by Mynx, Sienna
After a deep intake of breath Giovanni walked out of her inner office to the front and closed the doors. The doors each locked from the inside. They would be alone. He returned to find Mira before the portrait. She ran her hand over the bottom of Fabiana’s image as if touching the painting simulated touching her friend. He entered the room. Though they spoke often about Fabiana it occurred to him why his wife’s torment was never-ending. Fabiana was her sister, family, the only family she had before she met him.
Giovanni felt a pang of guilt over the secret he carried. Surely his actions in separating his wife from Marietta weren’t the same as the loss of Fabiana. Even if he introduced Mira to Marietta they wouldn’t bond. The women were different. They had nothing in common. He reasoned that he did his wife a favor by sparing her the stress. But how long could he keep them apart?
“I really do love it. Fabiana was so beautiful. Wasn’t she?”
“She was.” Giovanni agreed.
“That’s what I will name our Italian operations. Fabiana. We can keep the American company Mirabella and start a new one under her name. What do you think?” she looked back.
Giovanni removed his trench coat and tossed it. He began to shed his suit jacket. He tried to shake his guilt, conceal it from her. “I like the idea.”
Mira grinned and turned to face him with a joyful clap. “I’m so happy! She will always be here.”
When he looked up at the portrait again all doubt melted away. Mira came to him. He began to unbutton her shirt.
“Are you sure we won’t be disturbed?” she asked.
“No one will dare,” he replied. Her shirt opened. He kissed her brow and then lowered. His hand travelled down her left leg and captured the zipper at the top of her ankle boot. He ran the tab down and removed one boot from her foot and then the next. She aided him by bracing for balance by gripping the tops of his shoulders. He stood and immediately went for the buttons to her jeans. Her breasts were twice the size they once were. She swore the pregnancy swelled in her boobs instead of her belly. He had to agree. Lucky for him he was indeed a breast, ass, and thigh man.
“Catalina will love this. I can decorate the office from home. I have a ton of magazines to order from. You know? I can look through them and start ordering what I like.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. She giggled with excitement. He lowered the zipper to her jeans and began to peel the fabric down her shaeply hips and thighs. She really was very, very, lovely—
The high-waist black lace panty trimmed her pussy. Giovanni ran his tongue along the seam. She gasped a breath. He could see it happen as if it occurred in his mind in slow motion. He’d undress her with care. Taste the pussy that was his. Fuck her. Fuck her again. Release the pent up desire that has cramped his dick since she emerged from the shower with her skin glistening with moisture, her hair poufy around her face, and her round ass and large breasts bouncing with each step she took.
He loved the body of his pregnant wife.
Giovanni removed her panties next. Mira tried to cross her arms and keep them lowered to cover her belly. The action offended him. She should never hide her beautiful curves. He knocked her hands away.
She talked of something related to the fashion business as she used his shoulders for balance to step out of her undergarments. His hearing dulled. Nothing she said registered. At his level the lovely smell of her fragrant skin had left his head spinning. All he could think of was having her.
Giovanni swiped a finger between the thick folds of her pussy. She silenced. She was wet. Her pussy felt warm and ready. For a moment he stroked her there as his eyes climbed the round curve of her stomach, the thick peaks of her dark nipples. And his gaze reached hers.
“Enough talking,” he said. “My ears burn.”
She blinked those round eyes of hers at him, and then smiled. She combed her fingers back over his scalp and stared down at him. “You trying to say I talk too much?”
He stood and this time it was he who had to look down on her. He lifted her chin. “Tell me all about decorating later. Focus on me. Only. Now.”
A spark flickered in her eyes, and to him it resembled obedience. His mouth found hers again and this time he devoured her sweet tongue and lips. Her silky tongue responded, stroking deeply. His lips suctioned softly. And her sweet sighs reminded him of all the other parts of her body he wanted to taste and suck the same way.
Mira’s hands worked fast at undoing his buckle and lowering his zipper. She pulled her mouth away to focus on the task. He only wore sleeveless t-back undershirts and boxers. He removed his clothes.
“Down boy,” she ordered.
His heart hammered fast, stricken by the primal surge of lust that seized his loins from the request.
Her steely gaze narrowed. “Now,” she said.
It was difficult to breathe. The air he did manage to take in was hot and sultry. Giovanni went to his knees. He carefully brought her with him. She pushed hard on his bare shoulders for him to recline so she could straddle his lap. But he was too busy rubbing his lips across the fuzz of pubic hair around her pussy. She didn’t shave and trim as much as she used to. He didn’t bother to question why. He was a man not a boy. He preferred his wife with hair on her pussy. The urge to spread her out on the carpet and drive several inches of his dick through her tight core became his singular purpose. When the damp folds of her pussy brushed his dick he went back as she requested.
“Good, baby, let me take control.” Mira cooed to him.
Giovanni put his hands behind his head, stretched out with his ankles apart. His male strength was hard and aroused when she fisted his dick and guided him to her opening. She decended. He slipped into bliss. His lids fluttered once her wet tightness sheathed his shaft. He heard her gasp for a breath. On instinct he shot his hips upward and encountered tight muscle. Urgent desire ripped through him and he gripped her hips for mercy. He thrusted slowly now, and aimed his dick with each push to what he knew would be her pleasure point. She countered his move with her own. Her soft thighs curved sensually around his hips as she rode his cock with a sweet rhythmic swirl of her hips back and forth.
“Ah, yes!” he grunted.
Giovanni was forced to rise to hold her, love her. In doing so he put her belly between them and felt the life they created. She was the woman of his dreams. She had given him more than he dreamed for. He captured a taut nipple in his mouth. He cupped her ass. He palmed both round cheeks and controlled her rise and fall on his dick. Mira’s pussy muscles expanded and then tightened on his cock in synchronization with his bottom maneuvers. So demanding was the pleasure boiling him from the inside, he lost the ability for any coherent thought. His brain fired off commands to take more. Mira put down moves that owned him. Every feeling was raw and undiluted. Giovanni dropped back and gripped her hips to slam her pussy up and down on his dick, refusing to relinquish control. He ignored the sharp breaths escaping his woman. It got so good to him he shot up again and began to sink his teeth into the curve of her neck, sucking her skin in through his pursed lips.
“Owe! Damn it, Gio!” Mira wheezed. She held the back of his neck with one hand and rubbed down his back with the other as he put another mark of passion on her neck, then shoulder, and then left breast. She kept moving on his lap. She wasn’t too big to flip her to the floor but he remained cautious all the same. He licked the sweat between her breasts, rolled his tongue over the slender curve of her neck, now bruised unintentionally, as she shivered and clung to him. Lately it took a lot more work on his part to make sure she reached her climax. But he was so fucking turned on he could not hold back.
“Do it, baby,” she said as if hearing his inner thoughts, understanding his resistance. Giovanni bit into her shoulder for restraint and she tensed but clung to him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a final groan and grunt of surrender he gushed a release and crashed beneath her.
Afterwards she eased from his arms and he fell to his back. Mira lay at his
side, turned on hers. Thankfully the floor in her office was carpeted and not the cool marble tile throughout the building. She put her arm around his waist. He kept her warm by running his hand up and down her skin for as far as he could reach. Her face rested against his chest. They both stared up at the portrait.
“It’s still hard, even now, to believe all the changes in my life with Fabiana gone.” Mira began. “But if none of it had happened I wouldn’t have found you. Our love. And our children wouldn’t exist. Things I never knew I wanted until you were mine.” Mira kissed his chest. She half rolled on top of him. Her warm tummy pressed into his side and her moist pussy pressed against his thigh. “You continue to surprise me. The man you are that they don’t know. The man I believe in.” She touched his face. He turned his gaze to her and stared into her eyes, listening. “You’re my best friend, Giovanni. I trust you with my life. I’ll do whatever is needed to protect what we have. No matter what. Always.”
“You finished, sweetie?” Mira asked.
Giovanni snapped out of his thoughts. His wife reached for their daughter who lifted her arms for her mother. He opened his mouth to object but Mira put Eve on her hip with ease. Several more men had come inside and started to eat. How long had he been daydreaming?
“Zia has missed our Evie so much. I’m going to let Zia give her a bath.” Mira came closer. “Maybe I’ll give you one later,” she whispered.
Giovanni smiled.
“Don’t stay in Villa Rosso too late. Okay? After the girls are done packing I expect to see you.”
“Girls?” he asked curiously.
“I hope you don’t mind but Cecilia is coming to Sicily with us. She agreed to help me and Rosetta.”
“Is that necessary?” Giovanni frowned.
“Yes.” Mira said with a firm tone. “Especially since you’ve purposefully kept Zia from staying here. I know it was you.”
Giovanni’s brows lowered at the accusation. Apparently his wife was told of Rocco’s refusal to let Zia return and the blame was cast his way.
“I can explain that,” he began.
“Not the place. Right?” she glanced over to the others in the room. An unspoken rule between them held his tongue. They never disagreed in front of the family. It was always kept behind closed doors. She heaved Eve a bit higher on her hip. “Soon I will have three children under the age of two. I need all the help I can get. Cecilia is coming with us.”
He smiled and nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Mira leaned in and gave him a kiss. “Not really, but I like when we pretend,” she joked. He shook his head with laughter. Eve patted his cheek. “Say bye Papa,” Mira said.
“Ciao, Papa!” Eve waved.
He winked at his daughter and watched them go. Giovanni reclined back in his chair. The family was good. Rocco worried for nothing. He had made the best choice for them all.
2.
The elevator made a slow climb. Pressed for time he checked his watch once more. His gaze switched back to the numbers blinking above. Dominic Battaglia exhaled the constricting breath of impatience caught in his lungs. At last he reached the fourth floor. The doors parted. The noise level hit him full force. Dominic shoved his hands down deeper in his pockets as he walked inside. It was a warm day but he wore a charcoal grey suit, with a black shirt. The men of the Battaglia family were always seen impeccably dressed in public. It was an unstated rule.
Fabiana’s, a fashion house under Mirabella’s company, catered to the privileged and famous. The new division within the company blossomed in the short three months since it’s launching. On the fourth floor, one would find the nucleus of the operation. Below him was a high-end boutique that allowed Mirabella’s collection to be purchased by appointment only. Today the offices bustled with activity. Staff and models hurried about as if uncertain of their destination. The ten million dollar operation he found in disarray in New York washed Battaglia money clean since Mira’s resurrection.
Profits were good.
Today was a big day for his lady. Catalina had decided to do a store window fashion show on the lower floors for the Italian press and locals. Since the boutique wasn’t open to everyone the crowds gathered for a peek of Fabiana’s women’s wear collection. It took him a full five minutes to push his way through the assembly. He thought the idea of a fashion collection display was far too premature, but Giovanni and Mira overruled his objections and gave Catalina her wish. It was a small project. Only sixteen handpicked couture outfits would be featured. But to Catalina it was the biggest venture she’d undertaken in her life. This meant his woman spent day and night with that French black designer who whined constantly. He struggled to be selfless. It was hard.
Dominic let his eyes do the seeking. He caught the lyrical sound of laughter and glanced left. Catalina stood between a tall black model named Zenobia and a slender man with a pink mohawk who he had never seen before. Catalina was beautiful in her business attire. She wore a very slimming nude colored mini dress with a bright red belt and heeled shoes. It was tastefully cut, and against her olive skin it flattered her curves. Her long chestnut brown hair was in a very curly style, which reached beyond her shoulders with bangs that covered her brows. When she spoke every eye went to her. He felt a swell of pride rise in his chest after witnessing her confidence. Dominic checked his watch and frowned. Time was short. He decided to give her the space she needed to conclude her business. He turned left and went to the office that would eventually be Mirabella’s whenever she returned to this fashion world. Every time he entered the door of the office the picture of Mira and Fabiana standing back to back riveted his gaze. He approached the limestone white desk and picked up the phone. He made a quick call to check his service for messages. Again Lorenzo had left one. It was the fourth message he’d received that day. Carlo must not have made contact yet. That concerned him. Dominic hung up and dialed Lorenzo.
* B *
Golfe de Saint-Tropez —
Ring. Ring. Ring…
Marietta glanced over to the satellite phone. To her dismay it blinked yellow and rang louder. “Fuck this.” Marietta snatched up the phone and turned it off.
Lorenzo had been in a sour mood. He woke up barking at her. He ranted about being ignored, castrated, and made a fool of by his stupid Mafia kingpin cousin. No matter how much they toured and enjoyed each other the dark moments with him sulking and brooding often came. She’d been able to tolerate his mood swings at first. Now she was sick of it. He was her man, and he needed to act like it. Always. Not some loser who needs to be part of some Mafia gang to feel important. It was stupid.
“Marietta? Was that the phone?” Lorenzo yelled.
“No, baby,” she said sweetly, hiding a snide smile on her lips. She glanced up at her reflection in the overhanging microwave oven. The mischief she tried to swallow spread wider across her lips. She liked being bad. She liked bad boys. She was addicted to everything Lorenzo’s dark life brought.
“You coming?” he yelled again. “What the fuck is taking so long?”
“Be right there!” she sang. Marietta picked up the portable radio with the new batteries tucked inside. It was time for his afternoon, before dinner treat. And then she’d feed and make love to him for the rest of the night. Four months into this with Lorenzo and she felt happier, more desired, more loved than she had in her entire miserable life. And she did love Lorenzo, deeply and completely. She would die for him. He was hers. When he confessed the trip was part business and pleasure she didn’t mind. In fact she rarely saw him do business. He had a few meetings with people in London and Paris, but nothing that kept him from spoiling her daily. Her baby knew how to treat a girl.
Marietta climbed the lower deck stairs and emerged to the upper deck that faced the back of the yacht. The windows had a smoky grey tint that made it impossible to see inside but easy to see outside. She found Lorenzo as she left him, in a large leather lounge chair, with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his nicely bronzed superman chest
. How many times had she run her tongue over the hard definition? Damn she liked a man that was physically fit. Each morning when the sun rose he went for a swim. And it showed well in his tan and his physique. Lorenzo even had muscles in his dick. She felt lightheaded thinking about his cock coiled up under his long shorts. He punished her good.
He sat there staring at her. The side of his face rested against his palm. His gaze switched to the radio she carried and she could see a flicker of excitement in his eyes, despite the mean scowl he wore all day.
The first time she did a routine from her days as a stripper for him he acted like a madman. Surely he’d seen his share of strippers before. He claimed her routine was different, the music was different, and her moves were different. And he even made her vow to never dance or move like that for another man. Ever. It was for him only. After she figured out how much he liked it she decided to ration out these performances. When he slipped into a dark brooding mood and she saw their evening turning into a boring routine of his ranting about the injustices of being second best to his cousin, she gave him something special.
“For me?” he asked, with a single nod of his head directed at the radio. “I thought you were fixing my dinner?”
“Don’t be so grouchy. You know you want this instead,” she teased. She popped open the cassette player and dropped her mix tape from an American southern rap group called ‘2 Live Crew’ inside.
Marietta glanced back over her shoulder. Before he was slumped in the chair as if bored. Now he sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He had the predatory look of a lion tracking a prized gazelle in his eyes. Oh yes, he was going to wear her out tonight. Thank you lord!
“Dammelo,” he said.
“I intend to give it to you, baby. You know how I do it. You got to let me warm up. Amore mio.”
Marietta pressed play. The sultry voice of a rhythm and blues singer set the mood. It began this way. By the time her man was fully aroused the song would switch to hardcore rap with her putting down sharp gyrations, bouncing of her butt cheeks, and seductive hip rolls would eventually bring her to his lap with him fucking her with wild excitement. He’d lick the sweat off the peaks of her nipples. His face would be buried between her thighs for what felt like hours. That was their game and she liked it just as much as he did.
