Undressed: 1 (The Manhattanites)

by Aster, Avery

  With this embarrassment hanging over her, could she stay in Milan? Why would he want her around for the week? She must if she wanted the fabrics. Maybe love and Lex didn’t equate. Lex and casual sex didn’t. Massimo remained worth a try. He would have been perfect. His handsome face, hard body and fat cock—Lex didn’t even get a chance to taste, suck or swallow. Dammit.

  “Yes, alrighty then, let’s get ready for The Fashion Ball.” She needed to forget it and focus on what she did best, Easton Essentials.

  The Fashion Ball, next to Italy’s Fashion Week, remained Europe’s mammoth mode event. Similar to New York’s Costume Institute Gala—Met Ball—anyone in fashion who is, was or who could be, should have been, or would become—a fashion icon from designers to stars came from all over the globe to attend.

  Tonight would be Lex’s first appearance at such a gala. Last year, up to her eyeballs in sketching and drafting patterns, she’d declined the invitation. This year, she’d hired employees who’d helped her more and more with the business. Ready to be social, to network, to be seen, and be casual in bed, she’d get him.

  “I will book the afternoon for you at the spa,” he affirmed. “Jemma has a few gowns at the house you may select from.”

  “Did you say spa? Which one?”

  “I am going to drop you off at Aquae Calidae over on Via S. Sofia.”

  “The famous Roman bath place?”

  “Sì, you have been?”

  “Nope, I’ve always wanted to go.” Aquae Calidae was a legendary place celebrated for transforming movie stars, creating esthetic wonders beyond anyone’s greatest wishes.

  “You will have a late lunch there and get some treatments.”

  “Aren’t you coming with me?” A part of her reveled in spending the day with him at the spa.

  “I will schedule our week. Work on the designs. Get your shipment flown to New York, and finish the details for tonight.”

  “You have to come. How will I find my way about town?” She spoke with desperate firmness. No, no, no. I just played dumb. Fuck. I’ve been to Milan a million times. Why did I just say that?

  “The spa’s driver will take you back to my home here in town. But before you leave I want to address the real reason why I brought you here today.”

  “Yes, what is it?” She’d almost forgotten.

  “Last night I thought long and hard about the fabrics, and I do intend to give them to you. But there is a condition to this trade, or rather a proposition for you.”

  “Continue.” Lex felt a chill and crossed her arms.

  “You do not have to say yes, or no, to what I am about to ask, right now. I would like you to spend this week mulling it over. Okay?”

  “Spill it, Massimo.” She hated mulling.

  “My intent is to acquire Easton Essentials. You would work for Girasoli and head up our North American business. We will make Easton a Girasoli subdivision.” He beamed.

  She gasped. He’d lost his mind. Lunacy swirled rampant around them today. “No way! I don’t need to ration a sellout to your subdivision for more than a second. I can tell you right now, the answer is no.” Hell to the no.

  “Your quick ‘no’ is because I refused to say ‘yes’ to sex. They say men think with their dicks. I hope you do not run Easton with your—”

  “Shut it!” I’m gonna punch you. Lex inhaled and fisted her hands. She reflected on what Taddy or Vive might say right now. She’d give him an earful sampled by second bestie “Viveca Farnworth” sarcasm style. Massimo deserved it. “You could have fucked me ’til your uncut, overexposed on the blogs, ‘too ginormous for my snatch’ pecker fell off. And I’d still no way never ever in a thousand years sell, loan, sample you my Easton. And to answer your question, I run my company with my pussy, and twenty-four other pussy-sporting employees. Easton girls do not allow dickheads or cocks in our fashion world. Period.” She recrossed her arms and quirked her jaw up to illustrate physical defiance coordinating with her ruthless words.

  Massimo’s face remained impervious. She heard him jingle loose change in his pocket. He coughed, cleared his throat and said, “An acquisition is the solution viable for us both. Girasoli will acquire Easton. You will work for Girasoli and receive full benefits, health care, retirement, an expense account, you name it. Girasoli will give your entire team plenty of vacation time—whatever you want.”

  “Come again?” Hell to the maaaybe.

  “Today, watching what you did with the designs confermato my interest. Girasoli needs you. And Easton needs Girasoli. It is best for everyone. Think it over.”

  “There is nothing to think over.” She bluffed. A regular paycheck with benefits versus her unstable startup and lack of cash, which flowed out, never in, made her pussy cream more than thinking about Massimo’s fat dick.

  “When you are ready, I will have my attorneys draw up the paperwork, assuming you agree on the price. Would you care to know the prezzo I’m offering for Easton?”

  “No, I would not. Easton is priceless. There isn’t enough money in the world for my baby.” Easton was her child. An all consuming, demanding, fulltime, pain in her ass child, but she loved her two-year-old Easton regardless.

  “Girasoli will wage five times Easton’s annual gross,” Massimo enticed without hesitation.

  “Last year’s gross? Or this year’s projected revenue?”

  “This year,” he affirmed.

  She did the calculations in her head and rounded up to the nearest million. “Three hundred flippin’ mil.” Hell to the Yaaah.

  “Sì, sì, sì.” He hushed her as she opened her mouth to speak again. Extending his arm, he said, “Shall I take you to the spa? We can talk about this in more detail later. We have all week.”

  With Jell-O legs, she clung to his side as they left the executive suite. The words jumbled in her mouth but couldn’t come out with any intelligence, so she kept silent. Three hundred million dollars, oh my Oscar de la Renta. More mullah than she’d ever thought possible. Regardless of what’d happened, she was here for the week. She might as well enjoy it. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to sell him Easton Essentials.

  * * * * *

  Aquae Calidae, I’m so flippin’ excited. Clean pores, here I come.

  “I’ve heard amazing things about your oxygen facial. My friend Vive experienced your services last year. She was here for Milan’s fashion week. Raved about you for weeks. That’s huge considering Vive never has anything nice to say about anyone.” Lex complimented the esthetician as she tucked herself under the white sheets at the spa. Inhaling the sharp lavender smell, she tried to void Massimo’s rejection from her mind.

  “Grazie,” Sophia said as she swiped a wet sponge over Lex’s face.

  As her nails were buffed and lacquered in a juicy watermelon pink, her body wrapped in brown algae cocooned in Mylar sheets, and her face blasted in oxygen, her mind was on the prince.

  Unlike some women, she didn’t store her sex life away with the marriage notion. Taddy, Vive and she weren’t on the Kleinfield Bridal Salon bandwagon. The one in their circle to wed was Blake Morgan and his gay marriage to “Mister Limp Dick” didn’t go so well. Blake mentioned the straights could keep the wedding thing.

  There was nothing wrong with those who did save for marriage. Lex hadn’t found the right opportunity for a good fuck buddy was all. Sure, propositions came and went over the years. But it was rushed, insincere and resembled her father’s groupie escapades. She’d watched backstage as one fan after another threw themselves at his band members for sex. Long lines out in the hall. She never saw it, but it became much implied.

  From then on she’d sworn two things—one, she’d never marry an adrenaline junkie like Eddie, and two, she’d never become those women who jonesed cock with strangers like Birdie.

  But why sexquesting this week? Was she becoming what she’d always despised? She frustrated even herself with her actions. Why did Massimo refuse? He expressed interest in devouring her sex at dinner last
night. He made advances in his racecar. Then again, on the plane he’d tried over and over again to bed her. He initiated the damn kiss—the kiss that changed everything. But the minute he realized she’d never played without strings, he’d wanted nothing to do with her. Were women who came and went in the night his exclusive taste?

  Then there stood this three hundred million dollar offering sitting as if it were an elephant in the room. A large mammal with beady eyes, long tusks, in varying gray tones. Yes, gray, everything no longer black and white, not anymore. The acquisition, money, designs, sex—it should make anyone go on a blue Xanax bender to alleviate the stress. A pill popper Lex was not, though she started to wonder if she should start.

  Unlike Birdie who turned to things illicit, Lex’s vice remained another white powder, one that you didn’t snort or shoot—but ate. Sugar! Willy Wonka style. I need a “fuck-it bucket” packed with my favorite sugary candy from Dylan’s Candy Bar—Swedish Fish, Sour Watermelon Gummies and Mini Gummy Bears. I can’t take my lame-ass sex life any longer.

  “Would you care for a marine collagen mask or a vitamin C treatment applied after the oxygen blast?” The beauty therapist looked down at her as she felt toner mist on her neck.

  Lex smiled. She loved this treatment. “Whatever you think is best. I’m going to The Fashion Ball tonight. So let’s do everything.” Visions to how the night would play out danced in her head. She’d meet fellow designers from Paris, London and Tokyo.

  “Signorina,” Sophia spoke over her, “we should spray tan your skin today. It’ll give you a bronze sheen. We can airbrush on a six pack, calf muscles and even some extra cleavage.” The technician who’d addressed her patted her arm to encourage her to leave everything to her expertise.

  Going beyond a five minute morning makeup application in vain made Lex roll her eyes. But she’d try one more time to seduce the prince. And it would be tonight.

  “Sounds perfect. Let’s do it.” I will have him.

  Part Two

  When Candy Isn’t Enough

  Chapter Eight

  Beam Me the Ménage à Trois Up, Scotty

  “Prada,” read across the label on the young man’s shirt who greeted Lex at the private entrance to the House of Tittoni’s Milan mansion.

  “Fuck me!” shouted his muscular body in a subliminal tone.

  “Why hello there, I’m Lex Easton. Pleasure.”

  “Ciao, I’m Rocco,” he replied, exuding a statuesque Herculean build. Rocco’s strapping handshake coordinated well with his six foot frame.

  Lord almighty. Lex’s pussy quaked at his touch in a record ten seconds.

  Rocco’s physique featured defined biceps, double in size to Lex’s thighs.

  Unable to take her eyes off him, she doubted if the pearl-white buttons on his shirt would stay fastened if the fabric were a smidge tighter.

  “Massimo didn’t mention a younger brother,” Lex complimented Rocco. Similar to Massimo, he featured a chiseled jaw almost soap opera worthy. Hot! His lips were full, almost swollen and in dire need to kiss, lick, or suck on something—anything.

  Despite Rocco’s brawn, Lex confirmed his black lavalicious eyes remained his best asset. Almond shaped with überlong lashes, they’d hypnotize their prey with a stare unlike any other. His eyes spoke, as his muscles did earlier, and said, “I’m going to bang the pussy juice outta you, Lex Easton!”

  Between his eyes and muscles, Rocco, who didn’t speak much English, told Lex a lot. He may not have known it at the time. Nevertheless, her pussy appreciated what he said.

  “I manage and run il Milano mansion. I am the equivalent to Roberto at Isola di Girasoli’s royal palace. I am not related to His Majesty, but work my entire life for the royal family. Sì?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Lex chuckled. “You don’t mirror Roberto in any way, shape, or form.” She noticed. “You’re hot! And you make no flippin’ apologies about it. Do you? No, you don’t.” Lex surmised Rocco aroused any woman—or any man. She knew Massimo was straight because he was a pig, a smart, dirty, machismo stud. Who might have a gold heart but her jury remained hung until further notice.

  However, Rocco, this guy—she wasn’t sure. His eyelashes led her to assume he played on her friend Blake’s team. Rocco’s lashes blinked way gay long. He was too pretty.

  “I have a friend in Manhattan I might set you up with. You two will hit it off.” This was Lex’s gay test. She didn’t say the “friend” was a man or a woman. He’d either reply, what’s her name or what’s his name. In Italy it was more appropriate than asking if they were gay. She never assumed as Vive did. And with Pope Benny suppressing Italy’s homosexuals, Lex stepped up to help out.

  “Sì, what’s their name?”

  Damn, he failed my test. “I have two friends, Vive and Blake. You may take your pick.” She snorted.

  “Grazie. His Majesty issued a memo you’d be staying this week. I’m here to fill your every need.” He glanced her up and down and continued, “Prince Massimo mentioned a classico beauty arrived in Milan but he didn’t say stunning, sì?”

  “Aw. Thank you.” Unable to remember the last time she’d received such a sweet compliment, she reached for her purse to tip him. Then she remembered Roberto scolding her. “Massimo described me as a classic beauty?”

  “Sì, it was in his staff memo.”

  “What else did this note say?” Lex was curious.

  “You own a sharp tongue. I do not know what the prince means. Can you hold your tongue out?”

  “Ahhhhh.” Lex stuck out her tongue at him. She didn’t have the patience to explain the expression. Not thinking Rocco would understand, she pulled her tongue in her mouth.

  Rocco gestured thank you and continued, “The memo also listed—house staff is not to challenge Signorina Easton. Signorina needs her rest. Signorina may not be nice at sunrise. Signorina does not eat Italiano food. And Signorina rolls her eyes and curses—a lot.”

  “Okie dokie. Maybe you should show me my room?” I knew I should’ve stopped at the classic beauty compliment.

  “Sì, let me give you a tour. I will show you the first four floors. His Majesty’s quarters remain off limits.” He motioned her through the house.

  The seven-story estate felt packed in compared to Girasoli palace. It was also secluded, in contrast to its urban setting, and built floor to ceiling in white marble. The house featured an indoor skating rink, three kitchens, two sports courts, a gift wrapping room, a bowling alley and a storage room with special freezers.

  “What’s in these freezers? Meats and cheeses?” Lex asked as they walked into the subzero rooms.

  “His Majesty enjoys confectionary treats. Swiss chocolatier, Teuscher. They are in Zurich with a store in Bahnhofstrasse. They FedEx shipments for our Imperial Highness.”

  “Shipments of?”

  “Prized champagne chocolate truffles,” Rocco shared and opened a freezer to show her. “They arrive each Friday.”

  “My respect for the prince grows more and more by the minute.” Yummerific for my fuck-it bucket. She’d eyed the freezer waiting for Rocco to turn his back to her. The nanosecond he distanced himself she swung the freezer door open and popped one Hm, two Hmm, three Hmmm in her mouth. She sucked. She swallowed. If she didn’t get Massimo today she might as well enjoy Teuscher’s.

  Upstairs the opulent hallways were lined in exquisite Renaissance paintings with works by Paolo Uccello and Domenico Ghirlandaio.

  Rocco’s face lit up when Lex expressed an interest in the paintings.

  “Are these paintings real or copies?”

  “House of Tittoni’s Milano mansion, inside and out, is an original—including the man who owns it.” He gave Lex a smirk then stepped forward and said, “Scusi, I have other matters to attend to.” Rocco shook her hand. “You know where your sleeping quarters are. The limo will be downstairs waiting for you in uno hour. Arrivederci.”

  Lex stood and admired a tempera panel painting featuring nine figures—Mercury p
arting the clouds for spring to enter, Cupid causing sexual havoc, a deflowered Venus surrounded by the Three Graces, Flora, flower and blossom goddess and Chloris, her former innocent self with Zephyr, the wind deity taking her virginity.

  Primavera, also known as Allegory of Spring by Sandro Botticelli, she knew its meaning—neoplatonic love, possessed by Eros. A coveted painting stared her right in the face, in Massimo’s home, down the hall from his bedroom suite.

  She turned to go down the hall to her room when Lex heard—

  “Jemmy! Jam, Jam, Jemma.” A male voiced erupted from the winding guest room corridor.

  “Sì, my darling. Sì,” a female voice responded.

  WTF?

  Passing a door left ajar she heard what sounded to be Luigi with Jemma.

  Rocco had mentioned the couple arrived earlier on another jet to get ready for tonight.

  She’d close the door and let them have their sensual moment in private. As she held on to the crystal doorknob, she didn’t possess any self restraint. She wanted to peek, if only for a second.

  Pushing open the heavy oak door, she looked into the room. The walls were illuminated by lit candles. The opulent velvet medallion burgundy curtains were drawn, blocking the sun from shining in. A dark foyer, separating the entrance from the bedroom where the noises originated, remained between them. Lex tiptoed farther in and stopped at the second entrance. She remained unseen.

  “Suck che dick. Yeah. Suck it, Jemma,” Luigi ordered as he rested naked on a black leather loveseat. His elongated muscular torso camouflaged by flaxen hair left a fuzzy trail down his navel to his pubes.

  Oh my—cockalicious. Lex’s clit prickled with anticipation. This scene by far blew the cock riding, yacht floating woman who greeted her at the Isola di Girasoli out of the water.