Chapter Fifteen
To the casual observer, they looked like newlyweds on their honeymoon. They fit the fairy tale profile. She was Jordana Almueda, the famous supermodel while he was Lonzo Vitale, a billionaire who was also so panty-drenching gorgeous it should be deemed criminal.
Except that they were not newly-weds.
Nor were they a “real” couple.
Their arrangement was…complicated. And time-bound—for an entire month.
Two more weeks and this would soon be over.
But it didn’t matter.
At the moment, neither of them cared to remember.
She sensed him even before she felt his arms encircling her middle. She smiled. She did a lot of that these past few days. She couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to. The sun had settled inside her, making her burst out in radiant rays of happy bubbles whenever he was near. Or it surely felt something like that.
“I need you,” he said in that raspy voice that never failed to make her break out in goosies.
She dropped the dish towel from her hand before she turned to him, her eyes narrowing.
“We just did it thirty minutes ago, Lonzo!” she reminded him when he invaded her morning bath this morning and got her biting her knuckles to keep from screaming the house down.
He pulled her closer, making her gasp when she felt his veritable monster of a cock against her ass cheeks.
“You can’t be!” she squirmed. “Even boxers rest between rounds!”
He gave a rich, low chuckle. “Please, bella. Don’t insult me by comparing me to a jock. I’m Lonzo-fucking-Vitale,” he said without a tinge of modesty.
“Humble, aren’t we?” she said in her best ‘I’m not impressed’ voice.
“Is that a challenge I’m hearing, cara?” he asked before gently biting her earlobe. “Because I’m already up for it.”
She found herself giggling. The man really had no shame!
She shook her head as she continued with the charade. “Don’t you have a business empire to run?”
He continued to lace butterfly kisses along the line of her neck, “I delegate.”
She bit her lower lip to stop from moaning when he licked a spot behind her ear.
“Surely you have other things to do?” her question came out hoarse.
“You’re the sole item on my to-do list.”
How can she say no to him when he would say things like that?
When one of his hands slid beneath her skirt to inch its way up her thigh, she gave up all pretenses of indifference.
“We can’t spend the entire day in bed! We’ll end up with bedsores if this continues!”
“Who said we’re going to do it in the bedroom?” he asked.
“You can’t mean—”
“We’ll do it here. Open those legs wider for me, woman. Damn, I told you not to wear panties anymore when you’re…ummm…fuck, yes…you’re soaked through—”
Then she remembered they were in the kitchen and someone may…
“Lonzo, stop! Thio or anyone could—” she said as she tried to fend off his questing hand.
“Let them—” he replied, unperturbed. He continued to distract her by simultaneously nibbling her neck as he painted circles on the engorged button between her thighs.
“Lonzo!” she shrieked, horrified at the thought of being caught doing it in public. Then she tensed when one of his long fingers found its way beneath the elastic of her knickers. “We mustn’t!” she protested even as her head lolled back against his shoulder.
The wicked man just laughed. “Oh yes we fucking will.”
She made low, sobbing sounds when his talented fingers strummed her insides into submission.
“Lonzo, please…I won’t be able to hold my head up if—” she cried, attempting to protest for the last time before the cloud of lust took over her befuddled brain.
He caught her upturned lips as he grounded his hips from behind. He kissed her senseless for several minutes before he lifted his mouth.
“So, my little bella is still shy, eh? Don’t fret, Jordana…Thio and the rest of the household are busy at the vineyard. We have the entire house to ourselves,” he informed her.
“Oh.”
“Do you know what that entails?” he asked.
Her heart started to drum furiously inside her. Several ideas came into mind—too unchaste and wanton to reveal. “N-No.”
“No surface will be left unused,” he declared before she heard him tearing the seams of her panties. “Hold on tight to the counter top, Jordana. You're going to scream this house down…”
How can she say no to the wizard of ohhhs?
True to his word, they christened every room and surface. And some. For someone who held on to her v-card for a long time, she found herself making up for lost time, addicted to his masterful touch. In the span of several days since their ‘renewed’ arrangement, they had made love at every opportune moment. She stopped counting at twenty.
It became evident that his impact to her life went beyond the four corners of the bedroom. Oh, at first it was hardly noticeable. Like tiny pebbles being dropped one at a time in the pond of her subconscious; it collected and slowly chipped its way on the protective walls she placed around her heart.
With every minute she spent around him, her fascination grew.
She saw how he genuinely cared for Thio Fredo. He fussed and worried over the old man. Oh, they would argue vociferously over nothing and the smallest of things. She was quick to learn that it was an Italian trait—yelling and screaming one moment and then laughing out loud in the next minute. But amid the caustic comments and arguments, there was true, honest-to-goodness love between the two men.
She was also surprised at how he was held in high esteem by the other members of his uncle’s household. He treated them like family and looked after their interests and that of their extended families.
“Aside from giving the workers a portion of the profits from the vineyard, he made sure they have insurance and that their kids could go to school with assistance from the VI Foundation,” Thio Fredo imparted.
“How come that’s not searchable on Google?” she asked.
He was the subject of countless magazines and newspaper articles. How come this wasn’t reported by the mainstream media?
“He dislikes publicity. He didn’t like to broadcast when he’s helping out. He said it’s tacky.”
He was portrayed as a brilliant, enigmatic billionaire playboy. But that was a one-dimensional characterization—he was so much more than what he chose to show the world.
She began to loosen up whenever they were together. She cracked up at his dry sense of humor. The man was a quick wit that she had to come up with a couple of wisecracks of her own. She looked forward to their banters, which more often than not were sexually-laced and a prelude to more pleasurable activities. But hey, she wasn’t complaining.
She couldn’t recall smiling or laughing this frequently before.
But it was the little gestures that made her wish this ‘arrangement’ was more than what it really was.
Like holding hands. They have been sexually intimate for weeks but that simple act presented a different kind of intimacy that she found hard to explain. She could also tell it was something he too wasn’t used to because the first time he did so it was under the dining table, away from the view of everyone where he drew lazy, electrifying circles on her palm.
But he got over that pretty soon. Now they openly held hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was either that or he had his arm over her shoulders or resting on the curve of her hip. At first she was a bit self-conscious at the curious stares they got from the people at the vineyard but she eventually got over all of that when it became evident that his people seemed pleased at them being a ‘couple’.
He had an adventurous streak which was infectious.
When she mentioned in passing that she didn’t know how to ride a bike, he took it upon himself to teach her the following day. He wasn’t too far behind to catch her as she was learning how to balance herself on two wheels. By the end of the day, they were seen riding around the property.
He acquainted her to the intricacies of wine-making and the kind of wine that this particular part of Tuscany were known for.
“Montalcino is considered the birthplace of Brunello wines. It’s a sought-after red wine,” he explained to her as they walked over his uncle’s fields one morning.
“Why is it sought after?”
“It requires a long aging process and uses only one type of grape, the Sangiovese variety,” he replied as he pointed at fragrant, purplish grape varieties being grown on the vineyard.
“How long?” she asked, her face rapt with interest.
“About forty-eight months minimum. They are aged in oak casks that we source from Slovenia. It transfers a little oak flavor.”
“Wow. Overall, the process lasts almost half a decade!”
“Which explains why it’s so expensive, cara. Growers like my uncle can’t mass produce these wines. Montalcino has a wine consortium which helps keep prices at a premium,” he added.
As they walked toward a row of the newly-planted Sangiovese vines, she caught something that made her stop mid-stride.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“Why am I really hearing classical music in the middle of a vineyard?”
“Oh, that. It’s Mozart. An American university convinced Thio to install those bloody speakers in the middle of this particular plot—” he confirmed, pointing at the strategically-placed speakers.
“I’ve heard of pregnant moms listening to classical…but grapes? That’s a first,” she said, perplexed.
“I kinda like it that your firsts are with me.”
Her heart swelled.
Lonzo grinned. “It’s part of a scientific research. They want to determine the benefits of subjecting vines to sound waves.”
“And are there really benefits?”
“You’d be surprised. Initial results suggests it makes the vines stronger and makes the ripening process of the grapes shorter. Of course, it also drives away pests. They simply can’t stand Mozart—” he said, his face deadpan.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Is that so?”
He raised his brows, looking at the direction of a secluded spot before looking back at her wolfishly. “Good thing I like Mozart.”
Her eyes grew rounded at the hot look he gave her. She knew that look.
“You want to… it’s broad daylight!” she said, scandalized. “You crazy, insatiable…beast!”
His hand shot out to hold hers, leading her to the direction of the secluded glen.“No one will see, cara,” he said wickedly.
“We can’t!”
“Sure we can. Just keep it down a bit.”
“I’m not noisy!” she protested.
He tugged her closer. “You are…especially when you’re about to come.”
“You’re making that one up!” she continued to insist.
“I just might be in the mood to prove you wrong.”
And he did prove her wrong. And what a way to establish his point because the sounds she made was deafening, even to her own ears. She completely lost her wits as he rammed his cock inside her.
They were almost caught doing it. A couple of pickers passed by. Had he not covered her lips with his when they both reached their climax, they would’ve caused a ruckus.
She hated to be proven wrong but as he drew her tightly against him afterward, her lips curved up into a smile. She could make an exception this time, she thought as she snuggled closer into his warmth.
Jordana eyed her lover in disbelief. When he coaxed her into agreeing to explore the lesser-known parts of Tuscany, she thought they’d be taking one of his cars for a joyride. She wasn’t expecting this…or him turning up on a shiny, black Ducati superbike. But then, he did ask her to wear jeans and a jacket.
Admittedly, seeing her lover garbed in all-black—black jeans, a supple black leather riding jacket—gave her eyes something to feast on. The entire costume molded his tall, powerful frame to perfection.
Lonzo drove the bike toward where she stood with her mouth open, catching flies.
She acknowledged that when you put together an alpha male and a big, baddie motorcycle, it gave another dimension to the term sexy. Man and machine were dangerous to the well-being of females. ‘Tis a known fact.
He drew to a stop and removed his helmet.
The man looked so damned good that she looked like an idiot with her gaping mouth.
Then he gave her one of his slow, smoldering smiles.
The man was pure, unadulterated visual chocolate. Period.
“Hey, cara.”
She vehemently shook her head. “Nah-uh. No way.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his smile gave way into a grin. “Hop on, bella.”
“I’m not hopping on that thing!”
“You’ll love it,” he said with a half-grin. “I promise.”
Why not give it a try? So far he more than delivered on his promises…
“No.”
He tapped on the leather seat of the Ducati Streetfighter. “Join me.”
She continued to look at him skeptically. “I don’t think so. ”
“What are you so afraid of? You jetted all over the world—”
She raised an eyebrow at him, “Last time I checked, planes are still the safest form of transportation. Nice try, Vitale, but it’s a no. You won’t persuade me this time.”
He switched off the bike’s engine and climbed off to saunter toward her. He held one of her hands with his while his other grabbed her hip to pull her close.
“Your hand is cold. You’ve never been on the back of a bike, haven’t you?” he said gently.
She raised her wary eyes. How can she explain that her reasons went way deeper than lack of opportunity?
An unwanted memory suddenly played inside her mind. She was a child again…she could hear the roar of motorcycles heading for the favela where they lived before the sounds of a gun battle ensued. Stray bullets punctured the paper thin walls of their home…one narrowly whizzed through her left cheek before embedding itself in one of the posts made hallow by termite infestation. The grazing heat of the bullet was real enough to make her dive face down to the floor…
“Jordana? What is it?”
She blinked, melting away the bad scenes. “Huh? What?”
“Thought I lost you for a second.”
She shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“How come you never ridden one?”
“Don’t be too surprised. I don’t even know how to ride a bicycle until a few days ago, remember?” she replied, her voice trailing. She was shaken up from the repressed memory. The doctor who saw her as a child had tried to explain it to her. Visual cues may trigger her mind to remember…
“Why is that?” He was determined to get the truth out of her. And she was determined to lock it away for good. Why can’t he just let it go?
“Because that was that! I was busy working and none of my friends or acquaintances owned one. Besides, Leandro preferred cars,” she answered, namedropping her best friend’s name to throw Lonzo off the scent.
She got the expected reaction out of him. His face tightened at the mere mention of Leandro, though he refrained from making biting comments.
“Good,” he said after regarding her for a minute. “Let it be another first you have with me. Call it broadening your horizons.”
“I can’t—”
“What are you afraid of? I won’t let you fall,” he said with conviction before zipping up the jacket she had on.
Way too late for that, a voice inside her whispered, pertaining to something else altogether. She hastily dismissed the thought. No, she would not entertain that thought!
It was so hard to think when he was too close like this. “If you succeed into making me a road kill, I’ll never speak to you again. Ever.”
He chuckled at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious, Vitale! If I die, this will be the shortest af—” what she had to say was cut short because Lonzo bent his head and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth.
Then he placed the spare helmet over her head.
“Nothing bad will happen, Jordana,” he assured her. He adjusted the straps under her chin. “There. You’re ready to ride.”
She scowled at him. “Can you promise not to go all speed demon on me?”
He smirked before placing his own helmet on his head and easily swinging one leg over the motorbike. He kicked the bike stand and casually lifted the bike upright like it was the lightest thing in the world.
He held his hand toward her. “Come on, cara. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I don’t like this,” she mumbled mutinously as she clumsily imitated his earlier graceful leg swing.
“You’ll like it.”
She fumbled twice before she finally got the hang of it.
Lonzo found it amusing though, his green eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked at her over his shoulder.
“Rest your feet on the foot rests. There. Now, put your arms around my waist,” he said next.
She followed his instructions and silently reveled when her hips came in contact with his taut butt while her breasts pressed against his hard, muscled back. When Lonzo fired the engine up, things got even more interesting.
Goodness. He was right again. She liked it. The powerful throbbing coming from the machine was a huge turn on—the exquisite vibrations left her center achy. She let out a low moan that she knew he will not hear above the roar of the superbike’s powerful engine.
Her hands roamed over the rock-hard planes of his abs as she pressed her torso to his back to ease the sensitivity. His response was rapid, she could feel his sudden heat through their clothing.
So riding with a lover had fringe benefits. Interesting.
“Behave, woman. I’m trying to keep us safe here,” he growled above the noise.
She smiled impishly as she snuggled closer and began to relax, basking in the newly-found power she had over him.
The bike moved smoothly forward. She continued to cling to him like a monkey, anxious all of a sudden. Lonzo was in complete control of the bike, cautiously moving the Ducati over the pebble-lined lane of the vineyard’s main house, to the tree-lined pathway before exiting to the main thoroughfare.
He slowly accelerated when they reached the highway, but not so much as to make her panic. She was sure that he was going slower than what he would normally do.
Soon, she relaxed and started to enjoy the view. Being on a motorbike gave her a new appreciation for her surroundings. Nature felt closer, intimate. The cool breeze kissed her face, the scent of pine trees and salty sea air merging as they neared the coastline. Now she understood why films like “Easy Rider” were made. Riding a motorcycle gave one a sense of freedom that can’t be beaten by riding a car.
“Where are we off to?”
“To Maremma.”
“Explain and expound, Vitale. Didn’t have time to brush up on geography.”
“It’s on the island of Giglio.”
“Wait…don’t tell me…you own the island, right? Surely you can’t be that cliched?”
He laughed out loud at that. “Not the entire island. Just a part of it…a hideaway. And I’m taking you to it.”
She grew excited, her sense of adventure whetted.
She missed out so much in life as she worked all the time and played it safe. Not anymore. If there was one thing she learned over these past weeks, it was to live life to the fullest. And try everything, at least once…safety-nets be damned! And she credited her sudden joie de vivre to this guy.
Maremma was sixty miles away from Montalcino. They reached Marina di Grosetto around noontime, where his gleaming new yacht was moored to sail them off to Giglio. They had lunch in one of the beach side cafés, where he cautioned her when she left several bills for tip. He took it from the table and slid the money to the back pocket of her jeans.
“Never tip in Italy.”
“But—”
“Italians consider it offensive.”
“Why on earth would you think that?!”
“We feel you’re trying to ‘buy’ us off.”
“Preposterous!”
He kissed the top of her nose. “That’s the way things are here, bella. It’s an Italian thing.”
“Uh…I have another question.”
He frowned. “Si?”
“Is it also considered an ‘Italian’ thing to cup butts in public? Case in point…your hands, my butt?” she asked, looking at him pointedly.
He laughed his head off at that. He pulled her closer, his attitude uncaring.
“No, cara. I just hate it when these male pricks around us keep on checking you out. It’s a Vitale thing.”
Possessive much? She should be appalled at his blatant display of machismo. But she was not.
Afterward, they explored the area. He was at home here, cracking her up in more ways than one as he gave her insights from the point of view of a Tuscan native. They walked around ancient villages, aqueducts and Roman ruins. He showed her the varying shoreline and the breathtaking crystal-clear waters. The amazing landscape appealed to the nature nut in her.
He also made her blush into varying shades of red when they made a pit stop in one of the local convenience stores. It was too late to when she finally realized what he picked from one of the shelves.
Condoms. Extra large.
Several boxes of it.
The cashier, an attractive brunette, covetously eyed him as they paid for the magnum-sized rubbers.
She wanted to melt in embarrassment. Sure it was obvious they were lovers but she was still prudish about these things—especially when the number of boxes advertised the activity they were about to do.
As the boxes were being wrapped, the girl gave her a long, envious look that said ‘you don’t deserved him, bitch!’.
Thank goodness she just got her nails clipped otherwise she would’ve pulled her eyes off her sockets.
She gave off a relieved sigh when they stepped out of the store.
“Do you really have to let everyone in the loop?!” she scowled.
He gave her a too-innocent look. His eyes glinted so she knew it was all an act. “What did I do now?”
“You…! Now that girl will think we are doing it like…like…minks!” she hissed.
“Well, well, well. So that’s another first for you? First time to buy condoms?” He sounded so smug.
“No. I buy condoms all the time. They make great balloons.”
He grinned. “You’re get embarrassed about a lot of things.”
“If you remember, I was a virgin a couple of weeks ago. ”
“Jordana, people have sex every day. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about buying condoms, especially in this country,” he said, grinning at her still incredulous face. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You can even get it from vendo machines nowadays. Next time, we’ll get some from a vendo near my office—”
“Stop it! I’ll take your word for it. Besides, we can do without it. I’m on the pill, you know. I saw a doctor last week—”
“Well, call it our second line of defense against…consequences. Besides, it’s only a few boxes—”
“A few boxes?! You bought enough supply to last a month!”
“No I didn’t. That’s just a week’s supply.”
“Stop making fun of me, Vitale—”
“Who says I’m joking?” he said before lowering his head to kiss her on the mouth.
One kiss and she immediately felt herself burning up.
When they returned to the harbor, the sun was setting on the horizon. While his four-man crew loaded his Ducati on board the yacht, Lonzo took her hand and led her to the deck.
She was filled with elation. This was by far, the best day she had ever had. Looking at their linked hands, who would’ve thought that they were at each other’s throat just mere weeks past?
“Hungry?”
His question snatched her from her reverie.
“Hungry enough to eat a cow.”
He grinned back at her. “I’m going to fatten you up.”
“You can try, Vitale.”
At first he seemed pretty surprised at her huge appetite. She would even go for seconds.
“Did your agency make you do it?” he asked while they were having coffee one night.
She turned to him, confused.
“Make me do what?”
“The tapeworm diet,” he deadpanned.
“Ewww! Lonzo Vitale, that’s so gross!” she shrieked while she swatted his arm. “I would never go down that road. Ever! Those parasites can kill you…just look at what happened to Maria Callas. Contrary to what people think of me, I’m not that vain.”
“But you eat like a horse.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “So? Is that a crime?”
“No. I enjoy seeing you eat. I’m just surprised you can eat like a truck driver and not gain an ounce of extra weight. Not that I mind you putting on extra pounds.”
Well, he was right. Unlike most models, she never counted calories, downed protein shakes or lived on salads. If there was one thing she could thank her parents for, it was for lacking the ‘fat’ gene or whatever it was that kept her from gaining weight…
“Hey,” he said, holding up her chin. “You alright?”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That was the second time today you went all quiet on me. Something bothering you?”
Which brought to mind unwanted thoughts again. What would happen to her once they parted ways? Would she be able to walk away from this scot-free? Or…would it hurt her?
So many unanswered questions she could never voice out.
“Nope. Everything’s fine. Just hungry…but the scenery more than made up for that.”
His eyes softened.
“Apologies, bella. Didn’t mean to starve you. It won’t be long…we’ll be docking in a few minutes.”
“Where are we staying?”
“I have a house. I have asked the caretakers to prepare something in advance.”
“Oh. What are we having?” she asked, her hand drawing exaggerated circles over her abdomen.
He didn’t reply but he gave her look that spoke he was up to no good.
When the yacht reached the island, Lonzo guided her out to the private marina.
He glanced at her.
“Oysters,” he murmured.
“What?” she asked quizzically.
“We’re having oysters.”
When she finally connected what he meant, she blushed, punching him again in the arm. “You! Can’t you think of anything else other than sex?” she exclaimed, lowering her voice at the last word.
“When I’m with you, cara, the answer’s no,” he remarked before his mouth swooped down for another kiss which blew her mind.
It was already three in the morning, but Lonzo was still wide-awake. He looked down at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him and once again, his blood heated up with desire in seconds.
He was baffled. Instead of diminishing his interest in her, it continued to snowball and intensify. He craved her like fucking air. No matter how many times they fucked, he couldn’t get enough of her. The fact that she was a quick study and a born sensualist certainly didn’t help things for him.
Your plan’s not working.
Shut the fuck up.
After a bout of marathon sex, he was usually tired. Not with her. He felt recharged, amped every time.
All it took was a look and he’d want her again.
Christ sakes, get a grip…she needs to sleep, he told himself angrily. He sighed and carefully stood from the bed.
He needed to walk…to clear his head, put things back in perspective.
He went out and walked toward the beach.
She was affecting him in ways he never expected. He never felt more relaxed or carefree around another individual before. She pushed his buttons but he wasn’t repelled by it. In fact, he welcomed it. Now that she had her guard down, she openly laughed and giggled at his sorry attempts at humor. Such a magical sound, that laughter of hers.
Even if sex wasn’t on the table, he was surprised to be having fun with her. He was…happy. Doing things with her made him happy—playing tourists, arguing, doing even mundane activities.
When was the last time he ever felt like this?
A spark of memory lit up.
The last time he felt this light was when he was a five-year old kid. It was so long ago that he had almost forgotten it.
Well, you had more or less ten days to have your fill of happy bubbles.
He had to put things in perspective.
Keep that in mind, Vitale. Things will resume after this island getaway. You’re immune to feelings, immune to flimsy emotions.
This was just RnR.
Yet the thought of time running out on them left a bitter taste in his mouth.