by Avery Aster
“You are perfezione.” He got into it, moaning things in Italian. “Sì, like that. That’s it, Bello. Suck.”
I got off on getting him off. However, I always had to keep him on his toes. No doubt, Jemma and he both had my heart. But teasing them and taunting them—making them think I wasn’t into it when I was, or that I’d had better offers when I didn’t—was what had kept them both coming back for more. I could play the game better than anyone.
So I pulled back, freeing myself from him.
“We’re not done here.” His mouth hitched at the corner.
I offered no reply. Rather I stared up at him, giving a hungry glare. Jemma had told me once that I could talk with my eyes. Black and large, identical to my nonno’s, I didn’t see what they’d meant. However, Jemma and Luigi went bananas for eyes.
Stroking his nuts in my hand, I whispered, “After I swallow your load, we’re going over that list.”
“Maybe…”
My hold on his balls tightened. “Jemma will be here soon. We gotta get a move on it, amore. The jet leaves tonight.”
“Fine.” He dipped his face in my direction, pointed the tip of his beautiful cock at my mouth, and muttered, “Open wide.”
Dropping from the bed to the floor, I tucked my knees under me, leaned into his crotch, and held onto his ass cheeks.
High and firm, Luigi’s butt was like that of a soccer player. Stacked. I could set a book on it. I had yet to fuck his ass, but I wanted to. Maybe on this trip he’ll discover his versatility.
I took him. All of him.
“Such a pretty mouth for a man, bello.” He fucked my face.
Hard. Deep. Fast.
Mmm. Keeping my jaw loose, he inched further down my throat.
“You’re doing bueno. Almost there.” He wiped my tears as they fell down the side of my cheeks.
Frantically, my tongue swirled around the tip of his dick, my love for him displayed with each stroke, every lick. I glided my hand back where my lips had just been and repeated—back and forth, up then down—keeping the tension going at all times. Lick. Suck. Lick. Suck.
Holding on for dear life, his hands pressed firmly against my scalp.
“Keep your eyes on mine.” A deep growl erupted. With joy, his dick exploded in my mouth. “Ti amo!”
After I swallowed his salty cream, I professed, “I love you, too.” My body ached to be fucked by him, but we didn’t have time. Once we got to Berlin, we’d have the entire week to make love.
Moments later, he dressed.
Back to our lists. We had to make sure we weren’t forgetting anything…
“Passports?”
“Check.” Glancing at the photos and birth dates for a second, I tossed them into my carry-on. Wait. Was Jemma’s age correct? I pulled hers back out of the bag and did the math in my head, subtracting her date of birth from that day. Thirty-five…thirty-six. “Jemma isn’t thirty-seven. Is she?”
“Sì, how old did you think she was?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Rocco. Per favore.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“For the last five years?” Luigi shot me a glare as if I was stupid, kind of hurt my feelings. He could be an ass sometimes, but I still loved him. Jemma, too.
“Don’t you dare look at me as if I’m a fool! I may be gullible, but I’m no one’s fool. Besides, what Italian woman tells the truth about her age?”
A deep baritone chuckle erupted from his mouth. He rubbed a thumb along his pronounced jawline.
I could admit the past five years of our relationship with Jemma had gone by at warp speed. From Mediterranean extravaganzas to European nights of endless euphoria, I’d lost track of our birthday soirées.
“She’s thirty-seven,” he confirmed.
“Typical. Our woman of mystery. Just when I think I know her, I learn something new.”
Sometimes I had to pinch myself that it was all real. Before making a home there, I was a poor wine boy from Chianti who’d worked the vineyards with no formal education. Not like Luigi who had an MBA. Or Jemma who had millions and a world of knowledge because she’d been to just about every country on Earth. The only one in my family to go to the university was my nonno, who became a psychologist.
Plus, I never thought I’d live in an urban city such as we did in Milan—let alone at the Tittoni Estate—work for the royal family, and have a boyfriend and girlfriend such as Luigi and Jemma.
Shocked by my stupidity, his forehead raised. He enjoyed teasing me.
“Stop staring at me like that or you won’t get a b.j. from me for a week,” I pouted.
Not that my threats meant much. In our poly relationship, the minute one person wasn’t in the mood for sex you turned to the other. When that didn’t work, we were free to go outside the relationship, but I never did. Funny, right? We could if we wanted to, but I had no desire to share my body with anyone else but Luigi and Jemma.
More than anything, I wanted us three to be exclusive.
But Jemma had squashed that idea. She’d said, “My darlings, I cannot keep up with you. I tire easily. You two have needs. Needs which should be met. If not by me, then perhaps by someone else. Don’t deny yourself pleasure. Just be safe, and have fun.”
I never argued with her, because life was too precious. Her cancer had taught me that. However, I didn’t sleep around. Jemma was the only woman I wanted.
While chewing my nail, I realized she’d been a bit different since her chemo. Her sex drive wasn’t as high as it used to be, but that was understandable. All sex aside, she also didn’t seem as close to me and Luigi. Not like before, anyway. At times, seemed as though she held back. If she could look death in the face and win, she could certainly keep her eyes open when I made love to her. She used to always want to make eye contact when she orgasmed. But lately, her eyes were shut tight. She wasn’t enjoying herself.
“Stop biting your nails!”
“Scusi.” I wasn’t always a nail-biter. Not until our thruple had started. As much as I loved us, at times it wore on my nerves. I’d only had a few friends in Rome who’d gotten themselves in poly relationships before and they’d all ended disastrously. Did I usually anticipate the worst outcome in most situations?
Perhaps…
“You pack our toys?” Luigi asked.
“Yes, that was the first thing I put in our suitcases.”
We enjoyed our jelly dongs, vibrators, dildos, and naughty accessories. Jemma wasn’t big on artificial plastic devices. Well, not lately, anyways. She also didn’t let us tie her up.
“Maybe on this trip, she’ll change her mind and give up control.”
“One can hope,” he agreed.
“I can’t always be the submissive one.” I wish I owned a pair of handcuffs.
He laughed.
Inevitably, sex was easy for all three of us. On the contrary, everlasting love was a whole other story. It had been the love which was starting to get harder to steer to a deeper place.
My nonno said I scare people with how in-touch I am with my feelings. That’s what happens when your grandfather is a therapist: you talk about your thoughts, react to how things affect you with words. I miss him. He’s back in Chianti. We used to talk about everything. Unlike Luigi and Jemma who never discuss their feelings. That was why I’d turned to biting my nails, because their silence flipped me out.
I zipped up one of the roller bags, pushed it toward the doorway, and let out a loud sigh.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing…” I lied.
Jemma and Rocco were all I had. They were all I used to need, but lately it hadn’t been enough for me. Often, I feel as if the more we went through in life, the more time we spent together, the further we drifted apart. Ironic, right?
Priorities with her fashion career were all-consuming.
Even for Luigi. He’d spent days and nights at the office working on the exporting of Girasoli’s brands. I didn’t
have those responsibilities with my job. I managed the estate. It wasn’t my life aspiration to take care of Prince Massimo’s Milan palace, but since we lived on the grounds it was an easy gig. Plus, Lex and Massimo were always away in New York, so we had the estate to ourselves.
That’s why this is the ideal time for me to have a bambino. I want kids so badly. My work schedule could permit me to stay at home and raise them. With nothing but time on my hands, and love in my heart to give, I was ready to be a parent. More than ever.
“Amore, I pray this trip brings us closer together.” I tossed a few copies of Parenting Italiano into Jemma’s bag and reminded, “Back to the way we were when we’d first met.”
He stopped stuffing his sweaters in one of the garment bags. Gazing over at me, he instructed, “Don’t start in on your feelings today. Per favore. Let’s pack. We’ll talk when we get to Berlin.”
“Yeah, right! We haven’t talked about us since Isola di Girasoli.”
“So…”
“That was months ago.”
“Bello, this trip is going to change all of that. It’ll be more than just sex between us this time. You’ll see. Trust me.”
Ughhh. We need therapy.
If we’re not exclusive anymore, and moving backward instead of forward, I’ll leave. I have to move on. I may have had low self-esteem a few years ago, but today, I’m not the same man as before.
The mess was all my doing. Looking down at my chewed nails, I’d come to the conclusion weeks before. I should’ve never agreed to get into our poly relationship to begin with. I knew all along that Jemma was a play-girl, and I’d only get hurt. Luigi would never stand up to her.
“Bello, seriously, is that all that’s bothering you?” His brow furrowed.
“Just worried, amore. Like always, I’m thinking about you and Jemma.”
“Relax. Everything is going to be fantastico.”
An optimist. I appreciated that about Luigi. Always seeing the bright side in everything, he never let go ‘til he got his way, which had made the current state of our relationship rather odd. He wanted us to get married and belong to him. He liked to possess things, people, and places. My heart and ass were no different.
Regardless, Jemma had put a stop to that, too. She’d argued, “We are free spirits. We must live in the present, not hold out for the future.”
Isn’t the future all we have?
“I hope so,” I encouraged, trying not to feel hopeless.
The desire for me to belong to Jemma and Luigi exclusively wasn’t only about pleasuring my ass. It was in my mind and soul. An obsession of thoughts which started the day Jemma, and then later Luigi, had told me they were in love with me. And I with them.
I love them so much. The very idea of not being with them pains me to no end.
“Pack faster.” He snapped his fingers at me to pay attention.
Annoyed, I nodded up at him. I didn’t have ADD like Jemma, so I could multi-task. My poor dolce. It was hard at times for her to focus, but Luigi was excellent at getting her to stay present in the moment. Maybe a little too good. Hence why she never thought of our future.
“You got all of her toiletries, vitamins, shoes, jewelry, and clothing?”
“Sì.” I fastened the clasp on her metal makeup trunk. “Lex has also arranged for us to take her shopping at each destination.”
He balked and mumbled resistance under a shallow breath. Loathing all things girly—talking about his feelings, shopping, etc.—he oddly enough had this romantic streak when it came to spending time with him. His machismo was what had lured me in. I’d never met a man as alpha as Luigi before. He had this hypnotic way of making Jemma and I feel as if we were the only thing in the world which mattered to him.
“This is supposed to be an inspirational trip. Aside from the sex, Lex stated we should also take Jemma shopping, romance her. Take her out dancing.”
“What about food?” he asked.
“Is that all you think about?”
“No. I like romance, too.” With a nod, he dipped his sharp chin. His skin tan, eyes molten, he was sexy. Lovable. Mine.
“Fine, let’s make a deal. You’re in charge of romance and restaurants, and I’ll be in charge of shopping and sex. Let’s face it, I’m kinkier than you. And I want Jemma to let loose on this trip.”
“We can manage the sex together.” He leaned over and kissed me. First with a nip on the lip. “I can be dirty, too.” Then a swift spank of his hand on my ass.
Lord Almighty, he’s strong.
Standing my ground, I fiercely kissed him back and muttered between our lips touching, “We’ll see.” My tongue. His tongue. For a minute or so, I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in his arms. Luigi had a powerful control over me. Dominating. Reassuring. Whatever he wanted, I gave. Always had. I’d do anything for him.
“The rooms are booked. The pilot knows the routes and destinations?” He zipped up the largest of the bags, placing it on the bed.
“Berlin, Moscow, Paris, Beirut, Ibiza. We end the trip in New York. He has it all. The press does, too. The first article from the journalists will hit while we’re in Germany. Brill, Inc. gave me a list of words we should play up to with the photographers.” I moved another trunk of Jemma’s to the doorway.
“Such as?” He grabbed our coats.
“Escapism, playfulness, and…naughty.”
His hazel eyes dilated on my last word. Licking his full lips, once then twice, he clarified, “As in BDSM?”
I laughed. “I don’t know about that. Jemma isn’t big on the sadomasochism thing. She doesn’t like to feel pain, remember?”
After what she’d gone through, who could blame her?
“She doesn’t like to feel period,” he muttered.
“Che coda?” I asked him to repeat himself.
“Never mind,” he dismissed me. “Remember when we tried to tie her up a few a years ago?”
“Sì.” Switching my middle finger for my ring finger, I chewed.
A while back, we’d attempted to be playful and had brought rope home to tie her up, but that had resulted in me getting punched in the face. Being the one who gets restrained is so not fun. It’s someone else’s turn, that’s for sure.
“It’s going to be different this time. Wait ‘til we have her on the plane.”
“That reminds me, she should be home in…” I noted the time on my watch. “We have about ten minutes.”
“Let’s hope the media coverage about our holiday is a lot nicer than the reviews of her last fashion collection.” Luigi frowned. “I had no idea things had gotten this bad for her.”
My turn to give him the dumb-ass stare. How could he not know our Jemma was uninspired for fashion and beauty in recent months?
After all, he was the director of Girasoli Garments and worked directly under Prince Massimo and Lex Easton. He headed the global export of Jemma Couture, Easton Essentials, and the private label textile side of the business.
Earlier in the week, it’d pained him to watch our Jemma fall flat on her face with the last collection. No retailers picked up Death Star Galactica, not even our own stores. He brought in a few pieces from the Easton Essentials line which were formal enough to sell to the customers who needed a gown for an event or social affair.
“You mean bad for all of us,” I corrected. “You heard what Signorina Brill said. For Jemma to stay creative and fresh, she requires a passionate life. We’re the ones to blame for the lack of inspiration.”
“Bello—”
“I’m serious. It’s no more Jemma’s fault for that miserable collection as it is our own.”
He didn’t say anything but his face agreed with me. I could always tell what he was thinking even when he didn’t say much. The strong, silent type never do. However, he blamed himself, which was obvious. He’d do anything for Jemma. I would, too. Even if it meant abducting her.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I admitted.
At the tim
e the Manhattanites had suggested the idea, it sorta made sense. Kidnap Jemma and whisk her away somewhere romantic, so we could focus on getting our relationship back on track.
Looking down at my watch, I started to have reservations.
This is nuts!
“So Jemma thinks we’re going to New York City to see Lex and work on her designs. When we take off, the jet flies to Germany, not America. So what?”
Together, we stood still and stared at each other for a minute.
Uneasiness swept over me. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Sì, what other choice do we have?” Luigi crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If we don’t get her back on track with Jemma Couture, and with us, what will we have left?”
“Nothing.” I wasn’t going to do it any longer, so I admitted, “If this doesn’t work, I’m out.”
“Do not talk like that.” He stepped right up to my face, his sweet breath smacking my cheeks.
“Scusi.” I hadn’t meant to upset him, but it was the truth.
“This will work. We’re going to remind her of what love is. We’re going to bring up the marriage topic again, and this time she’s going to say yes.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll do what we should’ve done all along.” He raked his hand through his sandy brown hair.
“Eh?” I searched his face for a clue as to what he was talking about. One couldn’t force someone to get married to them if they didn’t want to. Could they?
“We’re going to give her an ultimatum. Either we get married, or we’re through.”
“Through,” I repeated. Hearing Luigi say what I had been thinking made my stomach flip. Everything was coming to a head. He was right, enough was enough. But would it be the end of us? “Sì. Right. Okay.”
I loved Jemma more than any woman in the whole world. She was my first and only girlfriend. Until I’d met her and she’d seduced me, I’d thought I was gay. Shortly thereafter, I’d met Luigi and everything fell into place. Not seeing man or woman, like a white light coming over me, I only experienced pure, blinding bliss.
The front door to our wing of the mansion opened and then shut.
“She’s home,” he said.
