Were being the keyword there.
Frickin’ A.
“The one my husband and I funded.” Lex pulled her shiny blonde hair back behind her ear and cleared her throat. “You know in this fashion industry, one bad season may ruin a brand.”
“Then I’ll resign from the company—” Hot, wet tears streaked down my face. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Let’s not be drastic,” Blake interrupted and made his way over to me. “I may not have a vagina, but I know why women buy this brand.”
Spearheading many of the lifestyle accounts alongside Taddy, Blake was a branding guru. Aside from his wit and intelligence, he was rather famous amongst New York City’s society.
“Why?” Taddy and Lex asked simultaneously.
“Because they want to feel feminine and beautiful when wearing Jemma Couture. Tell us what exactly you were thinking with those military jumper pants?”
Insulted, I tried to stay strong and answered, “Those are raspberry mocha space gowns. Not pants. There’s a seam up the front.”
“Yes, Miss Thing, a seam which splits the bottom of the dress into a pair of pants. Hello.” His bright blue eyes rolled dramatically at my reply. He sassed on, reading me to fashion designer shame.
“Err…I guess I kind of went off on one of my creative tangents and lost track of the Jemma Couture consumer.”
Usually when I veered off course, the ending would come out fabulous. The previous year’s ostrich feathers with gold-plated caviar beading was a colossal hit, and Harper’s Bazaar had hailed it the gown of the century. But the military trooper dress, not so much.
“What was your inspiration for this collection?” The head of Brill, Inc. dipped her head in my direction.
“Star Wars is coming back to the big screen this year and I got excited about the outer space fantasy, so I ran with it. I wanted us to be edgy. You know…different. Hence Death Star Galactica.” I said the name of the season’s collection proudly. Dammit, I still had a sense of pride.
“Ohhh. The collection is different all right. Try ‘not wearable’. And having the models carry machine guns was over the top,” Lex stated.
“Those were laser guns,” I defended. “They shot confetti, adding a layer of surprise to the show.”
Everyone stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“Hey now.” I sighed. “It’s not my fault when the guns went off the entire front row of attendees got scared and hit the floor, hiding under their seats.”
“Bitch, please. I peed my pants,” Blake added.
Lex covered her mouth, hiding what appeared to be a giggle. It so wasn’t a good time to laugh.
“This season isn’t you,” Taddy declared, throwing her hands in the air as she stood from the high-back chair. “Jemma Couture is a formal evening gown line, not active-wear. More importantly, I’m pissed at myself for not seeing the press samples and the collection before the show started. From here on out, Brill, Inc. will need to clear all garments before they hit the runway. You’ve lost the right for final approval.”
“Mi spiace.” Mortified, I apologized. “Truly, sorry.”
In reality, I never let anyone see my work before show time. Those were my rules. But would I mind designing by committee? I wasn’t so sure about that.
Taddy paced the room like a lion trapped in a cage. Swaying her hips, the heavily jeweled bangles on her arms jingled. The noise added with Blake’s ‘tsk-tsk’ and Lex’s sighs of ‘horrific’ was causing my attention-deficit disorder (ADD) to go wonky. The littlest sounds set me off.
Oh, God, I wish she’d just spill it. Otherwise, I might climb the walls.
“Signorina Brill, per favore, what should we do?” I begged her for an idea.
Brill, Inc. had built the media messages for Girasoli’s two brands: Easton Essentials, which was a line Lex had started, and my brand Jemma Couture, from day one. I may have created a bad collection that week, but I wasn’t stupid. We’d be nowhere if it wasn’t for Taddy and Blake getting our dresses onto the bodies of every mover and shaker in the world.
“I have a strategy to save your gorgeous bum. Totally out of the box. It’s going to require you to be a bit exposed and vulnerable.”
“Ugh…” Two words which were so not me. I chewed my bottom lip for a second before saying, “Sì, all right. Let’s hear it.”
“It’s clear you’ve lost your mojo. Your sexy, girly ways went out the window with those military space pants and laser guns.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, unsure of where she was going with this.
“It’s normal for designers to take sabbaticals, traveling abroad to get inspired for their next collection.”
“My darlings, I can’t leave Rocco and Luigi behind for that long. They can be…how do you say in English…possessive.”
“When was the last time you had a romantic night of crazy monkey sex with them?” Blake asked, his manicured brow arched high.
Needing to stall to come up with an answer, I couldn’t remember when, so I asked for clarification. “Toe-curling?”
“Pussy-eating, clit-shaking, butt-fucking, fantastical fun,” Blake added.
“Hmmm…” Oh, dear. These New Yorkers can be crass at times. “I don’t recall. Maybe three months ago when we were on the Isola di Girasoli. We celebrated my second year of being cancer-free.”
When I’d first met Luigi and Rocco, we’d fare l'amore in the middle of the night, early morning, middle of the freaking day, and before bedtime. So, a few times a day.
Then lovemaking sorta went to twice a day, to once a day. A few times a week. Followed by once on Sundays. I couldn’t tell you the last time I had my pussy eaten, clit shaken, butt fucked, or anything fantastically fun happen between us.
Dannazione.
“I dunno…”
“Exactly.” Taddy turned to face me, her green eyes finally locked with mine. “No sex in your life equals bad fashion designs. This is easy to see how this happened.”
“It is?” I wasn’t following them.
“You have two lovers for a reason, honey. You used to be an insatiable woman.”
“Really?” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I ran a hand over the back of my neck.
“You oozed sex.”
“I did?” With my hands, I rubbed a tense spot on my shoulder. I didn’t need sex. Christ, I just needed a day at the spa.
“You radiated pheromones which drove all men, and some women, wild.”
“Get the fudge outta here.” I giggled. For the first time in twenty-four hours, I’d laughed, and it felt good. The week’s fashion show nearly killed me. I folded my arms, realizing how lame I’d become, and tried to remember the old me. “I guess you’re right. I used to be a sex goddess.”
“Yes, Miss Thing. It sorta freaked me out.” Blake laughed, too.
Taddy shushed him. “Listen, I spoke with Vive on the plane ride over here. The rehab facility let her come to Europe just for the show. Then she went right back in for treatment at that detox farm. She is an honest journalist and wrote what she saw.”
Their bestie had been sobering up for a while. Personally, I cared for Vive more when she was tipsy. Her articles weren’t as vicious then. So I reminded them, “Signorina Farnworth said my collection was s-h-i-t.”
“I can’t disagree with her,” Lex grumbled.
“According to Vive, the press will give you a second chance. That is, of course, honey, if you ask for one. Ready for my idea?” Taddy’s hands folded under her chin, her high cheekbones appearing more pronounced. Perhaps she was sucking them in. “I propose you take a leave of absence from Jemma Couture and Girasoli Garment Company. Come back when you’re revived.”
“And what the hell will I do to revive myself?”
“Play tennis,” Blake suggested.
“Sports bore me.”
“Have sex.” Taddy placed her hands on my shoulders trying to reassure me. Giving me a tight squeeze, she continued, “Lots of hawt se
x. Go on holiday with Luigi and that adorable Rocco. Get Massimo to give them the time off work. We’ll publicize your trip.”
“Genius. A sexual safari. I love this idea,” Lex complimented as she wrote something down.
“Each destination will be an erotic adventure which the three of you will experience together.” Taddy’s hold on my shoulders tightened. From the flushed hue on her face, I could tell she was thinking about Luigi, Rocco, and I getting it on across the globe.
Oh, brother.
“Honey, we’ll do a photo shoot of your men and you: having sugar kink play in the sex dungeons of Berlin, naked in the gardens of Moscow. Yes! This is your redemption with the press. Everyone knows you’re in a poly thingy. Sweet Jesus dick-a-licious, it’s in Vogue. Literally. Let’s play this up and get you back on the sex bike.”
Indeed, my ménage relationship was more than common knowledge. The ad slogan for Jemma Couture featured me in a grape-hued, silk organza gown with Rocco and Luigi on each arm dressed handsomely in tuxedos and stated, “You can have it all.”
Other tag lines we’d used over the years were, “Have your cake and eat it, too,” and my personal favorite, “Why stop at just one.” That could easily apply to the amount of men one keeps in their bed or the number of gowns one has in their closet.
What can I say, other than I’m a woman of excess? I adore stimulation. Blame it on my ADD.
“Peddle that sex bike, Miss Thing. Peddle fast. Peddle hard. Peddle as if there’s no tomorrow. Let’s go!” Blake cheered.
“Would Massimo agree to this?” I asked, glancing over at Lex. Her husband was a ruthless businessman. He wasn’t cheap but he always expected a return on his investment, and I hated to disappoint him. We’d grown up together. He trusted me to bring the best for the collection and I’d failed. Realizing what a disappointment this had turned into for everyone, I noticed a knot building in my throat.
“Let me talk to Masi. He’ll do anything to help you design a collection which sells. If that means giving Rocco and Luigi time off to go sex you up, then so be it.”
“A vacanza. I haven’t had one in ages.”
Sitting back, I dried my eyes with the cashmere sleeve from my sweater, the fabric scratching against my skin. Then it hit me.
Oh, no. I can’t.
I had a flashback to the last time Rocco, Luigi, and I were alone together for an extended weekend. Luigi had got down on one knee with Rocco at his side and asked for our hands in marriage.
I’m not the marrying kind. I don’t believe in happily ever after.
My parents fought as cats and dogs ‘til the day my madre dropped dead from the stress of it all. No, thank you.
And what if I got sick again? I couldn’t put the boys through that. It wasn’t right. I wanted no part in matrimony.
After I’d said no, Luigi had licked his wounds and dropped the topic. Regardless, it had sparked a sense of urgency in Rocco to start a family, as if babies were falling from the skies. He wouldn’t let up.
Over the weeks he’d said, a million times, “We should at least talk about starting a family. You know adoption.”
The whole idea of us on a holiday and them wanting to take our relationships to the next level—which I knew they’d do, because that was what they always did when we spent too much time together—sorta scared the bejesus out of me. Never mind the fact the boys had replaced my latest copies of Elle and Town & Country magazine at home with Bambino magazine and Brides.
Barf!
I honestly just wanted to have fun. Nothing serious. Nothing heavy. Life is too short for drama. The Big C taught me that.
“What if I say no?”
Let’s get real here. A few months before, I’d learned I couldn’t go through with that much alone time with them or I’d go out of my mind. Luigi was so intense, and Rocco could be rather emotional. Between the two of them, I didn’t stand a chance when we hung out for an extended period of time.
“Why on Earth would you?”
“I don’t wanna go on some sexscapade with my boys. They’ll talk about marriage and babies.”
“So what?” Lex sneered through her tight lips. The woman had already popped out one baby and had one more on the way.
“Let me work in the office. Fix my designs. Prepare for next season.”
“Jemma, why are you afraid to be alone with them?”
“Things between Rocco, Luigi, and I are bueno right now. I want them to stay that way. For now. Forever.”
“Is that even possible?” Blake asked.
Poor guy had already gone through one divorce, but he’d found a new love along the way and was engaged to try again. In a way, I admired that about him, because he had hope for his future. I wasn’t hopeless, but I just didn’t queef glitter and rainbows like he and Lex did when it came to matrimony.
They glared at me for a minute before Blake muttered, “Grow up.” Or at least it sounded as though he’d said that. Maybe it was my paranoia talking.
True, I did need to be more mature when it came to my relationships. After the cancer, I’d just wanted to feel good again. I couldn’t promise anyone a future. I could only give what I had each day. Not the next. Why couldn’t more people just live in the present? Thinking ahead always overwhelmed me.
On that note, I shook my head.
They gaped at my refusal.
Speechless. The silence in the room hung above us as a gray cloud.
“Then, Jemma, you may either resign or be fired.” Lex pushed her chair back and crossed her legs. “Personally, I suggest running with Taddy’s brilliant publicity idea.”
Hell to the no.
“Okay then. In the same vein as Jil Sander, I also quit from my own company. Arrivederci, my darlings.” In a snit, I found my footing and stomped out of the room.
Fuck these Manhattanites. I’m done with Jemma Couture.
Luigi, Amore, You’re Making Me Fuckin’ High
Rocco
A few days later
The Mansion, Downtown Milan
Savage instincts were on high alert as Luigi stepped out from his shower. The steamy air from the bathroom came into our sleeping area, wrapping me in warmth. Considering the fall weather was starting to make things chilly, this was wonderful.
Eyes narrowing into slits, he peered at me seductively as he playfully rubbed his pectoral muscles. Hints of brown fuzz decorated them. He brought his hands down slowly over his six-pack. This man is amazing.
“Rocco, come here.” His hazel eyes widened.
That stare only meant one thing.
Let’s fuck!
But with Luigi, it was never just a fuck.
Oh, no.
From the stories Lex had shared with us about her hubby, Prince Massimo, he and Luigi had many things in common: Italian alphas, purveyor of sugar kink, and they liked to fuck—balls-deep. Sì, Luigi got off on shoving his cock and balls into every opening of my body. Jemma’s, too.
Hard, wet, loud, and utterly animalistic, Luigi was the best male lover I’d ever been with. Keeping in mind I’d started sleeping with boys at the age of sixteen. Clearly, I’d lost count after a few hundred.
Bar none, Luigi was the best of the best. When he made man-on-man love, his body craved it rough, and so did mine. He was sweet and tender with Jemma. With me, not so much.
I fucking loved it.
Good Lord. We don’t have time for this…
“Put a robe on, amore. You’re distracting me.” I demanded, my voice cracking. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His monstrous dick flapped in my face, obliterating my ability to focus. I was getting high just from sniffing his testosterone, which filled the room.
“Let me top you.”
“No. Amore, we have two hours ‘til the plane leaves.”
“A quickie?”
I shook my head and added, “If we screw this up, I’m going to blame it all on your sexiness. Let’s go over this list one more time.” I reached for the piece of paper which ha
d our agenda and details.
Legs thick as great oak trees, he stood next to the bed, naked. Cock growing harder by the second. Instead of reaching for his robe, as I’d asked him, he tore the paper from my hands, allowing it to fall to the floor, and stroked himself.
Oh. My.
I tried to take in all of him. Magnificent. I found my attention honing in on the usual: his dick. Head, bulbous. Shaft, thick and swelling thicker. The soapy smell of cleanliness contrasted nicely against his bad-boy ways.
Licking my lips, I realized it’d been a while since he’d last orgasmed in my mouth.
“Bello, suck!” He pressed his torso against me. “Per favore.”
His words landed heavy on me. In the end, I never denied him or Jemma. My nonno, who’d always known I liked boys, said to me once, “Rocco, never deny your partner in bed. Making love is like giving medicine. If they go without, they’ll get sick in the head.”
I always listen to my nonno. He’s a wise man.
Hmmm. I raked my fingers through his pubic hair, trimmed neat and well groomed. My left hand slowly cupped his low-hanging nuts which were warm and smooth. My right hand glided tightly over his veiny shaft. Gifted. Luigi was hung. Teasing him, I stuck my tongue out a bit. Tracing the base, I worked my way up. Licking. Sucking.
The mushroom head shimmered back at me, a pearl decorating the tip. My tongue grazed up against the opening slit. He shuddered when I sucked the pre-cum out.
“Sì, sì.” Grunting, his strong hands reached for my shoulders to balance himself. Then he pressed his cock down my throat. Slowly at first, ‘til it was almost all the way in. His left hand moved over to the back of my head as his right massaged my shoulders, making sure I could take all of him. The white button-down shirt I’d put on earlier wrinkled.
Inhaling through my nose, I kept my rhythm slow at first, bobbing my head back and forth. Balls wound tightly in my hand, his girth increased, filling my mouth. Mmm. I loved the way my man tasted.
Whimpering around his penis desperately, I jerked my neck from side to side, giving him friction, studying his handsome face in utter bliss.
“You are perfezione.” He got into it, moaning things in Italian. “Sì, like that. That’s it, Bello. Suck.”