Page 120 of Giovanna

But, like always, I stop.

Frustrated with myself and desperate for some relief from the intense need I feel, I tell myself that this is happening. Tonight is the night. I’m going to come, even if it takes me hours.

Usually, when I touch myself I lay on my back as I am doing now, but I get the idea to try positioning myself in the same way as the woman I saw Giovanna fucking. I want to lose myself in the fantasy that it is her touching me.

I throw my blankets off and get on my hands and knees. Dropping to my elbows, I arch my back and relish the cold air on my exposed pussy. I reach underneath my body and resume the circles on my clit, moving my hips back and forward as if Giovanna was thrusting in and out of me from behind with her black strap-on.

My pussy is clenching like it wants to be filled and the pressure is growing, moving from deep inside me to flood my cunt. As it builds I push down the panic and try to relax my body.

My movements become more frantic as I chase the feeling, pursuing the high that I know is just beyond my reach. Then I’m exploding, a sensation overload. I moan, “Giovanna” and collapse forwards onto the bed, my hand still trapped between my thighs.

Embarrassment cloaks me once my heart rate has slowed down. I’m relieved and excited that I finally did it, but it is pretty weird to say someone’s name when you make yourself come. The thought of Giovanna knowing that I think about her like that let alone that I have called her name while thinking about her is mortifying. I swear to never do that again. But I do. Many, many times.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Francesca

Peta wheels Sandy into the back door of the Marino house. His face is like thunder and he is beyond unimpressed to be sitting in a wheelchair.

Peta has barely left his side and is reluctant to let anyone else care for him. She was like a lioness at the hospital, always protecting her mate. The poor nurses will be pleased to see the back of us all.

“The doctors have given him a whole lot of exercises he needs to do to help get his left side working as strongly as his right. When he’s up to it, walking up and down the pool is good too, they said. But he has to take it easy,” Peta explains to Massi, Bluey, and me. We are sitting at the dining table eating the steak and salad I made for dinner.

“I’m right here!” Sandy barks. “Got full use of my ears and fuckin’ mouth too!”

Peta shushes him like she is soothing a baby and he bristles but doesn’t protest.

“Back in London, I helped a few clients at the gym who were recovering from strokes,” I say. “I’d be happy to take you through your exercises each day if you want, Sandy?”

He is about to reject my offer, but something stops him. He hates being an invalid and ultimately he will do what he is told if he thinks it’ll get him back to normal.

”Righto. Sounds like a plan,” he says begrudgingly.

“It’ll be nice to do some proper work again,” I muse to Massi and Bluey. “These days I just wipe down equipment and pretend I can’t hear men with roid rage talking about my ass.”

Massi frowns. “You know you don’t have to work there, right? You don’t need a job.”

“Yeah. I just want at least one part of my life to be under my control…mostly. Plus I have Sammy there now and I like hanging out with her.”

Despite instructions to take it easy, Sandy wants to get into his rehab straight away. Each day I take him through the basic exercises his doctors provided, plus I do some research and add more variety to his routine.

He’s a grumpy, cantankerous old bastard, but I make it my goal to make him at least snort in amusement once per session.

At first Sandy and I only discuss things that revolve around stroke recovery and exercise, but after a handful of sessions, we relax a bit. I know Peta has been making him watchLove Islandwith her and I’ve been having a lot of fun trapping him into talking about it as if he is properly invested in the reality TV show. If only everyone could see the big bad ex-don of Sydney pontificating about the latest coupling-up ceremony.

After just over a week, Sandy demands that we do a pool session so Peta helps him into his boardies and I put on a sports bra and lycra gym shorts - they seem more appropriate than a bikini - and we head down to the pool.

I’m walking backward down the pool steps with Sandy’s hands in mine when I hear Giovanna’s voice inside. My head snaps towards where the glass doors have folded to the side like a concertina, leaving the house open to the back garden.

She stands in the middle of the living area with a hand on her hip. She’s laying into someone through the phone and even though I haven’t seen her in a week and the last thing I said to her was that I hate her, my heart races.

Sandy clears his throat and I apologise for the lapse in concentration. Surprisingly he smiles kindly, almost sympathetically. We continue our descent into the water.

“How are things going with Elio?” he surprises me by asking.

“Um…well…” I’m not sure how honest to be with him at this point and he senses it.

“Don’t be afraid to be honest with me, Francesca.”

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