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It’s a feeling I’ll never grow tired of, doing this to her, claiming her again and again. Every time, I feel closer, like I’m proving I own her, body and soul.
She belongs to me.
And best of all, she knows something else about all of this, something I never thought possible before. I belong to her.
Forty-Seven
Ophelia
Six months later…
Tracy finishes her speech and I can’t help but shed a tear. She turns to the pair of curtains behind her, yanking a cord to split them apart.
From behind, emerges the painting she’s completed of me.
The ballroom is packed. It’s ostensibly the book signing to mark the release of the paperback of my Tracy Benn biography. But that’s not why all these people are here.
The critics and the gallery owners, the glitterari as Cathy likes to call them. Politicians mingle with Internet celebrities. Teresa closed the library early to attend.
Vincenzo is holding court in the corner of the room. The mayor is groveling, trying to borrow some more money. Vincenzo looks like he’s in his element, listening silently, looking fierce. Makes me want him.
Pretty much everything he does makes me want him. I’m four months pregnant and the morning sickness is starting to subside. It’s been replaced with a horniness so strong, I feel like ripping off my clothes and jumping on him right now.
I smile as I think how different it was back when he first set things up for me. Back when I wasn’t sure he really could arrange a sitting for me with Tracy.
Now the painting is here and everyone is clapping, conversations breaking out as they all examine the painting.
Vincenzo glances across at it, his eyes widening.
It’s a nude and he had no idea. He looks at me, his face flashing that anger I know so well. He wasn’t expecting a nude.
I’m not sure why. That’s the kind of painting Tracy always does. I think it’s tastefully done but I know what he’s thinking. I’ve broken one of his rules.
It’s bending the rules, to be fair to me. I’m not allowed to flash in public without his permission. I learned that the first time I showed him my bare ass under my skirt when we were out hiking in the countryside.
He turned my butt bright red for that, made me promise I’d get his consent first. Didn’t think I could surprise him without consequences.
Technically, I’m not flashing him. The painting is. I should be fine. Right?
He can’t come and deal with me now. I’m busy signing books for people. He’s got a queue waiting to ask to borrow money.
I guess I’m still learning how important he considers teaching me. It takes priority over everything, at least today.
He shoos everyone away, marching toward me and taking me by the hand. “A word,” he says, pulling me away from the table and almost dragging me through the nearest door.
We’re in a side room, small, perfect for what I know he’s about to do. Soundproofed so no one can hear but the door isn’t locked. Anyone might walk in. That thought gets me even more excited. Is there nothing that doesn’t turn me on since I reached the second trimester?
“A nude,” he says in a growl. “Your naked body out there for everyone to see. Got anything to say to me?”
“I thought you liked Tracy’s paintings? You bought several of them, remember? You arranged for me to sit for her.”
“You did not tell me it would be a nude.”
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t be in a nude painting. Besides, it’s not like it’s me bent over with my ass cheeks spread, is it? It’s tasteful enough, isn’t it?”
He takes a step toward me. “Bent over with your ass cheeks spread? Now there’s an idea. Do it, now.”
“But I’m supposed to be signing books.”
