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¨This. I don’t want to stop doing this to you. Ever.¨ I admit.
She responds with a moan. ¨We can’t.¨
¨Shush!¨ I silence her, placing my left palm across her mouth as I get closer, harder and deeper.
She muffles in my hand, her saliva spraying along it as my dick spits out its cum. I hold her tight in place as if my cum has a chance of burying itself inside her. I fold over, my chin above her shoulder. I calm my breathing close to her ear. She quivers, sliding onto the bed face down. I do the same, resting my body on top of hers. She scoots up, giving me room to do the same. Here, we fall asleep.
I’m not a fan of saying goodbye. Five hours later, Micola is fully packed and fresh out of the shower. I’m surprised how fast she was able to hop up from between my grip and get herself together. Her energy has always been fascinating and encouraging, and, damn, I want her in my life again.
I made sure her favorite breakfast was waiting on her, along with her coffee preference. I can smell her natural vanilla scent wafting throughout the kitchen as the bottom of her hair is still damp from her shower.
Her face is bright and slightly made up. I sit on a stool at the island. These mini moments with Micola I don’t take for granted. Especially since she’s adamant about staying away unless the contract says so.
¨You should reconsider your private jet.¨ She says, reaching for a salmon lox bagel.
¨I know. I’m considering it after my ride back home tomorrow.¨
¨You should, Alex. Climate change is real, and most people have no idea why billionaires exist in a world that’s so unfair. I know your money is older than some, so I give you the benefit of the doubt, but if I’m going to be tied to you, I’d love to see me actually have an impact on you.¨ She smiles.
She has no idea of her impact. I’ve been wishing she could see the change in me. It may be hard for her since whenever I’m around, my body is demandingly hungry for her. And inviting Priscilla over was one helluva reactive response. Triggering to Micola if anything. Probably filled her mind up with the immature twenty-seven-year-old Alex I was then.
Micola glances down at an alert on her phone. Her eyebrows furrow. I reach for my coffee mug as the squint in her eye sharpens. I wonder if Simon is texting, and if so, what is he saying. I flashback to a tantalizing moment of Micola and me last night, considering taking her again before she leaves. In the kitchen; right now. Shit, there I go again. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel knowing the contract is over, and once she’s on that plane, she’ll be back in New York, where we are strangers again. I don’t know how, but I need to figure out how to keep her connected.
¨Oh, come on.¨
¨What? Is your flight delayed?¨ I wish.
¨No… you’re not going to like it, but I think my brothers got to Italia Arte before you. They’re slamming Carvel.¨
A lump fills my throat as I feel a fever brewing.
¨Your brothers?¨
¨Well, I’m not sure if it has anything to do with them, but they are Costas, and I can’t imagine who else would do this?¨
I grab her phone. ¨Do what?¨
¨Who sent you this?¨ I gaze at Italia Arte’s home page, which features a photo of the outside of Carvel followed by a caption: “Emerging Billionaire Art Warrior Bites Off More Than He Can Chew.”
I scan the article that highlights my ¨absent-mindedness¨ at the opening; that was all tied to me making sure Micola wasn’t sneaking off with some useless British blonde. I also note how they chose to expose my Matani bloodlines. I’m grateful it doesn’t state I had my name changed. For all they know, they could be bloodlines from way back. All I have is hope right now, so I have to commit to it. It also says that I have too many artists showcasing at once before criticizing that there’s not enough interest in sculptures. Especially since they are exhibited in other museums, what makes this one stand out?
I skim down the article to catch the writer’s name, Gloria Ava. I’d never heard of her, and as I shift to google her, I don’t see her as a possibility of being a threat or someone deliberately out to get me.
¨Who sent you this?¨ I repeat my question, almost forgetting that I even asked it.
¨Simon.¨ Micola says, chewing her bagel.
I roll my eyes, and my stomach turns into knots. In my heart of all hearts, I just know I know this guy from somewhere, and he has something against me.
¨Weird for him to think he could send that to you. If we were really a couple, how’d you feel if some woman, let’s say, Priscilla sent me a link to a bad review about your art or a bad review of your art studio.¨
I study Micola’s face as it turns sour.
¨Fuck. That would suck.¨
¨Exactly.¨
¨Okay. So…why not take another look at other reviews? You know last night was incredible. You can’t have all bad reviews.¨
