Page 32 of Sweet Retribution

I’ve missed her soft curves, the sweet way she mews when I make her come. I can’t resist her anymore and trail my finger down her spine from her neck to the top of her ass. She gasps and arches her back giving me the view I’ve been praying for.

“What are you doing?” She doesn’t turn all the way around, only cranes her neck so she can glare at me over her shoulder.

“Just trying to keep my wife happy.”

“Then look, don’t touch.”

“But–”

“It’s not about makingyouhappy. You’ll get that later.”

My cock rises to attention. I’ve missed fucking Gia. Touching Gia. Having her hands on me. Hearing her scream my name. The strain against my zipper is tight, and I’m thankful for my tuxedo jacket that hides how much I want her.

“I’m sure Sebastiana will be waiting at the door for you when we get back.”

Like a bucket of cold water on a raging fire, my cock shrinks.

“Thank you for coming to my show,” Sandra saves me from responding. “You’ve been in front of this painting for a while. Can I answer any questions you may have about it?”

She’s an attractive woman in her forties. Her is hair pulled back in a stylish manner, her black dress slimming and simple revealing her decent figure. There’s no reason why Rossi couldn’t be content with this Sandra woman.

“Actually, yes,” Gia says, surprising me for the third time tonight. “I’ve seen your work before. I believe a piece of yours hangs in the entryway.”

I don’t have any artwork in my entryway. There’s a four foot vase, and other than that, it’s sparse.

“How wonderful. Do you remember the name of the piece?”

Gia taps her lip and tilts her head to the side. “You know, I don’t. Maybe you recall? It was about nine years ago. You must have been at the beginning of your career.”

Sandra studies Gia and I watch the interesting dynamics.

“I’m sorry for being so rude. Let me introduce ourselves, then maybe you’ll recall. This is my husband, Stone Parlatore. I’m Gia, but you may remember me as Callista Parisi.”

I watch as Sandra’s overly made up face turns to an ashen white. “I... I don’t think I recall...” She places a hand against her neck, and her eyes dart around the room as if looking for an escape.

“It was some time ago.” I hear the nonchalance in Gia’s voice, yet her shoulders are straighter than usual, and her jaw stiff with a forced smile. “I was seventeen. You must have been in your thirties? You were in my father’s office for sometime. Doingbusiness, I presume?”

“I don’t...” She swallows and takes a retreating step.

“It was the fourth or fifth visit that the painting arrived. I’m pretty sure that was after meeting with LorenzoandAntonio Rossi. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I’m sure he sounds familiar.”

I rest my hand on the small of Gia’s back, this time not for the sexual contact but to show my support. I’m speechless as I watch and listen to her rake Sandra through the coals.

“Yes, well, if I never see him again it’ll be too soon. Lorenzo is dead so I’ll be donating all his trash to charities or the highest bidder. I can’t imagine anyone wanting a painting that was given under such circumstances. Shall I have it shipped here or to your home address?”

“Well, I... You rude little cunt. I should have–”

I splay my hand on Gia’s back and give her hip a reassuring squeeze. “You will not speak to my wife this way.”

Sandra snaps her gaze to mine. “Yourwife.” She sneers. “He should have...” She clamps her mouth shut and looks around the room.

“Who should have what?” I lean in and pierce her with my stare.

A man who must be her assistant steps into our intimate circle. “Ms. Beckam, a guest is interested in the Manga piece.”

“Excuse me,” she says before rushing off.

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