‘You know, I really should get back soon. I have so much work to do,’ I say determinedly, shooting him a look of regret. I don’t want to cut our time short here, but the unease I’m feeling about our agreement is making me antsy. I need some time on my own to process how I’m feeling about it.
He frowns at me, clearly a little taken aback by my sudden withdrawal, then shrugs. ‘Okay, if you want. That’s cool.’
But I know it isn’t cool. None of this is. And I need to figure out what to do about that.
CHAPTER SIX
Sandro
JUNO SHUTS HERSELF in the study as soon as we get back.
I’d hoped to be able to distract her and get her straight back to bed but it seems she’s determined actually to do some work while she’s here. Which leaves me with fuck all to do.
Just knowing she’s in there and that I can’t get near her is driving me crazy and I find myself pacing up and down the living area, not sure what to do with myself. I want to be with her again. I have an oddly intense craving to see that look in her eyes when she’s listening to me talking again, as if she’s absolutely fascinated by what I have to say. I love that I know more about the art here in Florence than she does. It gave me a real buzz to be able to impress someone as smart as her with my knowledge about it.
That doesn’t happen a whole lot to me. Usually when I’m with a woman she’s not interested in anything I have to say. It’s my skill in bed she wants. It used to upset me when I was younger but now, in my mid-twenties, I’ve come to terms with the fact I’m never going to be the kind of guy from which people expect to hear anything of any note. It’s always been like that and I thought it always would be. Until I met Juno.
She has a way of making me feel good about myself. I don’t know how she does it exactly. It’s as if she sees and responds to something in me that most people miss.
Her horrified reaction to my story about what had happened at my school shook me up, though. I’d never considered before that it had been anything other than a rejection from a woman that I’d thought, in my naivety, I’d been in love with.
My father hadn’t made any kind of reference to it being an abuse of power so it had never occurred to me that it was. Her age and standing had been of no consequence to him, so it hadn’t been to me either. In a way I think he’d actually been proud of me for apparently having seduced such an attractive woman and I’d taken that as a huge compliment. My father isn’t an easy man to impress and I’ve not had many opportunities to do it in my life so it was important to me. I guess that’s how I managed to talk myself into getting over it so quickly.
But Juno’s reaction made me think about it in a whole different light.
I guess that’s why I want to be with her right now. I want to talk to her some more about my life, to see whether there are other things on which she can give me her unique perspective. Even though I know she’s only here to learn how to get her sex life on track I have this powerful urge to show her more of the real me. Which is unusual. Normally I’m totally focussed on disguising my soft underbelly for fear of being laughed at or rejected, but I don’t believe she’d do that to me. She’s too kind, too considerate—and such a genuine, determined sort of person—one who’s prepared to put herself out there and be vulnerable, and to ask for help despite the risk of failure and humiliation. That kind of bravery is something I haven’t come across very often. It’s actually pretty fucking inspiring.
I pace a while longer, then have the bright idea of taking her a drink and suggesting she take a break. Surely it can’t be good to work that intensely for that long?
Poking my head around the door to the study, I see she’s sitting in front of her laptop with a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on her nose, staring intently at the screen.
‘Juno?’ I say when she doesn’t seem to notice my presence.
She jumps a little in her seat then lets out a low laugh. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘Can I do something for you? Fetch you a drink, a snack? Bring you to screaming orgasm at your desk?’
She grins shyly and I’m delighted to see her cheeks flush.
‘Just a cold drink for now, please,’ she replies, to my disappointment. I’d really hoped she’d take me up on the orgasm. ‘I need a while longer to finish this article I’m reading.’
I go to the kitchen and fix her an orange and soda, feeling disgruntled that I’ve not been able to tempt her to take a proper break. Maybe she needs a little more encouragement...
On the way back to the study I stop off in my bedroom and grab something I think she might actually feel forced to take a break for.
‘What’s your PhD on?’ I ask her as I hold out the drink.
‘Thanks,’ she says, looking up from the screen to take it from me and swallow a few gulps of the cold fizzy liquid. Once she’s done, she places it on the desk and leans back in her chair, stretching out her arms behind her and wincing a little as if her neck and shoulders are stiff. I try not to stare at the way her breasts press against the cotton of her T-shirt.
‘I’m conducting research into sudden cardiovascular death in athletes and looking for a way to recognise early the signs of heart disease through the study of human genetics. If we have a better way to identify it, we’ve got more chance of catching it early and treating it.’
I sit down hard on the edge of the desk, a wave of awe rippling through me. ‘Wow, that’s really fucking cool.’
She smiles. ‘It will be if I find a way to stop it happening.’
‘Why did you choose that as a subject?’
A small frown pinches her brows. ‘One of my friends in senior school was a brilliant athlete and one day, right out of the blue, she just fell down dead while playing hockey.’ She swallows and I see the pain she clearly still feels about this flash across her face.
‘It turned out she had an undiscovered heart defect. She was only fifteen and the sweetest, most caring person you’d ever meet. We’d been friends since infant school and she was my rock—the person I’d go to when I was struggling with who I was and how I felt about losing my mother. My whole world fell apart all over again when I lost her. So I decided to do something good and positive with my life to try and stop it from happening to other people.’ She smiles, then turns back to the computer screen.
A throbbing sensation is growing in my throat, as if my heart has risen up from my chest to relocate itself there. This woman is truly amazing. She totally puts me to shame. What the hell have I done with my life up till now? Fucking nothing. I’ve been playing at being a grown-up. Even though I’ve been trying pretty hard recently with the artists’ co-operative, I’ve still not managed to make it work. So at the age of twenty-five I’ve achieved nothing I’m truly proud of.
This has to change. It’s time I grew a pair and made a monumental effort to make things work out. But in order to do that I have to start believing I’m smart enough. Clearly my attitude needs a serious adjustment.
But I guess, right now, I’m going to have to content myself with using the skills I’ve already honed to give her a reward for all the hard work she’s been putting in.
My version of giving back to those in need.
And I want to see a smile back on that pretty face of hers.
‘You should take a proper break for a while,’ I suggest. ‘It can’t be healthy to sit at a laptop for so long.’
‘I can’t. I’ve got so much to do,’ she mumbles.
‘Perhaps you need a lesson in priorities.’
‘Hmm?’ is all she says to this, already engrossed again in what she’s reading on the screen.
Okay. Time to get serious.
Getting up from the desk I move round to where she’s sitting and pull the wheelie office chair backwards, away from the desk.
‘Let me help you.’
She blinks at
me in surprise, a cute little frown pulling at her brows. ‘Help me? What do you mean?’
I don’t answer. Instead I climb under the desk, then pull her chair towards me so she’s back in her original position and I’m trapped under the desk. ‘Spread your legs,’ I instruct her.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asks with a nervous quaver in her voice.
‘You’ll see. Just do it.’
I think for a moment that she’s going to refuse, but when she sees how serious I am she does as I ask, her legs quivering a little as she pushes them as far apart as the chair will allow.
‘Now start reading what’s on the screen aloud to me.’
‘But it won’t make much sense out of context...’ she begins to argue.
I dismiss her argument by sliding my hands between her thighs to find her underwear, which I tug to one side, exposing her beautiful pussy.
‘What are you doing?’ She gasps.
‘Just read,’ I demand, reaching in my pocket to find the vibrator I’d stashed there earlier. ‘And don’t stop, no matter what happens.’
She peers down into the gap between her body and the desk and sees what’s in my hand. Her eyes go wide. ‘What are you going to do with that?’
I smile and turn it on to vibrate. ‘Something good,’ I promise her. ‘Now read.’
‘Wait, Sandro, you really don’t need to—’
‘I want to do this, Juno,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s going to give me just as much pleasure as you, believe me. Now do as I say.’
So she begins to read the technical-sounding article out loud, her voice shaking a little with anticipation. It shakes even more as I slip my hand back between her legs and gently strum the tip of the vibrator, first up one soft, creamy-skinned thigh, then the other. She lets out a breathy giggle of surprise, but to her credit she doesn’t stop reading.
I’m rock-hard as I listen to the wobble in her soft, smoky voice and have to force myself to concentrate as I continue the buzz between her legs, this time moving the vibrator all the way up to stroke between her pussy lips.
She yelps in surprise and loses her thread for a moment so I withdraw the vibrator until she starts reading again, then put it back in the same spot, smiling to myself when this time she doesn’t stop, even though it’s clear she’s having trouble concentrating. Every time I glide it over her clitoris her voice jumps a little and I relish the way her words become more and more ragged and broken as she finds it increasingly difficult to keep reading out loud. My cock throbs against the confines of my trousers, but I doggedly continue with my task, determined to give her the reward I promised myself I would. Just seeing the way her body is twitching with the need to come is giving me tremendous pleasure.
And then her words start to slur and jumble together as if her brain is switching its focus fully to the sensations building between her legs and is no longer sending the right signals to her mouth.
‘Oh, God, Sandro... Oh, oh, oh! I can’t... I can’t...’ She squeaks as the sensation clearly reaches a peak and her body begins to shudder with her orgasm.
Her fingers gripping the arms of the chair are white as she rides the climax, and I push her back from the desk to see she has her eyes screwed shut and that her face is flushed with colour.
Very slowly, I remove my hand from between her legs and take a moment to enjoy her sexily dishevelled state. Her whole body is slack and floppy now in her chair.
My work here is done.
For now.
Finally, she peers down at me through half-closed lids, a small, slightly sheepish smile on her face.
‘Whoa. That was intense,’ she murmurs. But I can tell from the awe in her tone that she enjoyed it.
I smile at her and get up from my kneeling position. ‘There’s another lesson for you—how to stay focussed through distraction.’
‘I’m not sure I did so well with that one,’ she half-moans, half-laughs. ‘But I have to admit,’ she adds huskily, ‘it’s a great incentive to work hard while you’re around if that’s the kind of help I can expect to get.’
Juno
I wake up the next morning with a smile on my face.
After our lesson in ‘maintaining focus under pressure’ Sandro persuaded me to finish working for the day, which I have to admit didn’t take much persuasion, what with my body and brain feeling like jelly, and we went out for food at a lovely family-run restaurant round the corner, away from the tourist trail.
Even though Sandro seemed happy with how sequestered it was from the bustle of the city, I’m pretty sure I spotted someone standing around on the pavement opposite holding up a camera in our direction when we were leaving. But I was probably just being paranoid again. How they’d known that the two of us would be there, I couldn’t begin to imagine. I doubt very much a paparazzo would waste his time trailing around the city after us. We can’t be of that much interest to the press here.
I push the worry about it out of my mind. It was probably just a tourist taking a picture of the quaint little backstreet and had nothing to do with us being there at all. Being around Sandro and his electrifying presence seems to be messing with my perception of reality.
Speaking of which, it really is time I figured out how to return some of the sexual pleasure he’s been giving me. I’m intensely aware that I’ve barely even touched him. He must be beginning to get fed up with how unforthcoming I am in that department and I want him to feel as wanted as he’s making me feel. Also, it’s something I really need to get a handle on if I’m going to feel confident about making my own sexual advances in the future.
Frankly, I think I need to learn how to give a damn good blow job.
Picking up my phone, I put it on the private-browsing setting and go about searching the Internet for the best tips and hints on how to do this. Some time later I come up for air, my mind buzzing with information and my body with nerves.
Once again I feel the weight of my inexperience pressing down on me. How does one go about offering a man fellatio? Especially one who doesn’t appear to be interested in getting an orgasm for himself. I want to do this for him, to show him I’m not a selfish lover, but also because I feel that he deserves it after all the work he’s putting into giving me the confidence I need.
I don’t want him to think it has to be all about me. I’m intensely aware that he’s not really getting anything out of this. He’s being so selfless. And that doesn’t sit right with me.
I’d like to pay my way, as it were.
Walking into the kitchen, I find Sandro sitting at the breakfast bar dressed in a pair of navy chinos and a soft-looking grey T-shirt that stretches becomingly across his broad, muscular back. My heart rate immediately picks up at the sight. It’s so unfair. The man could probably wear a bin bag and still look amazing. His hair is wet from the shower and shines a dark blue-black in the bright morning sunshine that’s pouring into the room.
His hair is a thing of real beauty. It looks perfectly rumpled all the time, as if he’s spent hours getting it that way, but I’ve not seen him touch it once. I think it just has the God-given ability to fall sexily into place without human intervention.
‘Good morning, bella,’ he rumbles in a just-rolled-out-of-bed voice and my body responds accordingly, sending a dart of pure need straight to my core.
‘Morning,’ I reply, annoyed that my own voice sounds so unattractively rough.
I flit around the kitchen, pouring myself coffee and buttering a piece of toast, before going over to join him.
He’s been sitting there watching me the whole time, drumming his fingers lightly on the countertop. There’s a restless sort of energy about him again this morning and, as I see him fiddle around with the teaspoon in front of him, winding it back and forth between his fingers, the action suddenly reminds me of a girl I was at school with who did the same thing with pencils. She also f
ound it intensely difficult to sit still.
I smile at him as I sit on the stool on the other side of the counter. ‘Can I ask you something personal?’
‘Shoot.’
‘Do you ever have trouble staying interested in tasks that take a long time to complete?’ I have a suspicion I know what’s going on with him now but I want to know more before I suggest it.
‘I guess so. Sometimes. It depends what it is. If it’s something I love—like my sculpting, or sex—I can focus on it for hours, or days, without needing to take a break.’
‘But if it doesn’t interest you?’
He stares down at the counter and shrugs. ‘I can’t make myself sit down and do it, no matter how much I tell myself I need to. I guess I’m just not as smart as you.’
He says this curtly and it’s clear he’s struggling with his pride, uncomfortable with admitting his perceived weakness to me.
‘You know, it’s not necessarily about being smart, it’s more about being able to manage your concentration levels so you can stay focussed long enough on tasks in order to finish them.’ I take a breath. ‘Have you ever been tested for ADHD?’
‘What the hell is ADHD?’ He scowls at me as if I’ve just suggested he might have a horrible disease.
‘Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It would explain why you find it so hard to focus on certain tasks, like involved paperwork, or anything that doesn’t really interest you. There are ways to manage it if it’s affecting your life.’
I think I can actually feel him retreating into himself.
‘I’ve never been tested for anything,’ he says roughly. ‘My teachers said I was just lazy and not cut out for learning.’ He lets out a snort. ‘And there’s no way my father would publicly admit to one of his sons having any kind of learning disability.’
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