking?”

  Inca saw someone standing a little way down the driveway and she went to Raffaelo. “What is it, Raff? What’s going on?”

  Raffaelo turned to her, his eyes dark. “It’s our father, Inca. Our father is here.”

  Belinda felt a hand under her elbow and Knox Westerwick pulled her into an alleyway. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

  Irritated, she wrenched her arm out of his grip. “It’s none of your concern, Knox.”

  “It is if you’re messing with my friend’s head.”

  Belinda took out a cigarette and lit it. “I’m doing no such thing. I’m merely reaching out to an old friend.”

  Knox snorted. “Spare me the bullshit.”

  Belinda studied him. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me, Knox. You were the only other interesting person in this shithole of a town.”

  Knox sneered at her. “You’re not interesting, Belinda; you’re what you always were. A stone-cold bitch.”

  Belinda smiled coldly. “But, apart from that whore who is in Italy, practically the only woman left alive. At least, of your friends.”

  She knew it was a low blow, and she watched Knox’s expression shut down.

  “You’re mistaken, Belinda. We were never friends.”

  She watched him walk away and smiled to herself.

  Inca stayed out of the way while Tommaso and
Raffaelo dealt with their father. Raffaelo came to tell her that his father was insisting on staying at the villa for a couple of weeks and they’d agreed, on the condition that his security team left. He agreed—if he could keep his private secretary with him, an obsequious man called Giuliano who looked more a Mafia heavy than a secretary.

  “After all,” Edgar had told his sons. “This house is mine.”

  Inca was introduced to him briefly, and in those moments, she formed an opinion of him that wasn’t positive. He was handsome and tall, like his sons, but he had none of their warmth or joy. Instead, his dark eyes were small and piercing and the way he smiled at her, half-mocking, half-dismissive, didn’t make her want to know him any better.

  Instead, she and Raffaelo concentrated on their plans to open a teahouse and spent a great deal of time in the city. Tommaso accompanied them when he could, but his own work seemed to be keeping him busy.

  Inca had her own room; they all thought it best while Edgar was there, but Raffaelo made sure it had a working lock, and Inca didn’t fail to lock it at night. Edgar made her uneasy; the way his eyes would rake over her body made her feel nauseous.

  She managed to escape his presence mostly, but one day, just by chance, he managed to corner her in the garden.

  Inca had found a little quiet place where she could curl up with a book, but he came upon it, and Inca couldn’t see a way to politely excuse herself as he sat down beside her.

  “You have certainly made my son very happy,” he began, his tone pleasant.

  “Tommaso’s a wonderful man,” she said carefully, edging away from him on the seat. Edgar laughed.

  “Of course he is. Tommaso …”

  Inca flushed. Did he know? How could he? They had been so careful. “Both of your sons are a credit,” she said, not being able to help the snark she felt.

  To their mother, asshole, not you.

  Edgar smiled at her coldly; she saw her barb had hit home. “And how about your family, Inca? I’m sorry to hear about your mother—your adoptive mother, I mean.”