Player's Ultimatum

by Koko Brown

Yvonne blinked the sleep from her eyes and focused on the setting sun. An orange glow tinted the early evening sky, turning it a beautiful shade of coral. A stark contrast to the ugly situation she’d fallen into.

  Damn trapeze!

  Sighing heavily, Yvonne rolled over onto her back and winced. Her body hadn’t been prepared for the marathon sex fest they’d shared all afternoon. Paolo had taken her in positions she’d only read about in Cosmopolitan magazine.

  Yvonne turned her head and her gaze fell on her lover. Still dead to the world, he lay on his stomach his arm wrapped around a pillow. Under normal circumstances, the situation would’ve been a dream come true. She would have chosen Paulo as a lover without a second thought.

  Of course, under “normal circumstances”, Paolo would not have chosen her. He was beautiful and like the old saying went, birds of a feather flocked together. And she was the proverbial black swan who always felt oddly out of place.

  Depressed, Yvonne rolled out of bed. She could take a shower and make it home in under an hour or at least before the sunset.

  For modesty’s sake, Yvonne picked up his discarded t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Before allowing it to settle across her shoulders, she caught up the collar and sniffed. The shirt was infused with his scent and a hint of sunshine. She barely took two steps and her pussy started to pool.

  Angry at her body’s reaction, Yvonne stomped to the bathroom. As soon as she was inside with the door safely closed behind her, she ripped off his t-shirt and threw it in the corner. The very far corner because his bathroom rivaled Rome’s Colosseum.

  Milky white Italian marble dominated the interior. A cherry oak vanity fitted with double sinks spanned the length of one wall and a claw foot tub, with her name written all over, dominated the other.

  Her well-used body gravitated toward the tub, but she opted for a quick shower. As she approached the stall she hesitated. Where were the doors? Considering ten people could pile inside, the space probably didn’t need any barriers to keep the water in. Oh well, she shrugged. If she flooded the place, she flooded it.

  Yvonne stepped inside and turned on the water. Expecting jet spray, her mouth dropped open as a fine mist floated down from the ceiling.

  Turning about, she located the soap dispenser and pumped a heap of vanilla-scented foam into her open palm. “A girl could get used to this.”

  “Get used to what?” Paulo stepped in behind her and slid his arms around her waist. At the point of contact, Yvonne gasped as she looked back at him.

  His dark hair stood up at odd angles and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. Damn. It should be a sin for a man to be this sexy!

  He pressed his lips behind her ear and trailed kisses down her throat. Every time he touched her Yvonne melted like putty in his hands. This time wasn’t any different.

  “Gabe’s going to prepare a light supper for us.” He murmured between kisses. Yvonne shuddered. His lips could convert a saint.

  Even though her body screamed in protest, Yvonne eased away from him. “I can’t stay. I’ve been here long enough,” she offered up the excuse. She needed to get out of here or she’d fall even harder! “Robbie will wonder why I’ve taken so l—”

  Yvonne ended her sentence with Paolo pinning her against the wall.

  “Tell him it’s my fault. Tell him I couldn’t get enough.” He wedged his thigh between her legs and kicked them open. “And that I still can’t.”

  Air touched her sex and she shivered. With one hand palming her breast, the other tucked between her legs, parting her folds, he entered her easily.

  He slowly rolled his hips against her, pressing his cock even deeper. He felt so good her knees buckled. To steady herself, she braced one hand against the wall, the other she curled around his neck.

  “What kind of spell have you cast over me?” he grunted. He rubbed her sex with his open palm and rocked his hips back and forth, pushing her toward yet another orgasm. How many had he already given her?

  In truth she had no idea, she’d stopped counting at five over two hours ago. If anyone was bewitched or bedeviled, damned if it wasn’t her!

  “No spell,” she panted, her excitement rising with each thrust. Yvonne blew out a long breath. Her mind was starting to become fuzzy, the simple act of breathing an almost insurmountable feat. The man had a diamond dick that was quickly becoming her best friend.

  Nothing in the world felt as good as this moment. The both of them slick with sweat, soap and water. Their bodies desperately grinding against the other while Paolo filled her pussy.

  Then he took it to an all new level when he grasped a hold of her nipple and pulled. Yvonne’s world shattered, her release so powerful, she was on the verge of tears.

  “When you do that you only make me hornier.” He wrapped his arm around her, the other under her leg. He rammed into her with short hard thrusts as his lips settled in the crook of her neck and he bit down.

  Not hard. Just enough pressure that Yvonne soon learned that orgasms sometimes came in pairs or in Paolo’s case in multiples of seven or more.

  “Rise and shine sleepy head.”

  Opening her eyes with a start, Yvonne blinked down at the embroidered bedspread. She fingered the intricate gold and silver threads interwoven in the cream satin material and sighed in relief. After leaving Paolo’s, she’d come straight home, mumbled a few words about being exhausted and flung herself into bed.

  Robbie jiggled her butt with his foot. Getting the message, Yvonne rolled over and sat up.

  “Good morning,” she yawned as he set a breakfast tray between them. She reached out and plucked a turkey sausage link from one of the plates.

  “More like afternoon, slut.”

  Startled, Yvonne’s hand hung in midair. “What time is it?” she asked. The room didn’t have a clock and her watch was somewhere on the floor along with the rest of yesterday’s outfit.

  Robbie dug into a pancake with a fork. “Long enough for me to go to morning practice, run a few errands and cook you breakfast.”

  “I guess all that shopping tired me out,” Yvonne lied. She peeked at Robbie to gauge his reaction, but he was too busy shoveling a forkful of buckwheat pancake in his mouth.

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t wake you,” he mumbled. “Things have been insane lately.”

  Tell me about it! Paolo practically turned her brains to mush yesterday. In spite of their sex marathon, he’d pressed her to commit to another rendezvous this afternoon. Luckily, she blew him off with claims of prior plans with Robbie. The rest of the week, the team would be on the road.

  “Oh, before I forget, a courier stopped by earlier.” Robbie reached in his back pocket. “Going to take a few classes?”

  Yvonne eyed the envelope addressed from a Professore Giovonne D’Amato of Un Giorno Artisan.

  “The One Day Artisan,” Robbie translated. “If you want to take one of his courses, you better jump on it. Mini-courses like this fill up pretty quick. They’re popular with tourist looking to immerse themselves in Italian culture.”

  Robbie pushed away from the bed, his empty plate in tow. “I’m going to take a nap. Practice was a bitch. Your boy, Paolo, kept cutting me off or ramming into me. If I didn’t believe all the rumors of him being a stud, I would say dude needs to get laid.”

  He laughed at his own joke as did she, yet Yvonne hoped he couldn’t tell hers was little more forced than his. She and Paolo went at it so much yesterday she would be good until next Christmas.

  After Robbie left, Yvonne tore into the envelope. Inside she found a welcome letter along with a course syllabus. Before she even read the salutation, her hands started shaking.

  Dear Ms. Floyd,

  I am very excited about your enrollment in my six week art class. Your time will be split working with watercolor, oils, charcoal and even photography both in the studio and on location. We will meet thrice a week beginning next Monday. Normally, my classes are held in my studio; however, other arrangements have bee
n made. The address is enclosed.

  Ciao,

  Professore Giovonne D’Amato

  Copy To: PS

  Yvonne knew Paolo Saito wasn’t going to be deterred from what he wanted. And she could accept that. How could she remain indifferent to him when he threw one of her heartfelt desires, garnered through an innocuous conversation, in her face?

  No longer hungry, Yvonne pushed the breakfast tray to the end of the bed, and then balled up into a fetal position. Despite all of her bravado, Yvonne knew she couldn’t handle a no-strings-attached kind of arrangement.

  Every time she had sex with a man she gave something of herself, she opened herself up to all kinds of emotions and potentially painful feelings.

  Seeing Paolo on a regular basis was going to break her. Once the season ended, he would discard her like the dozens of other women who’d fallen all over themselves to land one of Europe’s soccer stars.

  If there was some kind of consolation, at least Robbie would remain oblivious with a multi-million dollar contract under his belt, while she’ll end up getting screwed, in more ways than one.

  *****

  Yvonne didn’t bother looking at the address attached to the class syllabus. A straight shot from the city center along the Grand Circle Road, she had no problem making her way back to Paolo’s estate.

  As she drove, she ran over the finer points of the pep talk she’d given herself to help her get out of bed when all she wanted to do was hide under the covers.

  “Honestly, what was there to be afraid of at this point?”

  They’d already had sex. All she needed to do was go through the motions for the next two or three months and then she’d walk away. She and Robbie would be sitting pretty. He’d have his contract and she was going to be debt free and working for Nico Matteo in Venice, since she’d decided just this morning to accept his offer.

  Thankfully, the club’s morning practice wouldn’t be over until noon, so Yvonne knew Paolo wasn’t home when she arrived. Still, his absence didn’t dispel her pounding heart or cool the hot flush stealing over her body when she reached for the doorbell.

  She could do this, Yvonne coached while she waited. She just needed to keep her mind and heart separated from her body’s response. Heck, she could even enjoy the sex as long as she kept everything in perspective. Couldn’t she?

  “Ah, Signorina Floyd. It’s good to see you again.” Unable to return the greeting, Yvonne simply smiled at Gabe as he stepped back to let her into the house. Several degrees cooler than the outside, the quiet tranquility of the darkened foyer helped to relieve her jittery nerves.

  “You don’t have to address me so formally, Gabe. Just call me Yvonne. No Signorina. No Miss. Just Yvonne, please.”

  Gabe nodded his head in acknowledgement. “If that is your wishYvonne, then I aim to please. Now if you would allow me to show—”

  Preferring to do her walk of shame alone, Yvonne interrupted him, “I can find my way to Paolo’s bedroom just fine, thank you.”

  Before he could object to her wondering around the house alone, Yvonne headed toward the stairs.

  “Um, Signorina…Yvonne please wait.” For an old cotton head, Gabe hustled over to her surprisingly fast. “Where are you going?”

  Yvonne expelled a heavy sigh. Couldn’t a girl get a break? Bad enough she was practically prostituting herself, but did everyone have to be involved?

  Slightly irritated, Yvonne spun around. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going upstairs to wait on Paolo.”

  Gabe clapped his hands together. “Signor Saito won’t be home for some time, and Professore D’Amato is awaiting you in the studio.”

  Yvonne removed the foot from her mouth. “The studio?”

  “Si, Big Sal and I converted one of the downstairs bedrooms yesterday. You’ll be meeting three times a week for two hours at a time, so we figured you needed a studio.”

  Taken by surprise, Yvonne struggled to keep up as Gabe led her through the house. He pointed out the function of various rooms, even those behind closed doors and provided a brief history of the estate.

  He might as well have been speaking Greek. He’d lost her when she learned she really would be taking art classes instead of sitting around waiting to be Paolo’s personal blow up doll.

  *****

  Squat and equally round, Professore Giovonne D’Amato proved to be an affable man who claimed he could teach a goat to paint. And he needed that expertise to teach her, Yvonne mused. She could barely color inside the lines.

  In the first half hour, D’Amato breezed through the course syllabus and his expectations of her as a student. Actually, there was only one, to enjoy herself.

  “If you don’t enjoy creating, then no one will enjoy your creation,” he said while he gestured effusively with his hands.

  He listed the supplies she would need and where she’d find them in the bureau located in the far corner of the room before he handed her a black painter’s smock.

  “We are going to jump right in today.” Grinning, D’Amato rubbed his meaty hands together. “All paintings begin with a simple foundation such as a sketch or an outline.”

  Yvonne followed him over to an empty easel already set up in front of a metal stool and a set of French doors leading out to the garden. Natural sunlight spilled through the naked glass to warm the hardwood floors.

  With such an unhampered view of the gardens, Yvonne worried she might not get anything done. The sun dappled fruit trees and groupings of multi-colored flowers dotting the manicured lawns seemed to go on forever.

  And the green grass beckoned for her to grab a book and find a spot in the shade. Before she could give in to temptation, a loud thunk pulled her out of her nature goddess dreams.

  “Here is your sketch book.” D’Amato flipped the cover page over the back of the easel. “And here are several pieces of charcoal. You’ll have two forms to practice with today. The first is set up over there,” he said, nodding toward the middle of the room where a small table was set with a bowl of fruit.

  How stereotypically lame! And a waste not to use the beautiful gardens or even the beautifully carved antique bed wedged against the wall.

  Blowing out a dejected breath, Yvonne picked up a piece of charcoal. She’d secretly hoped for a nude male model. The hotter the better with a head full of dark hair, a wicked grin, lean muscles and beautiful bronze skin like he’d been dipped in honey.

  Yvonne bit the inside of her cheek. Without her knowing it, she’d fashioned her model after Paolo.

  Professor D’Amato must have mistaken her stillness for nervousness because he came over and lifted her arm toward the sketch pad.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said. Yvonne watched him move her hand across the paper, drawing an U. “Relax your wrist and keep your strokes light. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself…divertiti!”

  Yvonne tried to enjoy herself, she really did. Unfortunately, her body and mind refused to cooperate. All of her senses were on high alert, attuned to the arrival of a certain Japanese Brazilian football player. Her mind already making up erotic scenarios of things he would do to her, when he arrived.

  By the time D’Amato inspected her work an hour later, she’d only drawn a lopsided bowl, a couple of oranges and a banana. Depending on the person who scrutinized the drawing, the banana looked like an erect penis.

  “Hmm…well,” he murmured, while she blushed at his hesitation.

  Heavy footfalls sounded in the hall and she dropped her charcoal. As she bent to pick it up, the door behind them opened.

  “So do we have another Frieda Kahlo on our hands?” Paolo asked, finally making an appearance.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Yvonne turned around so quickly she knocked her easel over, and sent her sketch pad flying across the floor. Happy for the diversion, she scuttled after it. Buying herself some time, so she could get her rattled nerves back under control, she kicked the book again for good measure.

  Her plo
y would have worked if Paolo remained on the other side of the room. Instead, he’d come up behind her and stood there waiting for her to stand up.

  Downright mouthwatering in a pair of low slung black training pants and a white t-shirt, his hair sparkling with water, a freshly showered Paolo Saito sent a punch through her like a shock to her system.

  Yvonne suddenly lost the ability to move. Deaf and completely dumbfounded, she had no clue why he waved his hand in her face and his lips moved.

  She only snapped out of her trance when he attempted to pull her drawing from her fingers. Yvonne pressed the sketch pad to her chest.

  “May I?” His voice poured over her like warm syrup, loosening her resolve.

  A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, softening the masculine angles of his face as he took the book from her. Unable to help herself, she edged closer. The soap he used tickled her nose with the scent of orange blossoms.

  Yvonne didn’t care what he thought of her drawing as he tilted the drawing toward the late afternoon sun to study it. More urgent matters had become a priority than her ego and her earlier insecurities. Like the fire kindling between her legs, and the sudden urge to suck on his full bottom lip.

  Taking a liking to the idea, Yvonne inched closer, so close her breast brushed up against his elbow.

  At the moment of contact, Paolo’s head jerked up. His eyes raked over her, and a warm, wetness rushed to the apex of her thighs.

  Yvonne’s toes curled. “Sorry,” she murmured, but not entirely apologetic.

  The anticipation and desire of their impending intimacy quickened her blood like an aphrodisiac. Her body tingled all over and her nipples peaked. Thank goodness for the smock, or her girls would’ve given away her aroused state.

  Paolo’s eyes narrowed as if he could see through her. Could he sense what was happening to her? “Seus olhos…your eyes, they’re eating—”

  “I do not think it is half bad,” D’Amato said, choosing that moment to join them. He could have been the wall for all Yvonne cared. Paolo’s thoughts must have run along the same lines because he continued to stare down at her. “With a little practice, a different medium or model, she could be exceptional.”