Page 63 of Casanova LLC

I ran my soapy hand along my length. My stroke went from pleasurable to purposeful.

I closed my eyes. Let my mind go wherever I wanted it to.

There she was, lifting her skirt in the candlelight last night.

Stroke.

There was that juice shimmering on her thigh.

Stroke. Stroke.

My fingers sliding along her petals. So soft. So perfect.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

I re-lathered my hand.

What did I want, Claire?

I imagined her watching in the mirror as I lined myself up against her opening.

I had her count down as she engulfed me, as I bore in.

All while looking into her eyes in the mirror. Those eyes I’d first looked into five years ago, at the gallery, when I’d seen all the versions of an imagined past and fantasized a future together that never?—

I shot against the wall.

The sound I made was so loud I had to bite down on my lip.

I threw both hands up against the tile, let my flesh pulse, twitch, wring itself out.

Eventually, I was able to take a shaky but relieved breath. Cupped water and washed the wall. Waited for the heartbeat-thud in my groin to stabilize.

I turned off the water and stepped out. Toweled off. Shaved. Deodorant. Comb. Moisturizer.

Looked into the mirror and assured myself: I was back.

I put on some sweats and an old Art Basel T-shirt and went out into the kitchen, foraging for something salty. I took a handful of mixed nuts, dispensing them from my fist into my mouth in small batches, and walked over to the bed. Flopped down on my back. Took a deep breath. I was going to have a good sleep. I closed my eyes.

That’s when there was a knock on the door.

Episode 5

“… I am forced to admit that we ourselves are the authors of almost all our woes and griefs, of which we so unreasonably complain. If I could live my life over again, should I be wiser? Perhaps; but then I should not be myself.”

? Giacomo Casanova

Alessandro

I bolted upright like a teenager who’d been caught doing what I’d just been doing.

Another more insistent knock.

I grabbed my phone. No text from her. Why would she have come up here? She knew it was off-limits. Not that I didn’t want her here, but rules were rules.

Maybe she needed something? Maybe she wanted something?

I stood, smoothed a hand through my hair, and went to the door. I opened it a crack and pretended I’d been woken from a dead sleep. “Cara, is everything all right?—”

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