“Go get in the shower,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t fuck while another man is still inside. Clean yourself up and meet me in Room Four.”
He grabbed the refilled shot glass and downed it. “Give me the bottle.”
“Yes, Mr. Black.” The bartender handed over a bottle of scotch and Black nodded. He glanced at Tamara a last time before stalking off. She watched his retreating figure. His shoulders were broad, his back muscles stood out – here was a man who worked out – hard. His ass was solid and shapely, his legs strong. Yeah, he would fuck her good.
Tamara did what she was told, standing under one of the hot showers that were laid out against the far wall. As she washed herself, she looked around at all the other couple fucking each other, or sucking each other, and smiled. If she could only live here…an idea began to form in her head…. but for now, all she wanted to concentrate on was the man waiting for her.
He grabbed her as soon as she came into the room and thrust her against the wall. Tamara’s breath quickened as he put his forearm across her throat, and pushed her legs apart. “Good.” His hand checked she was clean, then his cock, huge and pulsating thrust into her.
As he fucked her, he said not a word, but instead kept his gaze locked on her. Tamara felt herself drawn to those dark eyes, losing herself in him. She came quickly, and he ordered her onto the bed, taking her in the ass from behind, making her crouch on her hands and knees. He treated her like a mere hole, in the same way she treated Grant as just a cock to ride…and Tamara loved every second. As he fucked her long into the night, not letting her make any of the decisions, punishing her with the paddles and whips in the room if she dared to argue with him, she knew she was lost.
This was a man of power. This was a man who could break her. Grant – he would prove useful, and her father…he could go back to ignoring her. This man…
She would make him hers…
Chapter Seven
Sofia stood back from her work and eyed it critically. The usual self-doubt was virulent today and she almost splashed black paint across the whole thing and told Desiree she quit. But she couldn’t do it. She had decided on translating the small invite sketch into a huge canvas of the completed gallery to and in the middle of her space, flanked by portraits of both Desiree and Ivo.
It was Ivo’s painting she was completing now, and the one she had worked longest on. It had to be perfect or it wouldn’t be worthy of him. Ivo. Her lover. When she thought of him, wrapped around her at night, either making love or just talking, it made her whole body warm. She looked up at the outline she had done. His eyes were the most important for her, the expression of tenderness in them, and yet she also wanted to bring out that side of him she had yet to see. The dangerous side of him. She had seen flashes of it when they were making love, the intensity of his feelings for her…there was something deep inside Ivo Zacca that he would not let out and Sofia was obsessed with finding out what it was. When he thought she was asleep, he would slip from the bed and stare out of the window for hours, then watch her, stroking her skin tenderly before wrapping his arms around her. What was it? It was as if he was so scared to lose her that it kept him awake.
She asked Desiree about it. Desiree had sighed. “Honey, if I knew, I would tell you. He’s always been, not insecure as such, but…” She struggled to find the right word. “He has the biggest heart in the world, and is intensely loyal and sometimes that loyalty had caused him tremendous heartbreak. That’s all I can say without breaking a confidence. Just know – he adores you.”
“And I’m crazy about him, Desi. I’ll never give Ivo a reason to doubt it.”
Now, as she concentrated on painting his beautiful eyes, she wondered if she would be able to keep that promise when she didn’t know his limits, or what it took to make him hurt. She knew she would never deliberately hurt him – why would she? She knew she loved him with all her heart – not that either of them had said the words yet and she was glad about it. It was too soon. When she said it, and when she heard it from him, she wanted, needed it to be true. Moreover, she trusted him never to abandon her, and she questioned why she was so sure, given her past. For now, they both appeared to be on the tightrope – and balancing.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the woman enter the gallery and ask for her. Sofia started slightly when she heard the woman speak.
“That’s remarkable. Truly remarkable.”
Sofia turned to see Clemence Brochu smiling at her. The other woman, her blonde hair caught up in an elegant chignon, was wearing a gorgeous pink and lilac floral dress which skimmed her bump and fell to her mid-calf. She wore a small, exquisite lace wrap around her shoulders. Clemence stepped closer to inspect the painting. Sofia, covered in pencil dust and paint, her black hair shoved haphazardly into a bun, felt like a street urchin next to her. She felt vaguely exposed by Clemence seeing the portrait – both of them had loved Ivo.
Clemence nodded at the portrait. “You’ve captured Ivo perfectly.”
Sofia flushed a little. “Well, um…”
“It’s okay, dear, I know about the two of you.”
Sofia didn’t know what to say. Also, she found it strange Clemence would called her ‘dear’ – she couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. “How are you? How’s the baby? Ivo said it’s a girl?”
Clemence nodded, stroking the bump. It looked smaller today than when she had first seen it. “She’s good. Not long to go now.”
Sofia put her paintbrush down. “Look, Ms. Brochu, I don’t want to be awkward, but I wanted to say…if Ivo had wanted to come back to you, I would not have stood in his way. He and I…we did not start seeing each other – so to speak – until after he knew about the baby.”
Clemence chuckled. “I know that, Sofia. And please call me Clemence. I thought I’d better come introduce myself before the baby is born, so there aren’t any bad feelings. I know Ivo wants to be involved with the child and I don’t want it to affect our relationship.”
Sofia half-smiled. “It won’t. I’m excited for him.”
Clemence put a hand on her arm. “You’re sweet. Look, I’d like to be friends. Is that something you’d consider? At least try and get to know each other. I have a feeling you’ll be in Ivo’s life for a while yet.”
Sofia didn’t know how to take that, but decided to give the other woman the benefit of the doubt. “I’d like that.”
Clemence nodded. “Maybe we should keep it between us two for now, so Ivo doesn’t feel railroaded.”
Sofia hesitated but then shrugged. What could it hurt? She’d tell Ivo if she and Clemence became friends but if they found no common ground, it would probably be best if they kept their distance. “Sure. Look, I hate to cut and run but I have a deadline with this…”
“Sure, I just came to say hello. Maybe coffee later in the week?” She handed Sofia a card with her cell phone number and Sofia nodded.
“Sure, if I get done here.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Sofia watched Clemence walk out of the gallery with mixed feelings. She hated to keep anything from Ivo, but she could see Clemence’s point about being friends. They would be in each other’s lives and Sofia had had enough of bad relations between people for a lifetime.
She turned back to her work, and conjuring Ivo’s face, she worked on the expression in his eyes, stroking her paint gently onto the canvas. She would honor the love he had inside of him for everyone he knew, truly he was the best man she had ever met.
Ivo rubbed his hand over his eyes. The doctor watched him carefully. “It’s not a death sentence anymore, Ivo. Cancer is treatable, even curable. They’ve caught it in the very early stages.”
“I know. It’s just…it’s my Mom, you know? She doesn’t want anyone else to know about it, especially Dad.”
The doctor, Roger Loomis, an old friend of the Zacca’s, nodded, sipping his coffee. It had just been coincidence that he was in Paris for a conferenc
e, when Ivo called him to ask for his advice. “Ivo, Adria is one of the strongest people I know. If she can’t beat this, well…”
Ivo was grateful for Roger’s reassurance but could not get past the word ‘cancer.’
His mom had called him, and for a few moments hadn’t even mentioned it, asking after Sofia and the gallery, and Clemence. His parents were delighted at becoming grandparents, even in the bizarre circumstances surrounding it. It was only when Ivo invited her to the opening of the gallery that Adria spoke up.
“Actually, darling, I’ve got a spot of cancer which I’m being treated for at the moment. Nothing serious, just a shadow on my lung. Don’t tell your father. He has a new woman and I don’t want him ruining that just to come running back to me.”
Ivo had been too shocked to speak for a moment. “Mom…”
“Don’t worry, darling, it’ll be okay. They’re going to cut that figlio di puttana right out of me. There’s a surgeon in Paris who is the best in the world.”
“Good, then I can be with you.”
“No,” Adria’s voice rose sharply. “No, dear, please. You have the opening and Sofia and Clemence to worry about. I am fine.”
“God, Mama.”
“I’m okay, Piccolo, I swear. I wish I hadn’t told you now.”
That had bugged him. Why wouldn’t his mother let him care for her? Yes, she was right he had the baby, and Sofia and his work, but did she really think he couldn’t handle her too?
He thanked Roger and left him at the café, walking back along the river to the gallery. The renovations were complete now and the façade of the gallery, shining white stonework, looked incredible.
Ivo walked in and listened to the silence. No more hammering and drilling. Just peace. He walked silently to the studio at the rear where he saw Sofia working on the painting of him. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her work. The tender way she stroked the paint on, the fine detailing. She stood close to the canvas, concentrating wholly on it. The effect was sensual and erotic, the way she looked at Ivo via the painting making him realize the intensity of Sofia’s feelings for him. She stood back to check her work and he padded silently into the room. He slid his arms around her waist, feeling her start slightly, then lean back into him. Neither of the spoke, just looked at the painting for a long moment.
Ivo gently took the paintbrush from her hand, and Sofia turned in his arms, gazing up at him. Ivo bent his head to kiss her, his hands sliding under her shirt. He stripped her slowly and lifted her onto the long wooden table, laying her back so he could admire her body. He took up the paintbrush again, and dipped it into a pot of dark burgundy paint. Sofia smiled as he drew the brush from her throat to her sex, the line dipping with the curves of her body. He painted a circle around her navel and Sofia wriggled with pleasure. He used every color he could reach and painted her body, the mounds of her breasts, the soft flesh of her thighs. He stripped off his suit, his erection long and thick against his belly as he continued his work. He painted her nipples a dark ruby red, highlighted her collarbone with gold. Ivo finally dropped to his knees, pressing her legs apart and took her already hardened and excited clit into his mouth. Sofia moaned at the touch of his tongue lashing around the sensitive bud, her fingers, slick with paint, tangling in his dark curls. He brought her to the brink then stood, thrusting his huge cock into her. Sofia cried out as her legs tightened around him, his hands locked with hers. The paint made their bodies slide easily together, her breasts pressed against his chest as he slammed his cock into her. Sofia clung to him, raking her fingernails down the hard muscles of his back, her mouth hungry against his lips. So ferocious was their fucking, they tumbled off the table onto the floor and Ivo pushed her knees up to her chest so he could thrust deeper and deeper inside her.
As she came, Sofia could barely breathe, so delirious was she from what he was doing to her, and after she felt him come, pumping thick creamy semen deep inside her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “That was incredible, Ivo Zacca.”
He smiled down at her. “You have no idea what you mean to me, il mia amore.”
Sofia grinned as he pulled her closer and started to nibble her neck. “That sexy Italian talk…”
He murmured more words she couldn’t understand, but she could guess as he kissed down her body. She laughed when he looked up at her. “Your face is covered in paint – you look like a Wildman.”
Ivo laughed. “Bella, you should see what you look like right now…possible the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Sofia chuckled. “Sweet talker. Come back up here and kiss me.”
He did as she asked, then smoothed her black hair away from her face. “This weekend,” he said, “I want to take you away. Before you moan you have to work, most of the weekend will be work. We’re going to Venice. I have a friend, another art dealer who I want you to meet, Maceo Bartoli. I sent him some images of your work and he wants to talk to you about a showing there.”
Sofia felt the panic rising inside of her. “Ivo…I’m nowhere near ready for that.”
Ivo smiled. “You just think you’re not. Another friend, Elli Navarro want to do as mall profile – now, don’t looked so scared – it’ll be a small Q&A thing, is all.”
Sofia chewed all this over. “Ivo…if I do that, they will find me.”
Ivo frowned. “You can’t hide forever, my darling, and besides, wasn’t it they who wanted you away from them? Sorry, that sounded harsh, what I mean to say it, fuck them. This is your destiny, Sofia. It had nothing to do with them.” He studied her face. “Bella, there’s not anything that you haven’t told me, is there? Any threats to harm you? Did your step-father ever…”
He couldn’t get the words out and Sofia placed her hands on his face. “No, and no. No threats, no abuse. It’s just me, not wanting them to spoil any of this.”
“I swear,” Ivo said with feeling. “I swear I won’t let them spoil anything.”
Chapter Eight
Tamara sighed happily as Penn Black stood and zipped his pants. “That was incredible.” It was the third time they had met, always at the club, always on his terms, but Tamara didn’t care. She wanted to be his sub, wanted to be told how to dress for him, how to position her body for his pleasure. The truth was there was nothing Penn Black could do to her that she wouldn’t enjoy. He was a masterful, almost violent lover, pinning her back against the wall, sometimes painfully across a hard-wooden bench. Even spread eagled on the St. Andrew’s Cross, the cat ‘o’ nine tails being forcibly struck against her skin, Tamara was in heaven.
Today, he had just wanted to fuck, though. He had taken her hand in the bar, and pulled her towards his usual room, room four, where the management had laid out exactly what he requested. Tamara had guessed that he was a high-roller, a billionaire probably, and that he either owned part of this club, or had some blackmail material on the owners themselves. She wagered it was the former, as the staff were all politely and friendly to him, despite his reserved nature.
Tamara sat up now, tugging on his hand. “Would Master like me to suck his cock?”
Black shook his head. “No, not today. I expect you to be here on Friday, however, midnight. I’m bringing a friend. We will enjoy fucking you at the same time.”
Tamara moaned softly, relishing the thought. “Will Master hurt me?”
His eyes darkened. “If you perform well, we shall see.”
‘Please, Master…a little punishment now?”
For a moment, she thought he might not obliged her, then, with a swift motion, he flipped her onto her stomach, and she felt his hand crack against her tender skin. “Harder, Master!”
Black grabbed a paddle from the shelf and used it against her buttocks until she was sobbing with arousal. “Turn over.”
Tamara turned onto her back, sore but exhilarated. Black switched her with a riding crop across her breasts, her belly. “Open your legs.” The crop flicked hard against her clit and Tamara came, her b
ack arching up.
“Please, Master…fuck me again.”
Black put down the crop. “I don’t have time for that. Finish yourself off or get someone in to do it.”
Tamara was outraged as he simply opened the door and left. Growling with frustration, she threw her clothes on and slipped out of the club after him.
He got into a cab and she flagged down another, hoping to follow him back to his home. The cabs weaved in and out of the New York nighttime traffic and finally, Black’s taxi pulled up to an upscale high-rise on the Upper East Side. Tamara watched as he got out – and from the doorway of the building, a heavily pregnant woman opened the door and smiled at him.
Penn Black’s face lit up in a way Tamara had never seen on him before, and he wrapped the pregnant woman in a bear-hug. Tamara’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He was married with a baby on the way? Wow, just wow.
Tamara began to smile. Well, if Penn Black thought he could have it all, and use her like a piece of meat, he had another think coming. At the club, he could do what he liked, but now Tamara had a new game to play. She would make his wife’s life hell until she left Penn, and the Tamara would move in and give him what he obviously really wanted.
Tamara, herself, and a life where he could be in complete domination of her whenever he wanted.
Tamara began to grin. “Back to the club,” she ordered the silent taxi driver. She would go back, find Grant, get her rocks off. She pulled out her phone and called him.
He answered, and she could hear from the background that he was fucking somebody. “Are you at the club?”
“I am…hang on, no, keep riding me, princess, that’s it. Just getting warmed up. Where are you?”
Tamara smiled to herself. “On my way. Did you bring what we discussed?”
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