by Sienna Mynx
Their pelvises met. The in and out of his cock became like riding a wave, slow and soothing. A bout of dizzying decadence split her in half. All thoughts of the plane hurling toward the earth and killing them in a fiery crash were gone. Gripping his arms she held tight to them and whimpered to keep from screaming her sheer delight.
Diego kissed her once more. She swore she felt him smile within their kiss and savor the taste of her submission.
“I want you so bad,” he rasped.
“I want you, too,” she said deepening the kiss.
Then his thrusts increased in frequency. The invasion and pressure was so sweet she cried out against his mouth. In that instant, Marcella lost all sense of time, all understanding of the world outside of the small bed she lay pinned against, and outside the craft that sailed through the clouds. Diego delivered repeated thrusts forcing her hips to move and her thighs to tremble in response. Her heart and body pulsed with the same beat. His head lifted and she obeyed his order to look him in the eye. His smile was strangely tender. Again he thrust and a shock of rapture burned her within, startling her into an answering movement of her hips. Her hands skidded over his damp shoulders. Secretly she relished the coil and bunch of muscles beneath her fingertips.
Diego loved her as he had before but this time the anticipation and her writhing and thrashing beneath him had him pounding with a greater sense of urgency. She felt so captured. His arm slipped underneath her and pulled her closer to him. “Ride it with me…” he breathed into her ear “And just relax.”
Marcella’s eyes fluttered then closed as she gave in. She stopped fighting and the pleasure of surrender was maddening for her. Soon she forced him into her rhythm and gave him more and more in return.
“¡Ay Dios mio!” He wheezed.
The universe imploded. Marcella came so hard she saw a rainbow of color behind her now fluttering lids. She nearly wept it felt so right, so good. As keen, desperate ecstasy faded into delicious satisfaction she wondered dreamily if she had been made for this.
Diego collapsed soon after, kissing her face, remaining buried deep inside of her. “You okay, beautiful?” He wheezed. She smiled, because she was. She felt liberated, free. She’d never think of flying the same way again.
“Perfect, my love.” She said in a soft purr. “Perfect.”
Chapter Thirteen
Spectacular. The word and several others surfaced in the recesses of her mind when she entered the Opera House. The inside theater, designed in the shape of a horseshoe, had rows of boxed seats that circled the stage with gold engraving and deep red lined carpets. Even though she knew very little about Italian operas she understood the privilege of their seating in the private box that overlooked the orchestra below the stage.
The orchestra finished tuning up. The house lights dimmed and the conductor took to the podium. Marcella sat back ready to enjoy the evening. Except, she didn’t. The music was rapturous but as the Opera progressed she found herself liking it less and less. She found it increasingly disturbing that a poor Madame Butterfly, helplessly in love with a man who devalued her at every turn, chased her fairytale. Marcella shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She opened the playbill and read the insert. Madame Butterfly, a theatrical display of a woman who is to be wooed and seduced with sweet words and smiles but to never be taken seriously. This story would have no happy ending. And when the tragic, climatic end of Madame Butterfly came, the unflattering comparisons kept hammering at her conscious.
How could one woman be so fool hearted for someone so undeserving?
The applause finally died away and the audience started to move. Diego took notice of her glistening eyes and pressed together lips, and how far she had moved from his touch in her seat. “What is it? Did you not like it?”
“It’s disturbing.”
Diego smiled. “It’s a beautiful love story, one of my favorites.”
She looked at him and wanted to punch him in the face. “Why? What about what happened to that poor woman would make you smile like that?”
Diego’s smile faded. “Poor woman? I’m speaking of the music, the dancing. The soprano tonight is the best in the world,” he offered.
She soon realized he was talking of something else entirely.
“It’s an acquired taste, the Opera. Maybe we should have seen a Broadway show instead, no?”
“Um, no, it was fine. I enjoyed it,” she lied.
“Marcella, don’t lie to me. If you didn’t like it, then say so.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t, okay.” She snapped.
Diego nodded. “Nothing I do seems to please you now. Does it?”
Marcella dropped her head. “I’m over thinking everything. I can’t explain it.” She rose ignoring his hand and walked out. He quickly fell in step with her, taking her hand. She didn’t want to hold his hand but as they moved through the elite crowd she softened and stayed close to him. By the time they were seated in the car the things that had irritated her earlier didn’t seem to matter. Diego ignored her silence, and drew her under him. Eventually she snuggled the warmth of his embrace.
“It’s okay Marcella. We’ll figure it out.”
“Why do you like Operas?” she asked. Not expecting a direct answer.
“I lived in Italy. It’s there I learned to appreciate them.”
Marcella lifted her head. “You lived in Italy? Where else?”
“France, mostly Spain and Colombia.”
“Oh. That seems exciting. Which do you prefer?” she said thirsty for some details on his life.
“I’m beginning to think Port Delgado is the best place on earth, because of you.” Diego’s smile barely reached the corners of his mouth. Then as the car moved he began to talk. She let him speak and concentrated on extracting the nuggets of truth buried in the casual conversation. So, he had lived in Italy. He had closed a business there and decided to stay. He spent more time on his boat on Lake Cuomo than actually in his villa. He liked to sail. His fondest memories of his childhood were sailing with his father. She asked about his father and he decided to tell her a story about a swim with a shark that nearly cost him his life. Then he steered the conversation from the past to the present. Diego wanted to own a vineyard because they reminded him of the coffee bean fields in Colombia, his in Spain were his pride and joy.
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she pushed.
“I had a brother who died at the age of three.”
Marcella sat upright. Shocked and feeling sympathetic, she seized that thought. “Diego, I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“How old were you?”
“I was young.”
Marcella nodded. “I’m sorry Diego, for pushing, for constantly questioning you. You’re living in the present and I keep asking you about the past. I guess I just thought knowing where you come from, who you were, would help me understand who you are.” She leaned over and kissed his jaw. “I had a good time at the Opera. Thank you.”
He looked over at her in disbelief, then with relief. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.” She smiled.
Marcella woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. Diego was sprawled on his stomach covering her. His arms and legs tangled around her. It took her five minutes to escape him. To her surprise the phone began to ring again. Creeping from their bed she glanced at the time on the clock, it was after midnight. Who would call her so late? Checking the LCD window she smiled. It was her mother.
“Hi Mom.”
“Don’t hi Mom, me!” Andrea, her mother, snapped. “Four weeks and you haven’t returned my calls. I had to get updates from your friends. My God Marcella I’ve been worried sick.”
“What? No. I spoke to you.”
“A month ago. What is going on with you? I can never reach you at home anymore, and when I call the gallery they say you’re away.”
“Mom calm down.” Marcella whispered, closing the bathroom door for privacy.
&n
bsp; “Marcella Nicola Garcia. You know better. I don’t care how fancy your life is on the west coast. You’re still my baby. I want to know you’re okay.”
Marcella sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”
“Exactly. What is going on with you?”
Marcella looked up at the door. She thought of the man sleeping in the bed waiting on her. She could tell her mother about Diego, but somehow decided against it. “Nothing. Just life. You know how it is. Seen our moon lately?” she joked.
“I’m worried about you. It’s not like you to not call me.”
“Ma, sorry, okay? I’m okay.”
“Okay. I love you Marcella.”
She smiled. The words were what she needed the most.
“Marcella?”
“Love you too Mom. Call you again soon.”
Marcella set the phone on the sink and dropped her elbow there. Resting her face in her hand she stared at the floor. A soft knocking started then it opened and Diego smiled in at her. “Everything okay?” he asked giving a wide yawn.
“Why are you up?”
“Miss you. Come back to bed, I need you.”
He extended his hand. She accepted it and returned to bed with him.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m sorry but he’s refused this meeting. He’s a very busy man you know. Very busy. I’m not sure what I can do.” Patricia Katchner fidgeted with a handkerchief. The middle aged woman with strawberry hair streaked in silver sat before her with her purse in her lap, and her sensible shoes tapping nervously on the floor. Why send this timid mouse to deliver the news? Patricia wore too much rouge and lipstick, as if drawn on by a crayon. Her face and skin had a shockingly white cast. Her grey eyes remained cast downward from the moment she arrived.
Frank Gutierrez, Katchner’s manager, sat at her side preventing any escape. An elderly gentleman with cold eyes, he spoke with a sharp tongue, obviously having some influence over the Katchner’s. Marcella figured he convinced Patricia Katchner to attend this meeting, maybe just to see if there was something Garrison’s could offer. She hoped.
The silence lengthened. Garrett expected Marcella to take the lead. She leaned forward in her chair and made sure to look Patricia in the eye. “I understand Ms. Katchner. I do. He’s a very committed man. This discovery of his is ground breaking. I’m sure he wants it handled with the respect and care it deserves. And for this reason I believe passionately that you should move carefully into the public.”
The gaze of the woman lifted. A flash of relief passed over her eyes. “My brother doesn’t like the publicity circus following us. He’s a scientist.”
“And I’m a collector of rare precious items. Look around. Garrison’s is private, exclusive, and personal. We can invite the media and he can decide on the pace we move forward. If he goes with Metropolitan or J. Paul Getty they will expect more from him. Do you understand me?”
“Patricia, we talked about this and Edward’s wishes are clear, you don’t have to say another word.” Frank interjected. Patricia placed a hand over Franks to silence him.
“I’d like to hear her proposal. Go on.”
The room fell quiet. Marcella relaxed and smiled. She explained the history of Garrison’s. Some of the antiquities they’ve acquired and sold over the past two years. She did so calmly and clearly. Patricia nodded in appreciation and even gave a hint of a smile. Marcella moved in for the kill and handed over the contract and the proposal she had for the showing. It was the best she could offer. A little prayer and faith and this would be the defining moment of her career.
“I think my brother would want to meet with you. I believe he would. Yes.” Patricia nodded to Frank. “It’s for Edward to decide.”
“Of course.” Frank said through clenched teeth.
Marcella rose and so did everyone else. She shook Patricia’s hand with care. “Thank you both for coming to hear our proposal.” Patricia and the manager left. She shuffled at his side and cast Marcella one parting look before she was out the door and headed up the sidewalk. Marcella almost thought she saw a hint of a smile. Neither she nor Garrett could contain their laughter a second later. She fell against the door frame, chuckling. Garrett covered his mouth with both hands and laughed too. The both of them stifled laughter and giggles for ten minutes with tears in their eyes.
“Can you believe her?” Garrett asked. “The poor dear, her make-up, and the shaking of her knees. What was that about?”
“The better question is what has her and her brother so traumatized they can’t face people? I’ve never seen people so timid.” Marcella said shaking her head. She wiped at her eyes. “He’s a scientist, an introvert, but jeesh… how the hell could they face what is coming when they can’t even face us?”
“It was pure genius when you told her we could keep things private and exclusive. I think we have a real chance here Marcella.” He went to the bar and fixed a drink. Marcella dropped down on the sofa wearily. Diego kept her up all night, and then wanted to make love this morning. If it weren’t for her diaphragm she’d be pregnant by now. She wasn’t sure why or when they decided to go without contraceptives. But as soon as it became a regular occurrence she kept her diaphragm handy. There were a few times when he caught her off guard and she hadn’t used it. Marcella refused to even consider a pregnancy risk. Today she ached in places she wasn’t sure should be hurting. At this point it hurt to blink.
“What’s going on with you Marcella?” Garrett asked returning from the bar with a rum and Coke for her. She accepted the strong drink, welcomed it. Garrett sat across from her, crossing his legs. “I’m hearing all kinds of tall tales from Susan and Sam about you and Mr. Roses.”
Marcella felt her cheeks warm with shyness. “He’s my Mr. Wonderful.”
“Do tell.” Garrett chuckled.
“Tell what?” She sipped.
“Tell me about him. What does he do? Where is he from, details dear? I hear you’re shacking up now, as if shagging couldn’t be done remotely,” he chuckled.
Marcella rolled her eyes. “What is Susan, my personal announcement board? Why is she telling you my business?”
“Your business? Since when don’t we share things?” Garrett frowned.
The rum smoothly rolled over her tongue. It was a dose of medicine for her fatigued body. Soon all the tension in her muscles began to relax. “It’s just that he’s private. He buys and sells companies. He’s from Colombia.”
“Oh, a Spaniard. Now that is interesting. Considering your background.”
“Whatever.” Marcella shrugged.
“Those men are sexy, hot, but the biggest control freaks,” Garrett tossed out.
Marcella flinched at the mention of control. “That’s racist, Garrett. Not all Spanish men are controlling.”
“Everyone whose dick I’ve sucked was,” Garrett shrugged.
Marcella smirked. “Speaking of sucking dick.”
“Were we? Do tell, is my Ce-Ce finally using tongue?”
“Don’t be coy. I’m talking about you. You and Bailey. Back on or off again?”
Garrett set his drink on the coaster. “It’s hard to say. He’s into punishing me now. My mistake has become his ultimate weapon. But I’m back in his bed and it’s only a matter of time before I’m into his heart.”
“Why would you put up with him treating you that way?” Marcella demanded. “Sex doesn’t lead to love.” She caught the irony in her words.
“Yes it does, dear. For an old queer like me it does. When you’re in love, you’re liable to put up with just about anything.”
Marcella looked down into her drink. Finally the truth hit home, reality she couldn’t easily dismiss. “Garrett, there is something about Diego.”
“Diego, mmm, now I like that name,” Garrett chuckled.
“He’s really closed off. I mean, extremely.” Marcella sighed and set her drink aside. She nervously rubbed her weary eyes. “He’s attentive, and caring. He can be so boy-like at times.
Then he’s…he’s not.”
Garrett frowned. “Continue.”
“He’s cold, secretive, and I think he’s angry.”
“Wait, what do you mean angry?”
“Not at me, not really. But there are times when I can tell he just doesn’t like to be happy. It’s weird, and yes he is controlling.”
