Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4) (11 page)

Overwhelmed, I had no idea they’d remained faithful during my treatments. That was a colossal deal. I’d been against monogamy for ages, and in a way, we already were very much exclusive. I thought about marrying them.
Boy, do I have regrets for the way I handled their proposal. Ugh. I’m such a bitch. I hope I get a second chance to make this up to them.

I owed Luigi and Rocco my life. I wanted to do this for them, and I needed to do it for myself, too. At least to see if I still had my mojo.
If I don’t…well…I could always get a career designing military apparel for the Italian government.

Haahhh.

Leaning my face into the sink, I turned the faucet on and splashed water over my cheeks. Cold. Refreshing.

You’d think for as popular as the club was there’d be a million women in there beautifying themselves. Then I realized our handbags and clothes were all at coat-check. Similar to the rest of the woman there, I didn’t have my Chanel fashions, Birkin bags, and sunglasses to hide behind. Just our bodies and ourselves. Truthfully, I preferred hiding behind things and people.

My cellphone vibrated on my wrist.

I dried my face on a nearby towel, pinched my cheeks for color, and looked at the phone.

The screen read,
Viveca Farnworth.

WTF
does she want? Last week that woman tried to bury me.

Feeling the anxiety of the fashion show all over again, I took a deep breath, pushed the speaker button on, and greeted,
“Ciao,
bitch
.”

Sì
. I’m a bitch, but Vive is a mega-bitch!

FYI.

She cackled. “Honey, it’s your favorite frenemy, calling from rehab. Listen, it’s morning here on Long Island, I just woke up, and saw you and your
hawt
lovers plastered all over the news.”

“My darling, it’s nice to see the nuthouse lets you watch TV.” My tone was doused in sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. If she had been standing in front of me right then, I’d have decked her one.

“Funny. It’s a rehab facility, not a funny farm. Although there are a few whackadoos here, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh.” I tried to humor her, but I wanted to scream.

“Your sexual safari story has already gone global and from the itinerary the
New York Times
published, it’s just getting started.”

“Don’t get too excited. Other than dancing, drinks, posing for the paparazzi, and a hand job, nothing much else has happened.”

She sighed heavily into the phone. “Honey, for someone who is getting paid to travel throughout Europe with two pussy-wetting men, you certainly don’t sound too excited.”

“Wanna trade places? I’ll gladly take your Long Island spa and you can be here in Europe getting tied up and fucked five ways from Friday.”

She laughed.

“Vive, why are you calling?”

“Two reasons.”

I braced myself. Honestly, I didn’t want to know what they were, but I had to be kind. Wasn’t that what frenemies did? So I replied, “And they are?”

“I’d like to apologize for being so harsh with my editorial. I’m sorry.”

“What brought this on?”

“Funny you should ask. Today, I had a session with my therapist. He helped me come to the revelation that I may have taken some of what I’m going through in rehab out on my review of your fashion show and since
Debauchery
magazine is the number-one source of entertainment, I know the other articles slammed your show because I’d lit the match.”

“You think you’re that powerful?” I rolled my eyes, realizing when it came to Vive’s fame and power the woman was a cross between Hillary Clinton and Lady Gaga.

“Honey, I know I am. Four million people read every word I write weekly in print and online.”

Leaning my hip against the sink, I turned to the mosaic tile wall and felt vindicated.
I’ll accept her apology.

“
Grazie
. I appreciate that, Vive. I do. But your vodka dry-out has nothing to do with how sucky my designs were.” At that point, it was me who was laughing.

“Honey, its gin, thank you very much. Vodka has no flavor,” she corrected. “Regardless, I gotta hand it to ‘ya, girlie. The highlight of the Jemma Couture show was those guns. When they shot off and everyone hit the floor, I screamed at the top of my lungs. I haven’t had anything cray-cray like that happen to me since Lex, Taddy, Blake and I got thrown in juvie as kids.”

We laughed so hard my shoulders shook and I snorted.

“What’s the second reason for your call?”

“I need a quote from you for the article I’m getting ready to upload to my website.”

“Give me the title…”

“I’m calling it, ‘Sex, Fashion and Love: Jemma Couture’s Erotic Reinvention’.”

“Bueno.”
I liked the sound of that.

“All I need for you to do is answer one question which is looming for my story and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Hesitating, I chewed on my lower lip for a second. “Okay…”

“What’s it like to have two men who care about you so much that they’d go to the extreme of booking a sexual safari?”

I paused for a second. I could either give the Brill, Inc. malarkey reply or the truth. I always spoke my mind, so I went with the latter. “Vive, the last few years may have been rocky for me and my latest collection was, as you so eloquently stated in your article, s-h-i-t, but today, right now…” Her nails struck a keyboard as I talked, making a loud clacking noise which was making it hard for me to focus, but I managed to continue. “I’m standing tall and feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have Luigi and Rocco at my side.”

“Honey,
luck
has nothing to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The three of you are an unlikely trio. You’re what we call in New York ‘good people’. You deserve each other.”

“Grazie.”

“I hope you not only find romance on this trip, but love for yourself and for them again.”

My eyes stung with tears. Did everyone know my relationship was in need of repair? I guess Death Star Galactica had made that all apparent. I swallowed back a cry and muttered, “
Grazie
.”

“And thank you for accepting my apology,” she said.

I cleared my throat and joked, “I’m sure your therapist will be happy to hear that, too.”

“Hahaha. Indeed, he will.” She kept typing. “Have a great time. Text me pics, and let’s talk when you get to Moscow. I’d like an exclusive story on that leg of the trip. Something fun.”

“Arrivederci,”
I offered and hung up.

I reached for the doorknob and held on to it for a second. I thought about my answer to Vive and my earlier prayer to God. I
was
the luckiest woman in the world, and I’d meant that.
It’s about time I showed my boyfriend’s just how grateful I truly am. I’m blessed to have them in my life.

The Scars on My Back

“Naturally, I was curious, so I asked Rocco once what it was like to be in a poly relationship. He’d told me that when he, Jemma, and Luigi made love, he imagined they all three melted into each other as one. As if they were the only ones in the world who mattered. Rocco said something magnetic pulls them together and a sense of wonder happens. Desires are fulfilled. Needs are met, and afterwards, his soul doesn’t feel quite so empty. I’d remembered thinking when he’d told me that, how beautiful it must be for them and how fortunate they are to have found one another.” —Blake Morgan, Chelsea boy, Prada aficionado, and art collector of Miguel Santana paintings.

Baring it All

Jemma

Ready for action

Floor Four, Circus Bazaar

I came out of the bathroom, making my way over to the area the pixie had roped off for us to the sound of Birdie Easton’s music. It was a lounge-like room with black satin pillows tossed about. The sofa, long and rectangular, was placed in the center. Or was it a bed? I couldn’t tell.

A scent of vanilla bean came from the candles lit around the room. Rocco had been right, because the smell definitely soothed my nerves.

My lips curved into a smile.

Hanging from the ceiling on clear strings were tiny crystal prisms. The light show from the dance floor below reflected off them, scattering rays of bright purple and red against the three walls which gave us privacy. The refractions contrasted nicely against the dark shadows of the room, and it appeared as though we were in some far-off euphoric land. Not Germany. Not Europe. Just paradise.

Birdie’s song sped up with a pulsating beat, and the music rocketed through me. Every fiber of my body came alive as she sang…

“Unleash the beast inside.”

Feeling a bit more confident, I rolled my shoulders back and stood tall.

“Come to me,” a voice said in a demanding tone over the music. It sounded like Luigi.

“Be the devil’s mistress.”

Taking off my shoes, I hummed to the song’s verse. You had to hand it to Birdie, because her music was rather catchy.

“Let your body get lost with mine.”

The DJ echoed the last word so it played over and over again: “
mine, mine, mine
.”

With his broad back against the wall, sitting amongst all those pillows, thick legs spread east to west, nuts full and hanging was my
amore
, Luigi.

Unable to see his face, only his magnificent body, I could hear him grunting.

“Get my dick nice and wet for our woman,” he demanded and then released a moan. “
Bueno
. Suck. Just like that.”

His erotic sounds of approval and pleasure turned me on.

In bed, Luigi was usually the verbal one. Rocco always had something in his mouth—either our lover’s cock was down his throat or he was sucking the cream from my clit—so he never seemed to say much. Luigi did all the talking for him.

Funny, right?

Especially considering outside of the bedroom Luigi was normally quiet, almost conservative in how he spoke. But in bed, he came alive.

Total freaky-deaky.

As I walked over to them, Rocco’s expressive, lust-filled eyes gazed up at me. Ravenous. Lips wide, going down, slowly tugging at the shaft as he came up, followed by a lick on the tip. He kept sucking our lover’s dick as I approached.

Luigi’s left arm was slung over Rocco’s head while his right hand massaged the back of his neck.

He always liked it when we put a concerted effort on his dick.

What man didn’t?

Those two could go at it for hours, milking each other. As if watching two unicorns playing in the wild, it was the most amazing thing to witness.

“Come here,” Luigi instructed.

I stepped closer. With a wicked grin, his face came into focus.

Already on his knees, Rocco squatted beside me and stroked my leg. His very touch sent a prickle of excitement up my thigh.

“Take off her panties,
bello
.”