by Avery Aster
A loud cry erupted in Lex’s ears. It was Jemma.
She opened her eyes, watching as Rocco picked up more speed on Jemma, thrusting behind her. He supported her back, holding her tush up with his hands while he prodded it at the same time. His ass cheeks were covered in sweat and his nuts slapped against her ass as he shoved his cock in and out.
Luigi’s dick pumped her pussy in unison with Rocco’s thrusts in her ass. The two studs worked up a harmonious movement, blending their aggression to fuck together.
Cradling herself on Luigi’s cock, Jemma’s entire body fitted into spasms. Luigi and Rocco both supported her body when she came.
Watching another woman orgasm was wicked and fantastic for Lex. She touched herself, imagining she was in Jemma’s place, sparks soaring, smoke brewing and heat erupting.
“My, my, my daaaaaarlings!” Jemma arched her back and held on to her own tits, sitting up on Luigi’s cock as pussy cream erupted. She shrieked.
Gliding away from her ass, Rocco yanked the Trojan. He lifted Jemma from Luigi’s lap and brought her to her feet. After kissing her, he then guided her face-down. “I’m gonna come.” Every gesture touched on utmost care and respect for Jemma. She was the center to their universe, their crown.
“Coming, I’m coming.” Pearl liquid shot over Jemma’s chest as Luigi stood and tore off his rubber.
“Hmm-hmm.” Jemma’s tits glistened.
He jacked his final squirt as she tugged on his nut sac for acclaim.
Rocco shot off. Ejaculating more dramatically than Luigi, he grabbed on to Luigi’s shoulders and kissed him. He then shoved him to the floor with Jemma as he squirted his load over Luigi’s chest.
Luigi’s pecs were loaded in Rocco’s semen.
The three together radiated Renaissance art animated to life.
As they each came and reached their climax, Lex remembered Massimo’s final instruction for her: Come for me, Lex. I want to see you come.
Her legs stiffened as she spread her knees apart. Lex’s left hand caressed her breasts while her right hand plowed her pussy, pretending all along it was Massimo who’d brought her to her knees. Masi, take me. At first she’d been quiet, thinking about Massimo’s cock sliding inside her. Her orgasm had stirred in the privacy afforded to her. She’d bit her lip, trying to keep her silence in check. As Lex climaxed, she thought about Massimo holding her down while his thick girth filled her. She ground her teeth together then licked in a frantic tongue twitch over her lips. Fill my cunt, baby. She rubbed her clit. Fap, fap, fap.
Milan’s mansion as the current location escaped her.
But as she began to tremble and whimper, she grew louder.
Lex squeezed her eyes shut and desires about Massimo became conscious. She made a soft noise, a moan, and then yelped, “Ah, ha.” Her heated juice rubbed between her fingers as she picked up speed.
She pressed harder.
She rubbed faster.
She flicked her clit.
“Ahhh!” Lex yelped louder as the orgasm wave increased. She clung to the wall for support as it crashed over her. She shot down her legs, cupping herself to prevent a drip.
“Bwahaha!” Rocco’s voice filled the space, bouncing off the walls and hardwood floor.
Oh, no…
“Ha, ha, ha.” Luigi laughed.
Oh, no… Oh, no…
“Teehee.” Jemma’s giggles followed Luigi’s, which came a second after Rocco’s laughter, adding a layer of humiliation, one after another Lex didn’t anticipate.
Oh, no… Oh, no… Oh, no…
Pulling down her sundress, she opened her eyes wide to see those three gaping at her as if she were Plato’s stepchild. “Um, ahem.” She cleared her throat. Lex wished she was Captain Kirk stuck on Platonius and not in Milan. She’d say, “Beam me up, Scotty,” to Montgomery Scott and she’d be hologramed into an invisible Earthling. One who transported from this room.
Mortified, she ran out the doorway. She fled to her quarters and slammed the door, hearing them laugh as she went, happy at least to hear they found her voyeurism amusing.
How can I face Jemma tonight at The Fashion Ball? For a nanosecond, her mind wondered what might have happened if she’d stayed in the room with them.
Lex collected herself in her room.
Dogs barked in the back.
Huh? She went to the rear window to see Massimo.
He opened the gate, letting the Cane Corso dogs Rocco called earlier—Nicolo, Nino and Noe—into the yard. She’d never heard or seen the breed until that day. Each had a sturdy build and authoritative muscles, and the dogs’ fur shone in varying fawn shades. Beautiful.
Rocco mentioned Massimo kept them as guard dogs, appointed to protect the Milan mansion from intruders. Maybe they gave him great companionship.
Massimo waved up at her from the lawn then went inside to get ready. She doubted he knew what went on in these bedrooms.
Turning her attention to getting dressed, she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Aquae Calidae Spa had done wonders; bewitching talents, sheer and utter magic. The body wrap helped her drop two inches from her waist—the beauty therapist even measured it. Her hair was highlighted. She’d sprayed a glitter glaze over each lock. The stylist called it a delicious mix between toasted coconut and crème brûlée. Her eyelids were painted in a quinary array—pearl, gunmetal, pink, midnight blue and plum. And the false eyelashes gave a pop. She didn’t remember a time when she possessed as much confidence as she did that second in Milan. I look as good as I feel.
On the bed, she found a zippered nylon bag containing a dress with a card. It read, Lex, this gown is yours to keep. Do with it as you see fit. Jemma. Nice. Lex figured she’d take the dress back, knowing she’d three-way spied. She felt horrible. Holding the garment bag up to the window, she unzipped the wrapper. Red layers spilled out.
“I can’t wear this,” she declared aloud. It’s bold. I’ve never worn red. Beaded from top to bottom, the gown featured a crossover bodice with a diamond-encrusted buckle at the waist. The shoulder strap crossed the open back, while the long, figure-hugging sheath fell to the floor. A slit ran up the right side. It was conservative yet grand fashion.
Two black-felt shoe and jewelry boxes had been laid out. A call tag embossed with the royal family crest on one side, the other read, Tittoni Sicuro #0318, which told her they’d been loaned from the family safe.
She opened the long, square package, and lucent stardust gleamed at her. She held one up to the light. Christian Louboutin is no match for these stilettos.
The footwear’s weight and craftsmanship led her to assume a goldsmith, one who also understood gemology, had created them. Each heel was encrusted with what she estimated was well over two thousand individual sparkling white gems. Lex thought they might be white sapphires.
Lex stepped into the dress. “How can anyone wear this?” she muttered. The dress ran as long as an American bridal gown, in a candy-apple red covered in sparkles. It required some Easton TLC. Jemma’s note stated she could do whatever she wished so, going to her bag, she pulled out her scissors and began cutting.
Vajayjay Factor via Valentino
“Andiamo, Lex!” Massimo shouted up the banister, realizing Luigi and Jemma had already left in another limo. “Hurry up!”
“Coming,” responded a shaky voice from upstairs.
Massimo paced the foyer. His black tuxedo, with a notched satin collar and one-button front, stretched tight across his shoulders, the effect coming from weightlifting at the gym. He pulled out his handkerchief from his side pocket to wipe his palms. They’d miss the red carpet if they didn’t leave soon.
Having his photo taken with the celebrated Lex Easton would help his new collection soar. The prince understood the PR machine better than anyone. Motivated buyers became the objective. The social press had become alerted to Lex’s arrival in Milan. Lex generated buzz online as early as that morning.
The guest bedroom door closed. High heels clacked ag
ainst the marble, growing louder as she came closer.
He looked up the winding banister to see a ruby glimmer floating down the stairs.
“Oh, Dio Mio.”
First, he noticed her long legs ending in bespoke stilettos. High heels turned him on, but this he’d never seen. And he sure as hell didn’t plan to tell her how much the footwear cost—over six figures, to be exact. The modest slit up the side of the dress made his eye race straight toward her breasts and then to her face. She didn’t reveal much skin. Nevertheless, Lex exuded a timeless essence and didn’t rely on plunging necklines. “Wow. You look—”
Lex’s gown cascaded to the floor as she walked. Beauty on high came at him at once, a transformation he didn’t expect. Blonde locks framed her face. How did I refuse such bellezza earlier?
His mouth felt dry. Jaw open. Tongue twisted. He didn’t—
“Lost your voice, did ya, prince?”
“Sì, you are beautiful.” He tried to swallow, hoping his awe didn’t seem obvious.
Her cheeks flushed from the compliment. Bowing his head as Lex left the last step, he smiled with affection at her. She reached up and adjusted his bowtie.
Massimo’s excitement grew as she touched his shoulders and gave him a kiss on each cheek.
“Thank you for escorting me tonight,” she whispered in his ear while she slipped her arm through his. He noticed she glanced back at his ass.
“Prego.” He grabbed the door. “My pleasure, principessa.”
Alfa Romeos, Ferraris and other European sports cars lined the streets leading up to The Fashion Ball. A short distance from the mansion, his driver dropped them off at the red carpet check-in. They stood in line with the royal security guards behind them.
He walked her over to get their place in line and they stood behind Giorgio Armani, tan as ever, with his elegant niece, Roberta. Eva Duringer stepped in behind them with her husband Roberto Cavalli as they made pleasantries. He caught Lex from his side view. Her head spun around from excessive people-watching.
“Bella, keep your head still and try not to look like a tourist.”
“I can’t help it.” Lex turned and faced him. “Why are we doing the red carpet anyway?” Lex whispered in his ear, hoping the surrounding designers didn’t hear her.
“Did you forget? I am the prince of Isola di Girasoli.” he said with chagrin. “I have to do this. People expect it. Clients want it, and our industry has asked me to be here. It will be buona pubblicità for Easton and Girasoli.”
“Good PR for Easton? I didn’t give media strategies much thought. Hmm. Well, you are Easton’s fabric supplier.” She reached for his hand. “I’d hate for the tabloids to make it we’re anything more—you know,” she lowered her voice, “my stud.” Her hand grazed his ass.
A tap, tap, tap on his butt.
Massimo’s bodyguard laughed and stepped back, affording them privacy.
“Quit spanking me in public.” He gripped her hand to prevent her from taking another swat at him. He didn’t need an erection when they stepped in front of the cameras.
She continued in his ear. “I also don’t want the press to start writing articles on Girasoli acquiring Easton—false, false and false.”
But I do, my bella. And soon you will, too. Girasoli would be the number one fashion empire in the world within the year. “I do not know. I don’t read the tabloids often.”
“Yeah, right. You’re the leading man in them nonstop.” She snickered, covering her mouth as Massimo realized he’d been caught fibbing.
A security guard shouted out to the press box, and other personnel handed them a sheet with their names. “Presenting fashion designer Lex Easton from New York and Prince Massimo Tittoni of Isola di Girasoli.”
She froze.
“Lex, come.”
“Ah…um…as a rule, I don’t get my picture taken. I let Easton speak for itself and—”
Massimo shushed her. Sad to capture fear in her eyes, he whispered reassuring compliments in her ear. Reminding Lex she’d be his responsibility for the night and to have fun. He enjoyed being in charge. Stepping ahead, he hoped she’d follow. He lowered his head to hear her when she caught up to him.
“I’ve read about The Fashion Ball for years, studied the photos, but I didn’t realize how many photographers there’d be.” She pointed to the press box from Korea, Singapore and Japan. “The world is watching, literally.”
Flashbulbs snapped. A photographer whose press tags read “Berlin” shouted, “Prinz, over here!”
Lex waved as a photographer from Sydney shouted, “Over here, Miss Easton!” She hesitated.
Massimo didn’t anticipate the smart fashion designer to be camera-shy. Regardless, Lex gained the media’s interest and she needed to work it. He placed his hand on the small of her back as they faced the press box from Russia, Kazakhstan and Mongolia. “Bella, these photos will propel your label. You wait and see.”
“Wow.” Lex glanced up at the Sistine Chapel-esque ballroom ceilings. The two-tiered grand room, with bi-level cocktail lounges, was decorated with copper panels backed with bronze mirrors.
“Come on, bella.” He held her hand while she walked into the main room.
The space was reminiscent of an event Taddy and Vive had dragged her to the year before. The dance area featured a glass floor, expansive enough to accommodate a thousand couples. Tables seating eight to ten guests on the outskirts surrounded the dancing. A forty-piece orchestra played on a stage. Each musician, decked in a black tuxedo, attended to their sheet music.
“Are you ready to have fun tonight?” I need to blow off some fashion designer stress. Let’s party. The music played classical. Errrr.
“Sì, with you. We are over there.” Massimo led her to their round table, marked with a framed place card inscribed “Tittoni” in calligraphy.
“Lex, this is my nonna, Queen Luciana.” Massimo motioned her in the direction of an elder.
The woman stuck out her hand for Lex to kiss it. She did as expected, pressing her lips against wrinkled, spotted skin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Luciana Tittoni.”
Her soft jowls moved as she mumbled, “Aren’t you pretty? Sit next to me, dear. My English is better than anyone in this room.” She patted the damask fabric cushion next to her. “My gems complement your beauty.” Queen Luciana didn’t glance at the jewelry. Instead, she looked into Lex’s eyes. “I want to know more about you.”
When Lex sat next to Luciana as requested, patchouli and clove engulfed her. I’m gonna yak. She coughed to the side as the prince leaned over her shoulder.
“I should have warned you. Nonna loves to layer on the profumo and the conversazione.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to leave you here for a few. I must mingle with some colleagues. But I’ll be back to circulate you through the crowd.”
The queen mentioned the brilliance Lex wore was a gift from Constantino, a son to Sotirios Voulgaris from the Bulgari Jewelry Empire, a bequest in celebration to honor the hundred-year anniversary for the Via Condotti boutique. “It’s an estate necklace, crafted in eighteen-karat white gold and embellished by over twelve hundred encircling diamonds. I haven’t seen it for years, but am happy it’s getting some use versus being locked up in the Tittoni safe.”
Lex turned to inhale a breath of fresh air.
With a smile, Jemma came up to her side.
Lex stood to extend her hand while whispering in Jemma’s ear, “I’m sorry about earlier today. I didn’t intend to spy on you. Please, forgive me.”
Jemma nodded in dismissal. The queen’s presence made no room for ménage à trois chatter. “Darling, this is Europe. We kiss. No handshakes. Muah, Muah.” Jemma smooched Lex on both cheeks. “Massimo mentioned I’d work with you on our designs. I can’t wait.” Jemma sat between Luciana and her, pulling Lex back down to her chair by her hand to sit.
Surprised, Lex had expected Jemma to be mean to her or at least snide for the redesign. “You’re not upset we�
��re going to have to redo the garment samples?”
“Upset?” Jemma repeated. “Heavens, no. Girasoli is incomparable. We crave good designs. The prince intends for Girasoli Garment Company to be number one in the world for fashion textiles. If this collection doesn’t sell, we’ll miss our objectives.” She paused, stared at the queen, and then spoke in a low voice. “We can’t let competitors beat us, can we?”
“Jemma, stai zitta. Bite your tongue!” Luciana shouted and slammed her fragile fist down next to the china, spilling the mineral water on the plush linens.
Startled, Lex turned in shock. Is she kidding? One look and she realized Luciana didn’t seem happy.
A server came over to wipe up the mess. Offering fresh glasses, he filled them with Prosecco.
Jemma continued, “The truth, Queen Luciana, is hard for us to swallow.” Jemma rolled her eyes, annoyed. “You and I both know we must get this new collection off the ground and beat them. They’re on to us, no?” Jemma lifted a bubble flute to her glossed lips and threw it back in two large gulps.
“Who are you speaking about? Who’s they?” Lex asked.
“Donatella, my darling. They are launching a competing line against yours.”
“What?” She sat back in her chair, catching her breath. “Sorry,” she said, embarrassed she’d raised her voice. She was confident her eyebrows had flown off her face, landing on the table behind them. Did I hear that right?
Luciana put her hand over Jemma’s arm. “My dear,” she whispered in a low voice. “China factories take Massimo’s clients. The private label and wholesale left in Milan is scooped up by Donatella. Massimo may acquire Donatella soon. He’ll do what’s right for Girasoli.”
Did stealing Easton’s shapewear brand concept become ‘the right thing’? If so, Lex didn’t blame him. The high-stakes fashion industry remained cutthroat. Heck, Massimo assumed Lex was a “Mr.” until the day before. She didn’t take it to heart, but realized there’d be three on the market. First Easton, followed by Girasoli and now Donatella spoke market saturation.
Lex thought back to Massimo’s offer to acquire Easton. Is this the right time to sell? “I’m excited to work with you tomorrow on the revisions, Jemma.” She glanced down at the dress. “And I hope you don’t mind what I did to your gown.”
