by Avery Aster
“Signorina, benvenuta to Isola di Girasoli.” The captain smiled and placed her luggage on the wharf. He pointed at a narrow walkway and instructed, “You’ll follow the sidewalk up the winding road until you find a tall iron fence. It’s electric, so don’t touch. The prince has top security. You’ll see the gated entrance to the palazzo. They’ll buzz you in.”
After slipping him a tip, she collected her belongings on the pier and asked, “What time is your last fare returning to Sicily?”
“I sail back in two hours. Bocca al lupo,” he horned after her as she headed up the hill.
“Thank you for your good wishes.” I’ll need it. Two hours—was this enough time? The knots in her stomach tightened. As an Easton rule, Lex should never be nervous at introductions. Until her father’s death and family’s bankruptcy, her life had overflowed with opportunities to mingle with society’s influential trendsetters. Her mother had made partying a priority.
Today, at twenty-eight she’d lost her money, her status in society, and any entitlement that went along with it. Nowadays she fostered being humble, hard working and honest—she called them her three H’s. Those were her assets and she’d put them to good use.
Lex didn’t know how she’d be received at the palace. She never met the prince, though she’d seen his picture in the tabloids. In fact, she’d never admitted this to anyone, but she even masturbated to his photos once or twice, letting sensual lip and strong hand thoughts take her body on a few rare occasions. Okay—more than a few.
In the morning, she awoke hugging her purple body pillow pretending he slept with her. Alone, late at night, she touched herself imagining he came inside her. And on the weekends when taking a bubble bath, she envisioned having him scrubbing her back—hard. No other man came to mind.
From what she could tell, Massimo embodied Jake Gyllenhaal cute, David Beckham bodied and Johnny Depp hot. People magazine named the prince the sexiest bachelor, tagging him this generation’s John F. Kennedy, Jr. A rare male specimen, his face as perfect as any Renaissance sculpture created. The photographers loved snapping Massimo shots, often shirtless.
No man could have such good fortune and be endowed. The universe was never kind. But she’d heard stories quite the contrary. And naked photos, leaked on several blogs last year showed him swimming with his sweet dimpled ass in the air and his yummy cock hanging low. His dick, subjected to gossip, was touted as large as an Evian bottle. The memory from those images made her pussy ache with need. She wondered if she could take him—Jake David Johnny JFK Jr. Evian bottle and all.
* * * * *
It’s the Taj Mahal. The Tittoni’s estate entrance stood as she imagined—baroque in design, ornate in style, gaudy in size and gilded from top to bottom. An expansive stucco exterior didn’t intimidate her compared to the Park Avenue high rises Lex had lived in as a kid. It was the man inside who terrified her. The prince held her fate in his hands. At his whim, she could be relegated to poverty for a second time. It was one thing to rebuild once, but twice—impossible.
Pushing the intercom’s button, she tried to stand taller and licked her lips. Here I flippin’ go. A sweat bead ran down her neck, coming to rest between her breasts. The humidity increased by the second, causing her favorite yoga style pullover, a cream colored sheer jersey trimmed in chiffon she’d designed and titled “The Jet Setter,” to cling to her. It felt tight, shrinking. And her underwear rode up in places which hadn’t seen action in a long time. She should’ve at least worn a thong or maybe nothing at all. Why she’d sported her granny panties was anyone’s guess.
A small video screen embedded in the pillar to her left lit up. A man in a vest, no doubt a butler asked, “Posso aiutarla?” The voice came over again, “May I help you?”
She smiled, despite the man’s brisk tone. “Yes, thank you. I’m Lex Easton, here to see Prince Massimo Tittoni. I’m from Easton Essentials.”
Thin lips compressed together. The man released and divulged, “I’m sorry, Signorina Easton. His Majesty is on holiday until the fall season.”
Massimo told her he’d be here. She needed to talk to him. “I spoke with His Majesty yesterday over the phone. I came from New York—I must see him. Please!”
His eyes widened. “Uno momento prego, I will check,” he grumbled and the screen went blank.
“HEY—hello?” Was the butler going to leave her out in the blistering sun and salty ocean air to ripen akin to a blood orange? Her skin would peel at any minute. This is hell.
An eternity passed and the gates opened. Then a tall figure walked down the main driveway.
“Signorina Easton, my name is Roberto. We spoke on the phone. Benvenuta to the palace of the Tittoni family.”
Much better. Lex breathed in relief as he extended his hand taking her roller bag. “I’m the estate manager. I live here on the island year round.”
In a tuxedo? How uncomfortable. Wearing a black bow tie with matching cummerbund, he dressed similar to a waiter, perhaps one who served caviar at a five star restaurant.
“Is the prince able to meet with me? Did you tell him I’m here?”
“His Majesty is aware you’ve arrived. But he can’t see you right now. He’s out by the garden pool entertaining. He asks in the interim I give you a complete tour.”
“How kind, although I’m not sure we have time. I’ve got to make the last boat to the mainland. It leaves in two hours, but I would care to use your restroom and freshen up.” She looked around for the garden or a pool and didn’t see either. “Where is the pool?”
He eyed her without conviction and responded, “We have three pools, the Olympic sized indoor pool off the gymnasium. It’s used for calisthenics.” One long finger pointed south as he continued, “An ocean view pool with natural salt water for sunning, and my personal favorite.” He gave her a fake smile, “And the garden pool.” He stopped and stared at her. “It’s a nudist pool, for pleasure. His Majesty created it to resemble the Garden of Eden.”
“Nice to hear the prince lives up to his tabloid reputation. He gets publicity on his social activities.” She offered him a tight smile in return but felt a little guilty for being snarky. After all, she came here for business. She couldn’t let her mind wander about poolside pleasures.
“The prince instructed he will join you for dinner in the Tancredi wing’s formal dining room, on the main floor at sunset. He’s offered to put you up at a villa for the night. The windows face the sea. You’ll have Malta views. Farther out is Tunisia. We’re very isolated out here. You may sun and swim your day away.”
She hadn’t packed a swimsuit. She didn’t own one.
“Thank you, but I won’t be staying. I’ve rented a room in Sicily for the night. Tomorrow I fly to Milan for a work event. I need to meet with His Royal Highness and get my shipment cleared through customs from your factory.”
“Sì I’ll show you to your room. You may use the facilities as you requested.”
Lex nodded allowing Roberto to lead her through the grounds, passing row after row of exotic looking flowers. Their sweet smell, heightened by the island’s heat, made the air rich, intoxicating and heavy, resembling steeping dessert tea with sugarcane. Her senses awoke, turned on by a flowery smell. Pearl white dahlias, baby pink roses and amethyst lilac bushes reached for the sun’s rays, each blossom fuller than the other. In recent times, she felt she was those sweet flowers, reaching for the sky, ready to be plucked and enjoyed. But it hadn’t happened in god knew how long.
From somewhere behind the main manor, Lex heard high-pitched laughing. The direction remained unclear.
Those aren’t kiddies giggling.
“Here we are, Signorina Easton. You’re in the Plaza da Villa. A smaller guesthouse. If I’d known you planned on visiting, I would’ve prepared our larger quarters, on the south side.” He pushed the oak double doors open, allowing the sunlight to spill into the suite.
A “small villa” here could be a penthouse in the Big Apple. Its imperial d
esign included a master bedroom with spa, two smaller bedrooms, and a sitting area with fireplace, dinette, and four balconies with panoramic seashore views. The eye catching suite dripped spectacular. How unfortunate she wouldn’t be staying long enough to enjoy its amenities. In any case, she loathed the beach. Pale as the moon, she didn’t care to show much skin.
She stepped into the lavish living area. “Roberto, I won’t be here long. I’ve taken up enough time, thank you.” She reached in her purse to pull out a tip but realized she’d given her last dollar to the boatman.
Offended by her attempt to compensate, Roberto informed her, “Signorina Easton, your generosity isn’t necessary. No gratuities at the palace. We are salaried royal employees to the House of Tittoni.”
“Oh.” Well, excuuuse me, I didn’t get the House of Tittoni memo.
He glanced at his wristwatch. “The prince dines at eight. Stay in your quarters until sunset. Take a siesta, rest or sunbathe, but please be ready when I come for you at a quarter to.”
Frustrated that he still expected her to wait for the prince, Lex didn’t have any intentions to dine with the royal. “I told you, the last boat circles back in less than two hours.” Glancing at her father’s scratched Rolex hanging loose from her wrist, she croaked, “Correction, ninety minutes.” What was she thinking? She’d never make it. “I’ll meet with the prince now. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no choice.”
“Hmm…” Motionless and nonresponsive, Roberto stood still.
“If you can’t show me where he swims, I’ll find my own way.”
There was a long pause as the butler deciphered how to respond to her demands. Then he put out, “Signorina Easton, I don’t think you’re being wise. Let me see if I can get His Majesty’s attention and have him come here. Per favore wait inside, I’ll ring your room in a few minutes with an update. If you need anything, press the zero on the bedroom phone. Good luck, Signorina Easton.”
“Thank you.” She settled as he closed her door.
After fourteen hours flying, boating and walking, she stood by herself. She put her luggage on the oversized bed, causing the plush satin cover to crinkle beneath its weight. Walking over to the sink, she splashed cold water on her face and checked her iPhone for messages.
Vive ranted on and on via a borderline soliloquy style text message, livid she didn’t receive an invite to go to Italy with Lex.
Lex figured her mother must’ve told Vive. Uhhh, everyone in Manhattan will know where I am by today’s end. She texted, “call U LTR xo.”
Five minutes turned to fifteen and then to thirty. With less than an hour to get to the boat she grew panicked. Lex reached for the phone and rang for Roberto. No answer. She’d have to take fate into her own hands and go find the prince. The go out and get ’em approach worked for her life’s mantra. She hoped this wouldn’t be a fashion battle and asked herself if she was ready? Absofrickinlutely. Lex pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and opened the door. It’s time to get my fashion designer phalanges on what I came for.
* * * * *
“Heehee, Luigi, ohhha, Luigi!!!”
Lex followed the laughter and water sounds growing louder as she rounded the manor. She noticed a wrought iron gate with a plaque, Giardinopiscina. “Garden pool,” it read if she remembered her Italian. She inhaled again, enjoying the blossoms’ smell, hoping the ambrosial scent would calm her nerves.
She pushed the gate open and froze at what stared at her. Fuck me in Fendi.
Three young women—with “just what the doctor ordered” breasts and oversized pouting lips—floated in the water. Striking. They were playing with a man Lex heard them call Luigi, who smiled ear to ear.
One woman ran her red manicured fingernails up and down his chest, kissing him. Another was behind him, massaging his shoulders, and the third—she kept going underwater, and with each dive his smile grew wide.
Lex recalled the brazen woman getting her rocks off on the yacht and wondered if lasciviousness floated in the air. For a moment, she allowed herself to wish she could be as free spirited as these ladies, who knew how to enjoy themselves. But then, as usual, her priorities took over. Lex would do what she’d come for and then head to Milan, leaving this wantonness behind.
On the pool’s side lay a shirtless hunk, each massive pectoral dusted in a black hair brush stroke glistening in the sunlight. His privates were sorta covered by a towel.
Bored and perhaps annoyed at the sexual activities on display, he didn’t pay attention.
Along with Luigi, the women paused their sexscapade and stood in the water staring at Lex. Their tits saluted her at twelve o’clock, poised in wetness resembling crème dollops topping calorie rich pudding.
Happy with her own cleavage, she noted the gifts floating in the water were not from Mother Nature. Mine are natural, girls. Enjoy.
The women whispered to each other, then glanced at Luigi who shouted, “Principe.”
Distracted by a strawberry he brought to his mouth, the prince didn’t notice her. But she saw him, those perfect, sensual, full lips and the way his tongue slid out to catch the berry. He popped it in his mouth. Incredible.
Holding her breath, Lex stepped closer, right up to the hedonistic hearth. Why did the sunshine spotlight on her center stage? No monologue prepared, she didn’t think about what she’d say in a situation such as this one. Lex felt sensory overload. It would take every ounce left in her to stay focused on the Easton business at hand, not the Tittoni pleasure around her. Calm your kitty.
At last, the Adonis glanced up and dropped another ruby fruit’s helping into his mouth. He stood, wrapping a Turkish towel around his narrow hips. The white cotton stretched similar to canvas, ready for a Grecian painter to color something fantastic. “Sì è persa?” he asked as he approached her.
Holy Coco Chanel! Okay, hotter in person than she’d seen in the tabloid photos or blogs—her dildo fantasies couldn’t have imagined—and she’d tried her best. But she’d come here to get her fabrics. She didn’t have time for Mediterranean sunbathing. Her boat would be on the dock in less than an hour and she needed her textiles.
“You must be Prince Massimo Tittoni,” she responded in English. She felt her cheeks tingle with a spark. Excitement waved as heat ran down her breasts, stopping at her pussy. A fierce siren intensified, one which made her want to reach down and touch her clit. She crossed her legs while standing, hoping, praying he’d be clueless as to why.
“Sì. And you’re the fashion designer—” His attempt to tuck in the towel failed and it became loose, revealing his massive cock’s shape. It was decorated with a mighty helmet head for the tip—confirmation the blog’s photos, indeed, were real.
Moist legs clenching tighter, she rolled her shoulders back, raw arousal soaking her panties. Not wishing to make her admiration obvious, Lex focused on his black eyes. She inhaled a shallow breath and walked forward.
“I’m Lex Easton with Easton Essentials in New York.”
Deep grooves spread across his forehead as he proclaimed, “When we spoke on the phone, I thought you were Signor Easton’s assistant. Today when Roberto announced your arrival, I learned you were Signorina Easton. Our phone call became inaudible.”
Assistant my ass. “Lex is short for Alexandra and yes, it was me with whom you spoke. I’m the company’s owner.”
Massimo paused then continued, “You were instructed to stay in your villa until dinner, were you not?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I couldn’t wait. It’s imperative we speak. Please afford me a minute,” Lex begged. Balling her hands into fists in an attempt to control her nerves, she became conscious that visiting Isola di Girasoli might be in vain. From his vantage point, she must’ve appeared manic to have interrupted his vacation.
The prince put his hands on his hips. Beneath the towel, his groin became more visible.
Is he getting an erection? Hmmm. Lex tried her best not to stare, let alone lick her lips, though her throa
t felt dry. “I’m here for the day,” she added, hoping to persuade him to speed this up by giving him a deadline. “I’m heading back to Sicily tonight, flying up to Milan for an event tomorrow.”
Stepping closer, his large frame overshadowed hers as he spoke, “Lex has it all planned out, guys.” Massimo gave Luigi and his angels a nod to listen and mocked, “Happy we could oblige you on this Italiano fashion tour. Giorgio Armani has a casa a few islands up. You may wish to interrupt his holiday too. Have at it.” His sharp jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
Touché Tittoni. Hard to remain coherent when close to him, he seemed massive in proportions, including muscle, cock, ego and sarcasm. Swallowing air to sober her response, she answered, “Yes, as soon as we finish here. I’ll be on my way.”
He chuckled in mockery. “Lex, there is no boat service until Thursday. The captain comes twice a week. You will have to stay two nights—unless you can swim back to the mainland. It’s a far distance, even for an athlete.” He studied her up and down and added, “Which you are not.”
What an asshole. “No, and I don’t pretend to be. Still, I can’t stay. I’ll call a water taxi if I miss the boat.” According to her watch, she was not going to make it.
Massimo’s deep laugh bounced off the pool’s concrete encasement. The girls, now dressed, waited behind him with Luigi. To be dismissed? “The boat has been on the same schedule for more than fifty years and cannot change course to meet your demands.”
The women shifted, growing restless, and the prince turned. “Ladies, Luigi’s getting bored. Get back in the pool.”
He took Lex’s hand.
Ohhhhh my.
His demonstrative touch became warm and strong and confirmed in an instant her entire body wanted him.
Not today. No way. No how. Her brain on the other hand told her to knock it off.
“You and I are getting off to a bad start,” Massimo acknowledged. “It is a pleasure to meet such an accomplished designer. Please accept my apology and stay for dinner.”