by Mika Lane
He rustled through the three different outfits I’d chosen and settled on one.
“Oh, my freaking god,” he shrieked. “I knew Juan would hook you up,” he said, waving a red crushed velvet dress around like it was a victory flag.
“Give me that. You’ll mess it up,” I said, grabbing it from him.
“Av, tomorrow when you wake up, you will be a hundred grand richer, and that’s only the beginning. Now go put on that goddam thing before I divorce you as my best friend.”
I was no sooner in my new dress and sky-high heels when the guests started to arrive. I was already a bit nervous, but when people began pouring in the door, I thought I might lose it.
I spotted Blu from across the room. “Oh my god, we can’t have this many people here,” I whispered. “What are we going to do?”
He took a step back, his gaze running me up and down.
“Now that is more like it. You are fucking hot.”
I had to admit, I felt pretty good.
“Thank you,” I said, proudly. “Now what about all these people?” I whispered.
“Oh, you’re fine,” he said, dismissing me with a hand. “We have no more than our usual hundred-fifty or so. I think folks are coming early because they’re excited about the new place. We really played it up in the email invite.”
Well, damn. That’s why people were so eager to get here. I guessed a new venue was kind of like new meat.
Except that this was my meat.
Chapter 14
GIO
Che donna!
When Avril greeted me at the door, my Italian sensibilities were dumbstruck. I’d always appreciated a bellissima woman—as Italian men do—but I didn’t ever remember being at a loss for words when presented with one.
It was only two weeks or so previous, when we’d been at that pretentious Hamptons party, where so many people were unkindly gossiping about her. And there she was that evening in her gallery, on the other side of a humiliation that would destroy a lesser person. I could relate to what she was going through. I’d been there. It wasn’t easy.
I’d known she was an exceptional woman, but I wasn’t expecting what my eyes beheld that night. Her mass of jet-black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, which, on anyone else, would have been overly sporty. But on her, it was the picture of elegance.
Of course it didn’t hurt that I was also able to envision taking her hair down and burying my face it in.
Then, there was her dress, red crushed velvet with mini-sleeves—perhaps they were called cap sleeves?—and a button right at the throat. Just under that button was an opening, or maybe more accurately a slit, in the drapey fabric that opened nearly to her waistline.
The effect was mesmerizing with the dark red fabric against her pale skin. The opening revealed the tiniest sliver of inner breast, jiggling slightly when she walked. It pulled in at the waist with a belt and flared out again, swishing around her legs as she crossed the room.
Oh, mio dio.
But what really got me was the elegant way she carried herself, head held high but not so high she looked full of herself. That wasn’t so easy to do when your personal life was all over the news.
“Gio!” Blu patted me on the back. “Lovely, isn’t she?” he said, apparently having caught me staring. “Go say hi. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
“Blu, thank you. But I don’t need anyone to push me to speak with a beautiful woman. I’m quite capable of doing it on my own.”
Blu threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, Gio. Calm down. Christ. Or Cristo. Whatever your people say.”
He slunk off, too sensitive for his own good.
So I approached Avril. Which I was about to do, anyway, with or without Blu’s urging.
“Buona sera, mia cara. I can’t stop looking at you,” I said when I finally had her to myself.
“Gio, thank you. It’s good to see you again.” She looked down, all modesty.
You had to love that, too. So many of these society wives—or in this case, ex-society wife—are so damn full of themselves, it’s embarrassing. Like having access to your husband’s millions makes you better than the next person? I think not. In my life, I’d had access to nearly infinite riches and at other times had to scrape by, paycheck-to-paycheck. Neither situation had ever made me a better or worse person.
“Will you turn around for me so I can see your entire dress?” I asked.
She tilted her head at me and with a small smile, spun in her mile-high stilettos. And damn if that dress didn’t have the same slit that exposed her back just like the one in the front.
“Stunning. Just stunning. Care to show me around?” I held my arm for her to take and let her lead the way.
While we walked, I wondered if she understood the full extent of the allegations against her husband. I figured she didn’t, seeing as the nitty gritty details had yet to be made public and were known primarily only to people in the finance and investing world. But her husband was in big trouble, and if he wasn’t staying up at night worried about his future, he was a bigger idiot than I’d already thought for bailing on his gorgeous wife.
Avril hooked her arm in mine as we made our way through the maze of seating areas, tufted cushions, and floating curtains. The party was full of its usual suspects, good-looking men and women come together to express their sexuality. It was odd to try to get to know her in such an unconventional setting, but nothing about my life had ever really been that normal, anyway. We walked past a couple going at it, moaning as loudly as I’d ever heard two people.
Just another day at the office.
“This is where I spend most of my day,” Avril said, taking me into a very light room with white overstuffed furniture, a glittery chandelier, and a huge glass desk.
“Wow. It’s like a girl clubhouse.”
She threw her head back and laughed, a sound I could easily get used to.
“I guess it is a little over-the-top girly, but I’d always wanted something like this, and it’s the perfect contrast to the rest of the gallery.”
And it suited her completely. We settled into the soft sofa.
“Cheers to you,” I said, bringing my bourbon to her champagne.
“Thank you. Same to you.”
“Well, you are doing a good service for Kink Lab, letting us hold our party here.”
“I’m getting paid handsomely for it,” she said.
“Is that the only reason you’re doing it?” I asked, studying her. I had to know more about what made her tick.
“No, not exactly. But if I hadn’t found a way to make the gallery profitable, I likely would have had to close it.” She looked down at her drink. “Not a lot of galleries make money. They’re often hobby businesses for those passionate about art.”
“How did you get by before?” I asked.
“My husband made up the difference. But those days are over now.”
“It looks to me like you are going to do just fine,” I said. “Even better than fine. I’m guessing he cut you off?”
“He did. In so many ways. My driver was the last perk to go. My husband even suggested I get a car and start driving again—” She stopped short.
It was clear she’d spilled something she hadn’t intended to. Did I dare ask?
“What about driving?”
“Ummm.” She hesitated, such a sadness passing over her eyes that my chest tightened.
“I’ll share my story if you share yours,” I offered.
“Okay. You first,” she said.
“All right. I grew up in Milano. Son of an importer, or so I thought.”
She furrowed her beautiful brow. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“When I was about to leave for university, my father was arrested and sent to prison.”
“Oh my god, Gio.”
“The worst of it was that the rest of my family was in terrible danger. We had to flee Italy with little more than the clothes on our backs.”
“Turned out, he was an arms dealer and owed some bad guys a lot of money. We came to the U.S. under a special program and never looked back.”
Those were sad days indeed, considering all that we left behind—most importantly, our father.
“So where is the rest of your family, now?” she asked.
“My mom passed away a few years after we arrived, pretty much of a broken heart. She didn’t adjust well to the U.S., nor to life without my father. My three brothers live here in the States. We never saw our father again. He died in prison two years after we left Italy. Actually, I don’t think his death was accidental, but nothing’s ever been proven. When you have enemies like he did, anything is possible.”
She looked at me, speechless, but I was used to that. The few people I shared my story with all looked at me like that when they first heard it.
“Allora. That’s my story. Son of an arms dealer.”
“Good god, Gio. You could write a book,” she said
“I suppose I could. But I wouldn’t. Every day, I try to forget that period of my life.”
She nodded, her compassion bringing tears to my eyes.
“And you? You have a secret of your own?” I asked.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t drive, like I mentioned. The reason is that years ago, my sister died in a car accident when I was behind the wheel. I’ve never driven again.”
I wanted to kiss the shame and sadness right off her face. “Oh, cara. I am so sorry.” I took her hand and brushed my lips over the back of it.
“And my ex-husband insisting I start driving again is his evil way of twisting the knife in my heart. He knows I can’t.”
“What a horrible man. I have to tell you, darling—I’ve met him and know about his business dealings. You are far too good for him. You are better off without him, making your own new life.”
She nodded. “I’m beginning to see that.”
“Cara, do you mind if I kiss you?”
“First tell me what cara means.”
I had to laugh at that. “It means dear in Italian. I’m sorry. Some habits die hard.”
“No, it’s okay. I like it. And I think I’d also like for you to kiss me.”
Without waiting for me, she leaned forward until her lips met mine. Her kiss was as sweet as I knew it would be—soft and delicious, but confident and sexy as hell. No wonder the other guys all liked her.
I felt a twitch in my pants, the old boy waking right up, but this was not the time to pursue an amorous activity with this woman, regardless of the fact that we were right in the middle of a sex party. No, I wanted to be part of her new life, not some regret she left in the past with her ex.
“Darling, you know we are going to be seeing each other, yes?” I believed in getting right to the point.
“Well, Chase and Sumner mentioned they wanted to date me too, but that you all had some sort of sharing arrangement.” She smiled and shook her beautiful head in disbelief, her black ponytail swishing around her puzzled face.
“I know. It’s hard to understand at first. But while we guys are all different, we have often found ourselves falling for the same woman.”
I probably shouldn’t have said falling.
“Well,” she said.
“Don’t worry, cara. You will get used to the idea, and if it does not work for you, that is okay, too. We will always be your friends, and hopefully, your business partners. We want nothing but the best for you.”
“Thank you, Gio. Thank you for being patient with me, and for listening to my story.”
“My darling, you are more than welcome.”
If all went according to my desires, I’d be hearing many more stories from my lovely Avril.
Chapter 15
AVRIL
An arms dealer. Holy shit.
That was a first. I’d never known an arms dealer, nor anyone related to one. Not that I was aware of, anyway.
Now, I was kissing the son of one. Gio Rosselli, Italian stallion, tall with jet black hair and slightly crooked nose, whose English was peppered with just enough Italian to make a girl wet between her legs.
Oh my god. Did I just think that?
I never used to have a trashy mouth—until recently.
Also, until recently, I’d never kissed four different men who were friends and business partners. I hadn’t been to a sex party, either—much less held one in my gallery.
I don’t think every woman trying to build a new life goes quite to the extremes I was, but sometimes, life dealt you a hand you had to play. And I wanted to play it hard.
But at the moment I was concentrating on Gio’s whisper-soft kiss, which was building momentum. His lips gradually pressed harder on mine, and with such passion, it took my breath away.
My new dress, the one Juan had chosen for me at Barneys, and let me buy with Blu’s fuck-buddy discount, was a hit. I hadn’t been sure about wearing something with a slit from neck to waist, but when I tried it on, I could see that it was really discreet yet bold at the same time—a thrilling contrast. I loved unexpected things, like having a girly office in a rough and tumble downtown loft.
And it turned out the opening in my dress served a purpose beyond just decorative. I guess a guy might call it easy access. Gio’s fingers ran down the middle of the opening, causing my skin to explode in goosebumps. He brushed just the insides of my breasts with his knuckles but went no further.
His other hand reached for mine, pressing it onto his trousers where his growing hard-on throbbed against my palm.
He pulled back, staring firmly into my eyes as he tightened my fingers around the girth of his cock.
Suddenly, he pushed my hand away.
“Lock the door,” he demanded.
My breath caught.
But I pushed myself off the sofa and crossed to the door, praying that my trembling legs would carry me there and back. I turned the lock just as he’d told me to. He had sunk into the sofa with an arm draped over the back, head tilted as he looked me up and down. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make me nervous, because in truth, he looked dark and even a little dangerous, especially after his arms dealer story. He opened his knees wide and pulled me into the space between them.
Sliding to the edge of the sofa until his face was just inches from my belly, he ran his hands up the sides of my dress, moving the fabric in small bunches as he pressed into the soft flesh of my thighs.
His touch was mesmerizing. I ran my fingers through his hair, gently raking his scalp with my nails, and he moaned, his eyes falling shut.
“God, you feel good, cara, and you smell so fine, too.” He pressed his face into my belly and inhaled deeply.
I hoped he hadn’t identified the scent of my excitement, but the truth was, he probably had. There was going to be no hiding it, especially since his hands had made their way under my dress and were heading for what Devon used to call ground zero.
Ugh. Why was that prick invading my thoughts? I was with one of the most beautiful, sexy men I’d ever laid eyes on. I shooed the creep away.
Fortunately, though, I didn’t have to try too hard. Gio lowered my panties, slowly and deliberately by reaching under my dress, until they were at my ankles. He raised one of my feet at a time so I could step out of them. He crumpled them into a ball, and finally meeting my gaze with an intensity that made me sway, smiled as he tucked them into his suit pocket.
Guess I won’t be seeing those again.
His hands were under my dress again, lifting the slinky fabric until—well, until I was exposed.
I hadn’t been with a man besides my husband in so long—aside from kissing the other guys—that I almost shrank away in modesty.
“Cara, are you all right?” Gio asked.
That was a good question. Was I all right? I wasn’t so sure.
But I wanted to be. “Yeah. Yes. I am,” I muttered, nodding.
When my dress was high enough and Gio was face to face with my bare skin, he leaned in for a deep inhale. Closing his eyes in satisfaction, he murmured, “Your pussy smells beautiful, just like I knew it would.”
Pussy. I used to think that word was vulgar. I’d never used it and didn’t think I ever would. But Gio made me feel so desired and beautiful that it took on a softer meaning.
And what the hell. It was just a word.
“Ahh, so soft and smooth,” he whispered, running his fingers over my bare lips.
I had to hold his shoulders if I wanted to remain standing.
He took another inhale and spread me open with his thumbs, just the tiniest bit. His tongue flicked my clit, which was erect by then and very sensitive. I was growing wetter by the moment and wondered if I might just gush all over him.
“Your pussy tastes so good, cara. Mmmm,” he moaned.
I widened my stance instinctively, his palm sweeping between my legs, coming back with evidence of my excitement. He pulled his hand to his face and took another deep inhale.
Next thing I knew, he was standing. He turned me until my back faced the sofa, and he lowered me to sitting. Kneeling, he reached under my knees and pulled me forward until my ass rested on the edge of the sofa and my pussy was at the perfect level for his attentions.
His finger ventured along my slit, from top to bottom, pausing to spread my wetness along my sensitive folds.
I whimpered involuntarily when his tongue returned to my sex, his thumb paused at my opening. My breath came hard, and my heartbeat raced. I knew I was on the verge of an orgasm, and he’d really only just gotten started.
But I’d not been with someone like Gio—or Ash or Chase or Sumner—ever in my life. They were strong, confident, and thoughtful men.
If that wasn’t a turn-on, I didn’t know what was.
And my orgasm was closer than I’d even realized. In one swift motion, Gio had entered me with two fingers at the same time his lips encircled my clit. They formed a suction that hurled me over my edge. The room filled with screams before I realized they were my own.
