by Daphne Dawn
“Hey, girls, how’s it going in here?” Franco enters the room where we’re hanging out and getting to know each other.
“It’s going great, Franco,” Rita says. “We’ve been taking turns introducing ourselves to Sofia here.”
“I appreciate that.” He leans into Rita and kisses her on the cheek.
I see his hand on her lower back.
“I’m sorry I had to leave you with the girls like that. But I had some pressing business I needed to take care of,” he says to me.
“Oh, you’re always taking care of business, Franco,” Britney says to him.
“Well, somebody has to do it or you won’t get paid.” Franco smiles back at Britney.
Maria joins the group again and says, “We appreciate that, Franco.”
I love the way this place makes me feel. I see the happiness these girls have in their eyes. I can tell that they’re one big happy family.
I know Franco will get tired of me sooner or later, though. He’ll be just like all the other relationships that I’ve had—even the one with my father. Franco will leave me when he gets tired of me.
I can’t let this man or his two brothers get in my way. I need to fucking focus on my job, get the work done like the senator tells me to do, and get the hell out of this place.
This is nice and all, but I have a job to do.
35
Antonio
It seems fucking ridiculous to me, but I’ve been all over the house, and there’s not a sign of Sofia. Have we always had this many rooms, or have they multiplied over the last few weeks? I don’t think I even knew we had thirty-nine guest rooms, a second kitchen, and a meditation room.
Well, I think it’s a meditation room. If not, I’m not entirely certain what it is, except that it contains beanbag-type seating, state of the art sound system, and strange-looking lights. I don’t even know why we have this room.
The prowl through the mansion has left me feeling like a total fucking stranger in my own house. It’s almost as if I need a GPS to navigate my own fucking crib.
In my defense, this was really our father’s mansion. We only decided to move in here relatively recently.
Okay, I’m totally fucking lost now, and I’m starting to regret the decision.
Franco took her out this morning. It’s now after two in the afternoon. Surely, she must be back by now?
Is she hiding? Maybe I should check in her room one last time.
Slowly, I trace my steps back and find myself outside her room. I knock on her door.
“Sofia?” I call and listen.
There’s no answer. Gently, I go for a second and louder knock. Still nothing.
With a sigh, I turn my back and go back down the stairs.
If I can’t find her, I’ll have to entertain myself another way.
Disappointment threatens to take a hold. I’ve been busting to see her again since yesterday. The morning I spent with her was some of the best hours of my fucking life.
It’s amazing how quickly she’s managed to get under my skin. My thoughts drift to her every second of the day. Work has definitely taken a backseat in my life, and all I want to do is spend time with what can only be described as the woman of my dreams.
Before she came into my life, I didn’t have an idea what the fuck the woman of my dreams actually looked like, but now I know.
She looks like Sofia.
At the bottom of the stairs, I hesitate.
As far as I’m concerned, I’ve got two options: I can go into the kitchen and get some coffee, take it into my studio on the third floor, and draw a random painting; or I go into the study and go over some of the figures Marco asked me to look at.
Although option number two is my least preferred option, my feet seem to drag me to the study, away from the kitchen. I really have my heart set on painting Sofia.
I won’t be able to do her justice, but I want to at least give it a go.
She’s just so fucking perfect. Those high cheekbones, exquisite red lips and her chocolate eyes spell perfection.
Just thinking about her has all my nerve cells tingling in anticipation.
If she were around now, she’d have to watch herself. It seems I just can’t fucking get enough of her.
My brothers seem as taken by her as I am. We haven’t talked about what we’re going to do with Sofia long term. Offering her the job as our own private escort or sex kitten seemed a band-aid measure for all of us.
Sofia was looking for a job, and we liked the idea of a live-in escort we can use whenever we want. I guess none of us thought she’d last more than a day.
Whenever we’ve shared a woman in the past, she’s not been able to keep up. It can be hard work satisfying the Monatello brothers.
When I get to the study, I’m surprised to find it open. Were Marco or Franco home?
As soon as I stride in, I see her. My heart beats a little faster. She’s sitting in one of the tall, red leather office chairs by the window.
Her dark hair is skillfully piled on top of her head, with a few loose strands in strategic positions. The light catches her eyes and accentuates them against her rather pale skin.
I’ve never noticed before how pale her skin is. And are those dark rings under her eyes?
As I study her a little closer, it occurs to me that her look is a little melancholic, as if something’s troubling her. Had something happened with Franco this morning?
If it has, he didn’t tell me. I make a mental note to ask him later today.
So as to not startle her, I clear my throat and come in.
Slowly, she turns toward me.
Whatever she was reading, she puts back on the desk.
Briefly, I wonder if there are any papers there not meant for the eyes of a stranger, but I dismiss the thought. We’ve got nothing to hide anymore. Gone are the days when the Monatello family kept two books, two sets of records, and a bucket load of cash in a safe.
Whatever she’s been reading would’ve been as boring as watching the grass grow.
Why she’s here and reading through our papers is beyond me, but I’m not going to question her about it. Maybe she was simply bored, and this is the first room she came inside.
“Hey,” I say once I’m halfway in the room.
She nods. “Hey.”
Her voice isn’t as vibrant and lively as I’ve heard it before.
“You okay?”
I notice the tiniest of hesitations. Then she nods.
“Fine,” she replies and leans back in her chair.
It tilts to forty-five degrees, and I forget what she asked as I catch a glimpse of the gap between her legs.
“God,” I croak after a while and shake my head.
Silence.
It seems as if the silence stretches on forever.
Eventually, I move forward and a little to the side.
“I just wanted to ask you something,” I start and put my hands in my pockets. It’s something I do when I’m a little nervous.
“Sure,” she shrugs, and her face has a nonchalant look about it.
“Will you let me paint you?”
There, I’ve said it.
For a while, her eyes are just staring at me. They’re looking right into my soul.
“Why?”
Her counter-question catches me off guard.
“Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I want to see if I can capture some of your beauty on canvass.”
I know it sounds corny, but it comes from the heart.
“I don’t know.”
Uncertainty oozes from her.
“Please?” It’s the only thing I know to add.
Mixed emotions cross her face.
“I guess, if you think so,” she replies eventually, and I just want to run over to her and kiss her.
“You ready now?”
36
Sofia
I may be a top-notch spy, but I do know a little bit about art. Emphasis
on little.
Okay, if I’m totally being one hundred percent honest with myself, I don’t fucking know anything at all. But the one thing I do know is your subject has to be outstanding.
So why does Antonio want to paint me?
There’s nothing extraordinary about me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m totally fucking ordinary. Definitely not outstanding.
But heck, if he wants to waste paint, who am I to stand in the way of his dream?
Alright, alright, now I’m getting carried away. He’s said nothing about it being his dream to paint me.
I don’t think I’ve been inside Antonio’s studio before. If I had, I would remember. First, because it’s on the third floor.
I didn’t even know the house had three floors.
There’s a skylight window to let in natural light. On the walls are more lights. I suppose an artist needs plenty of light, both natural and artificial.
Several easels with half-finished paintings are at the back of the room. I assume some of the works of art that are hung up are what he’s finished already. From what I can tell, they look pretty good.
Some of them seem to have a lot of red, as if he were angry when he painted them.
Perhaps I should take up painting when I finish this assignment. It may be a good way to unleash thoughts and feelings without anyone actually knowing what you want to express.
“If you want, you can take your clothes off and put them over the chair.”
I must have misheard his instructions. I could have sworn he said something about taking my clothes off.
Blankly, I stare at him. He doesn’t look at me but grabs a blank canvass and sets up his paints.
When he turns around, I’m standing exactly where I was when I walked in.
“What’s the matter, Sofia?” He walks toward me. “You’re not feeling well?”
My throat feels a little parched and my head a little sore, but otherwise, I’m fine.
“Erh, no, I’m fine. It’s just…” I stop mid-sentence.
“You haven’t taken your clothes off.”
He speaks gently to me and takes my hands. His eyes see right into my soul.
“But I thought…you said…painting…”
I’m totally fucking confused.
“I want to paint a nude of you.” He’s grinning at me.
“You…what?” The words are out before I can stop myself.
“A nude. I want to paint a nude of you.”
With a furrowed brow, I stare at him.
He has to be fucking joking! Draw me in the nude? Surely not.
“But…” I start and am lost for words again.
This isn’t like me. And I can’t understand why I’m suddenly so flustered.
I’m not a prude. Heck, all of these guys have not only seen me in the nude—they’ve fucked me, too.
And then it hits, like a car hitting a brick wall at full speed.
Fear.
I’m frightened of what he’ll see when I stand in front of him, totally fucking exposed.
He will see me for the fraud that I am.
It’s all fine and good to hide behind the term spy, telling myself and the world the lies I need, all to get information for the greater good—but deep down, I know better.
Where is the greater good in my current assignment? I mean, I’m here to dig up dirt on the Monatello brothers and bring them to justice. In the process, I’m lying all over the place.
So far, I’ve not found one lie they’ve told me—or anyone else for that matter.
They seem to personify total goodness.
Right now, I’m a worse person than they are. I’m here under false pretences. They’ve taken me in and are looking after me out of the goodness of their hearts—and because they like me.
Maybe like is an over statement.
Do they tolerate me? No, that doesn’t sound right, either.
Maybe they do like me.
Anyway, I, on the other hand, am here to bring them down.
“Are you cold?”
Antonio’s voice snaps me out of my navel-gazing. I shake my head.
He’s looking at me.
Once I take my clothes off, it will all be over, I know it will. Painters have a special kind of eye.
He’ll see me. He’ll see me for the fraud I am.
My hands shake a little as I first take off my top, then my bra, and last, but not least, my pants and slip.
Totally exposed and vulnerable, I stand before the master.
His eyes widen, and I brace myself for the exclamation of recognition. He will shout something about me being a terrible person before sending me away.
It was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Trouble is, I’ve got nothing for the senator, except one piece of paper. Hardly enough to bring down the Monatello Empire.
“Mama mia,” Antonio whispers and scurries away. “Don’t move, my darling. Just stay the way you are. It’s a perfect pose.”
His words wash over me, but I take no notice of them.
Okay, so he’s a little slow. But he’ll see me for what I am, and then it’ll be time to kiss this assignment good bye. The senator won’t pay, nor will there be a bonus.
It’ll have all been a fucking waste of time.
Worse, I’ve spent so much time building up walls around me—walls these blokes have managed to crumble—and now I’ve got to start again from the beginning.
Holy shit.
“Tilt your head a little to the left, Doña Sofia,” Antonio calls over to me, and I do as I’m told.
I still can’t believe he’s not seen me for what I truly am. I bet it won’t take long, though.
It won’t be long before the brothers give me my marching orders.
There’s only one thing to do.
Get off my ass and start looking for real dirt on the Monatello brothers.
37
Antonio
I’d been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw her. Finally, she’s before me—with a blank canvas waiting.
I’m most comfortable here, surrounded by my own paintings and those that inspire me. The light is good, but also soft. It tends to bring out details I’ve never seen, no matter the subject.
I have a problem today. The strokes won’t capture her.
Somehow, she looks different. Sad, perhaps.
Her gorgeous curves appear on the canvas bit by bit. Still, she remains completely…unexplained. We have talked, fucked, looked at paintings together—and now she is my subject, and still, I know nothing.
She remains a mystery.
There’s a look in her dark eyes I can’t define. After so much uninhibited sex, I can’t quite fathom it, but she seems shy—as if she’s retreating, frightened.
Part of me wants to keep painting. To deconstruct her like a still life.
Let her sit there full of woe and uncertainty as I take my time dabbing her misery on to my canvas. I feel it will help me learn about her.
But I can’t.
My cock is getting hard right now. So much so that I can’t focus on painting. This sudden change in her makes her even more desirable than before.
There’s a delicacy to her, a shy retreat that gives me the need to chase.
She’s leaning on the old lounge, the one I have just for this purpose. I put my palette and my brush down and move towards her.
She looks up, but even as she looks at my face, it’s like she’s not there. Her gaze is empty.
I run my hand across her side. Across her ribs, belly and hip. I don’t want to look at her face, not right now.
I slide my hand between her legs and start fingering her clit. She gasps but doesn’t move, not yet. I take my time, gently moving my fingers across it until she groans and parts her legs slightly.
Then I reach deeper, feeling how wet she is already. It’s almost like she’s trying to hide it.
This excites me further. My cock is so hard, I want to put it in her right now. I glance u
p at her face. Those big, dark eyes haven’t changed. She doesn’t speak.
As I look into her eyes, I force my fingers in a bit deeper, and her eyes close as her hips rock back.
So she’s reluctant to look into my eyes. She’s giving herself up to the sex, though. Right now, that’s all I care about.
I push her knees apart and fall upon her, pressing her legs away and reaching with my lips to get to her clit. I mouth it and lick it and feel her grab the back of my head.
Her mystery just makes her sexier. Her ability to fuck at any given time makes her irresistible.
I lick her deeply, moving right into her pussy and feeling her writhe beneath me. She presses my head down and moans, gasping as I kiss and lick.
Holding her knees, I sit back up. She has her eyes closed and her hands above her head. The couch is small, covered only in a white sheet, just long enough for her.
I push her legs apart, one hanging off the edge of the lounge, and watch her face as I tease at her entrance with my cock.
With any other woman, I wouldn’t restrain myself. I like teasing and being teased, but by now, I would usually be going for my own orgasm.
With Sofia, I want to see what she feels. I want to make her moan and see what makes her tick.
Slowly, I start to slide in.
She’s wet, but it’s not easy. Her eyes stay closed, hands over her head gripping the edge of the lounge. Her lips are pressed tightly together like she doesn’t want to scream.
Slowly, I push my way in, my cock so hard and thick I can see it stretching her. Looking at her face, I lick my thumb and gently start stroking her clit with my wet finger.
I want to see a reaction. I want to see the real Sofia.
Her eyes stay closed, and her pretty lips let out a light whimper as I tease her, both with fingers and cock. I’ve never had such self control, dragging myself out with incredible slowness, then pushing back in even more slowly.
I feel the muscles deep in her pussy twitching and gripping at me, hot and wet, and she screws up her face. She twists her hips from side to side, rocking…bucking...
Suddenly, she looks up at me. Right into my eyes. She grips my forearms with her hands, tight. I can feel her nails digging in. I’m struck still, locked by her gaze as she stares into my soul.