Player's Ultimatum (17 page)

How stereotypically lame!
And a waste not to the beautiful gardens or even the beautiful y carved antique bed wedged against the wal . Blowing out a dejected breath, Yvonne picked up a piece of charcoal. She’d secretly hoped for a nude male model.

The hotter the better with a head full of dark hair, a wicked grin, lean muscles and beautiful bronze skin like he’d been dipped in honey.

Yvonne bit the inside of her cheek. Without her knowing it, she’d fashioned her model after Paolo Saito. Professor D’Amato must have mistaken her stil ness for nervousness because he came over and lifted her arm toward the sketch pad.

“Don’t be nervous.” Yvonne watched him move her hand across the paper, drawing an upside down U. “Relax your wrist and keep your strokes light. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself…
divertiti
!” Yvonne tried to enjoy herself, she real y did. Unfortunately, her body and mind refused to cooperate. Al of her senses were on high alert, at uned to the arrival of a certain Japanese Brazilian footbal player. Her mind already making up erotic scenarios of things he would do to her, when he arrived.

By the time D’Amato inspected her work an hour later, she’d only drawn a lopsided bowl, a couple of oranges and a banana.

Depending on the person who scrutinized the drawing, it may look like she’d drawn an erect penis.

“Hmm…wel ,” he murmured, while she blushed at his hesitation.

Heavy footfal s sounded in the hal and she dropped her charcoal. “So do we have another Frieda Kahlo on our hands?” Paolo asked, final y making an appearance.

Yvonne turned around so quickly she knocked her easel over, and sent her sketch pad flying across the floor. Happy for the diversion, she scuttled after it. Buying herself some time, so she could get her rat led nerves back under control, she kicked the book again for good measure.

Her ploy would have worked if Paolo remained on the other side of the room. Instead, he’d come up behind her and stood there waiting for her to stand up.

Downright mouthwatering in a pair of low slung black training pants and a white t-shirt, his hair sparkling with water, a freshly showered Paolo Saito sent a punch through her like a shock to her system. Yvonne lost the ability to move. Deaf and completely dumbfounded, she had no clue why he waved his hand in her face and his lips moved.

She final y snapped out of her trance when he attempted to pul her drawing from her fingers. Yvonne pressed the sketch pad to her chest.

“May I?” His voice poured over her like warm syrup, loosening her resolve and she slackened her grip on the book. A smal smile lifted the corners of his mouth, softening the masculine angles of his face. Unable to help herself, she edged closer. The soap he used tickled her nose with the scent of orange blossoms.

Yvonne didn’t care what he thought of her drawing as he tilted the drawing toward the late afternoon sun to study it. More urgent matters had become a priority than her ego and her earlier insecurities. Like the fire kindling between her legs, and the sudden urge to suck on his ful bot om lip.

Taking a liking to the idea, Yvonne inched closer, so close her breast brushed up against his elbow. At the moment of contact, Paolo’s head jerked up. His eyes raked over her, and a warm, wetness rushed to the apex of her thighs.

Yvonne’s toes curled.

“Sorry,” she murmured, but not entirely apologetic. The anticipation and desire of their impending intimacy quickened her blood like an aphrodisiac. Her body tingled al over and her nipples peaked. Thank goodness for the smock or her girls would’ve given her arousal away.

Paolo’s eyes narrowed as if saw through her. Yvonne shifted uncomfortably. Could he sense what was happening to her?

“
Seus olhos
…your eyes—”

“I do not think it is half bad,” D’Amato said, choosing that moment to join them. He could have been the wal for al Yvonne cared. Paolo’s thoughts must have run along the same lines because he continued to stare down at her. “With a lit le practice, a different medium or model, she could be exceptional.”

“A new model?”

“
Si,
the bowl of fruit did not seem to hold her interest. She seemed somewhat preoccupied, antsy as if anticipating something or someone.”

If only sink holes were common in Italy!
Yvonne averted her gaze, suddenly taking an interest in the charcoal smudges on her fingers.

“Anticipating something or someone?” Paolo asked his voice laced with amusement. “How much more time is there left in today’s lesson?”

D’Amato didn’t even look at his wristwatch. Instead, he and Paolo exchanged glances. Something passed between them and then he turned on his heel and started gathering up his things. “My time is up,” Professor D’Amato said. “Of course, you can continue after I leave, Yvonne. I wil check your work Wednesday.”

Yvonne opened her mouth to remind him he had thirty more minutes, but Paolo beat her to the punch. “Thank you for everything,
Professore,
Yvonne wil stay late and practice her drawing.”

“Unfortunately, I did not bring any other props besides the bowl of fruit.” D’Amato turned in a slow circle, his eyes darting around the room. “What medium can you use?”

“She can use me.”

Before Yvonne wrapped her head around the full meaning of his words, Paolo shucked his sweats and t-shirt then sprawled across the bed. In a show of modesty, he arranged the sheet over his hips. Yvonne turned around to gauge D’Amato’s, but she caught his ample backside disappearing through the door.

Yvonne hesitated.
What was going on here?
Needing clarification, she stalked over to the guilty party.

“Does he know about our arrangement?” she asked, pointing toward the door.

Paolo’s lips quirked and he stretched his arms above his head. His biceps flexed and bunched drawing her attention.

Manipulation aside, Yvonne couldn’t deny he made her palms sweat and she itched to straddle him while she rode his cock.

“Do you know your intel igence is one of the many things I like about you?” Yvonne ignored him. “Does he know about our arrangement, Paolo?” she repeated.

Paolo’s smile waned, his expression turning serious. “Not the particulars, but I’m sure he now suspects we are lovers.”

“And you’re not afraid he’s going to tel someone or talk to the press?”

“I paid him his weight in gold and season tickets every year I remain at
Roma Internazionale
.” Paolo stretched out his one hand and removed the sheet with the other. “
Venha aqui
…come here.” Yvonne gulped. There was no reason for a man to be so freakin’ hot! Stil , something kept her from fal ing in his arms. He didn’t deserve that kind of quick capitulation. He needed to suffer just as much as she while she awaited his arrival.

“Later,” Yvonne bit back a smile. He looked as if she’d told him she was pregnant. Of course, she wasn’t since they always used a condom. “I want to get a jump on my next lesson.”

“And I want to get a jump on you. Now come here.” Yvonne ignored him as she set her sketch pad back on the easel. With a quick flip of her hand, she turned to a clean sheet.

“Aren’t you concerned you didn’t get your money’s worth?” Paolo’s confusion was apparent by the deep wrinkle in his otherwise smooth brow and the downward turn of his ful lips. Yvonne sighed dramatical y. “If you haven’t noticed, D’Amato left thirty minutes early.”

Paolo ruminated over her words. His expression at one point mutinous and then comical as he moved his lips silently. “Go ahead,” he final y barked, tinkering with his wrist watch. “Thirty minutes, Yvonne. And not a second more.” She didn’t care if she only had five minutes just as long as he suffered. Silently, gloating over her smal victory, Yvonne picked out a new piece of charcoal. “You can get comfortable if you want.”

“Impossible with you in the room,” he grumbled, but she heard the bed squeak as he moved around.

“Poor, baby.” For effect, Yvonne clucked her tongue. She enjoyed tormenting him.

Charcoal in hand, she assessed her model. Any good drawing started with a foundation. With his head turned slightly away from her, Paolo lay on his back, one leg in bed, the other hanging off the side. His black hair and tanned skin contrasted beautiful y against the pure whiteness of the bed linens.

Talk about a masterpiece!

Yvonne’s gaze ran over the wel -defined muscles of his chest, to the sweeping slope of his firm stomach ridged with six pack abs. A sudden wel spring of heat stole over her and she wiped at her upper lip with the back of her hand. One of these days, she was going to really let go and trace every single hard line of his body with her tongue.

Tempting fate, Yvonne looked lower. His manhood had already started to fil with blood and stood out stiffly from the thick crop of black hair covering his groin.

As if he sensed her regard, his hand strayed between his legs and he cupped his bal s.

Yvonne fanned herself with a sheet of her drawing paper.
Who turned up the temperature?

“You don’t mind if I get him ready while you draw.”

“N-no,” she murmured.

“Good because this feels great.” Groaning loudly, Paolo wrapped his hand around his shaft. He lifted and dropped his hand slowly.

Yvonne blinked. He was masturbating right in front of her! With each pass, he bit down on his bot om lip. In no time at al his cock stood ful y perpendicular to his virile body, the head swollen and dark purple.

Heat skimmed over her skin like a brush fire, rekindling the desire she’d tried so hard to tamp down when he’d entered the room. Yvonne knew instinctively where it was headed. South. To stave off the inevitable, she started to sketch.

She outlined the bed and the angular lines of his body. In quick order, she filled in the details. She sketched the creases in the pillows and sheets, then the rocklike hardness of his lean muscular frame. Yvonne left no detail out. She captured the chaotic swirl of his dark hair, the hand stroking his cock with maddening slowness, even the mole under his right nipple.

He was slowly driving her crazy.

Her libido now raging, Yvonne’s hand flew across the pad, alternating between making sharp lines with the charcoal and using the pads of her fingers, smudging and softening the contours. She wanted to capture the suppleness of his sun-kissed skin. So engrossed in her creation, Yvonne failed to notice she now had an audience.

“
Venha aqui
, Yvonne.”

Yvonne shook her head. “I’m almost done.”

“Your time is up.”

Yvonne glanced over the easel. If a person could convey all of their desires in one look, Paolo patented it. Yvonne stood rooted to the spot. She couldn’t move or look away. His gaze held hers and wouldn’t let her go.

Fight it, Yvonne!
You can fight him and the way he makes you feel. Her conscience roared. Better said than done when the heat she worked so hard to ignore burned a path over al of her sensory nerves and set up house between her legs. Yvonne bit down on her bot om lip. Her clit felt swollen with blood and her pussy wept, soaking her panties.

Face the truth, kiddo!
Al the charcoal and sketch pads in the world wouldn’t diminish her body’s reaction to him. She put one foot in front of the other.

Filled with a sudden urge to get naked, she started unbut oning the painter’s smock D’Amato had given her. Seemingly interested in her undressing, Paolo, hand stilled and he stopped stroking his cock. He sat up and his dark gaze watched her every move.

Encouraged by her captivated audience, Yvonne tossed the smock at him. He caught it effortlessly and tossed it on top of his discarded sweats. “If my time is up, don’t you think it best I leave?” Yvonne had no idea where the smack came from considering her insides quaked more than an early morning earthquake in California.

“You take one step toward that door, I’ll just drag you back,” he grunted.

When only a foot separated them, he pulled her into a kiss so rough their teeth clicked against each other and held her there with a firm hand at the back of her head.

Loving the unnecessary roughness, Yvonne melted into him. His firm lips and tongue stamped out any objections or rational thought. His kisses were a sweet torture! And al she could focus on was how much she craved what he was doing to her, even if he swal owed her whole.

“Taste so good,” he snarled against her lips. “Need.…more.…skin.… to.… skin.” Paolo tore at her clothes. His large hands pushed her off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater down her shoulders and over her hips, fol owed by her jeans. When she stood before him in her only panties and bra, he broke away from her. Disappointed but breathless, Yvonne reached for him, he held her off with a hand at her waist, the other stil palming his cock.

“Take them off. Slowly,” he demanded.”

Softly worded with heavy-lidded eyes, his request turned Yvonne’s insides al warm and gooey. Her knees threatened to buckle. Stil , she managed to take a step back and divest her body of the last pieces of her clothing.

*****

Paolo increased the pace of his hand on his cock unconsciously matching the mad rush of his heart. He had lit le control of the muscle behind his breastbone, but he could control his strokes. If he didn’t, he’d cum in a matter of seconds.

He didn’t want that, he didn’t want his senses dulled. In fact, he thrived on holding back because his woman’s release heightened his own. With Yvonne, his release always managed to be explosive, mind altering and one of the reasons he hadn’t his fil of her yet.

For the hundredth time, Paolo tried to wrap his head around why Yvonne was so different from al the other women he’d bedded. And for the hundredth and one time, he came up empty, except for the fact that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to let her go at the end of the season, if ever.

Paolo’s hand stilled. Yvonne had fol owed his directive without any hesitation and now stood in front of him total y devoid of any clothing. So unlike the skinny models he usual y bedded she was in a word…stunning.

Petite and curvy, her body was the epitome of the perfect hourglass. Broad rounded shoulders, a tiny tapered waist, ful rounded hips and firm thighs. The details?