Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4)

by Avery Aster

  Was it because Luigi and Rocco were calling all the shots? After all, I’d given up control, and I hadn’t done that in ages.

  Hmm…no. Not really. Come to think of it, I kind of liked that they were taking such an initiative. It gave me a sense of peace.

  Is it the kink factor?

  Nope. I’ll try anything once. Well, except for American pizza. That’s just totally wrong.

  Squatting over the toilet, staring at my legs, I realized that when I’d gotten up that morning, I should’ve shaved them. Who knew I’d be abducted. I don’t feel sexy enough to be here doing this though.

  Maybe that was why Berlin was putting me so on edge. I’d been to Germany for various work assignments back in the day, like when I’d modeled for Escada. Those were much easier moments in my life. Once, I had fire in my spirit, courage. I was a woman who believed in myself as if my spine was made of titanium steel. On the inside, I used to be so strong. Nothing could take me down.

  I stood and opened the door, making my way to the acrylic sink. I glanced at myself in the oversized mirror.

  Dressed in a bra which cut into my skin in all the wrong places. Panties which rode my bum, somehow getting lost inside my crack, and a wristband on my left arm stamped 18+.

  That’s me. Eighteen plus infinity.

  The year I became an adult had been magical. I’d moved out of my parents’ house, attended college with Prince Massimo, and started modeling. Heavens, I was fearless. That was a lifetime ago.

  I’d noticed as I’d gotten older that some women’s confidence levels increased. Take my friend Lex Easton, for example. She’s pretty fabulous! But when I met her, she wasn’t so self-assured. The love of a good man, her fashion empire success, and birth of her babies had given her the will to move past her family’s demise.

  And then there’s me. I’d give anything to be that eighteen-year-old girl again who wasn’t afraid of the world. How did this happen?

  Oh. Right. Cancer. That was how. It took way more of me than just a piece of my body. It took my hypothetical steel spine, too.

  Dear Universe,

  If you’re listening…I want that back. You owe it to me, per favore and while we’re at it, grazie for watching over my boyfriends. I may not show it to them often, but I’m grateful to have them in my life. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it wasn’t for them.

  When their time comes, you’d better make sure you have their back, because they’ve certainly had mine.

  Can you believe they were faithful this entire time? Don’t men have urges? Don’t they stray? Wait. I guess in a poly relationship it’s a bit different, but still. I gave them permission. I told them to go off and have fun with other women, and they didn’t.

  Perhaps I’ve focused too much on what I’ve lost in all of this and not realized what I’ve gained.

  Luigi, Rocco, and my faith in love.

  Ciao for now.

  I glanced up at the poster on the bathroom wall. BDSM this and BDSM that was promoted all over the place.

  Was all this Circus Bazaar stuff really necessary? I wasn’t big on theatrics. Sure, I liked my lovers in multiples, but other than that, I wanted my sex plain and simple: under the covers, lights off, talk only if necessary, and I come first.

  Literally.

  I know. Silly me. I’d had sex with those two men for years, more than I could count. But I couldn’t figure out why that day it seemed as if I’d never really been with either one of them before. We hadn’t really had balls-to-the-wall crazy monkey sex since my diagnosis. Would the new me make love any differently? My vagina was the same. I still got horny.

  Overwhelmed, I had no idea they’d remained faithful during my treatments. That was a colossal deal. I’d been against monogamy for ages, and in a way, we already were very much exclusive. I thought about marrying them. Boy, do I have regrets for the way I handled their proposal. Ugh. I’m such a bitch. I hope I get a second chance to make this up to them.

  I owed Luigi and Rocco my life. I wanted to do this for them, and I needed to do it for myself, too. At least to see if I still had my mojo. If I don’t…well…I could always get a career designing military apparel for the Italian government.

  Haahhh.

  Leaning my face into the sink, I turned the faucet on and splashed water over my cheeks. Cold. Refreshing.

  You’d think for as popular as the club was there’d be a million women in there beautifying themselves. Then I realized our handbags and clothes were all at coat-check. Similar to the rest of the woman there, I didn’t have my Chanel fashions, Birkin bags, and sunglasses to hide behind. Just our bodies and ourselves. Truthfully, I preferred hiding behind things and people.

  My cellphone vibrated on my wrist.

  I dried my face on a nearby towel, pinched my cheeks for color, and looked at the phone.

  The screen read, Viveca Farnworth.

  WTF does she want? Last week that woman tried to bury me.

  Feeling the anxiety of the fashion show all over again, I took a deep breath, pushed the speaker button on, and greeted, “Ciao, bitch.”

  Sì. I’m a bitch, but Vive is a mega-bitch!

  FYI.

  She cackled. “Honey, it’s your favorite frenemy, calling from rehab. Listen, it’s morning here on Long Island, I just woke up, and saw you and your hawt lovers plastered all over the news.”

  “My darling, it’s nice to see the nuthouse lets you watch TV.” My tone was doused in sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. If she had been standing in front of me right then, I’d have decked her one.

  “Funny. It’s a rehab facility, not a funny farm. Although there are a few whackadoos here, if you know what I mean.”

  “Uh-huh.” I tried to humor her, but I wanted to scream.

  “Your sexual safari story has already gone global and from the itinerary the New York Times published, it’s just getting started.”

  “Don’t get too excited. Other than dancing, drinks, posing for the paparazzi, and a hand job, nothing much else has happened.”

  She sighed heavily into the phone. “Honey, for someone who is getting paid to travel throughout Europe with two pussy-wetting men, you certainly don’t sound too excited.”

  “Wanna trade places? I’ll gladly take your Long Island spa and you can be here in Europe getting tied up and fucked five ways from Friday.”

  She laughed.

  “Vive, why are you calling?”

  “Two reasons.”

  I braced myself. Honestly, I didn’t want to know what they were, but I had to be kind. Wasn’t that what frenemies did? So I replied, “And they are?”

  “I’d like to apologize for being so harsh with my editorial. I’m sorry.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “Funny you should ask. Today, I had a session with my therapist. He helped me come to the revelation that I may have taken some of what I’m going through in rehab out on my review of your fashion show and since Debauchery magazine is the number-one source of entertainment, I know the other articles slammed your show because I’d lit the match.”

  “You think you’re that powerful?” I rolled my eyes, realizing when it came to Vive’s fame and power the woman was a cross between Hillary Clinton and Lady Gaga.

  “Honey, I know I am. Four million people read every word I write weekly in print and online.”

  Leaning my hip against the sink, I turned to the mosaic tile wall and felt vindicated. I’ll accept her apology.

  “Grazie. I appreciate that, Vive. I do. But your vodka dry-out has nothing to do with how sucky my designs were.” At that point, it was me who was laughing.

  “Honey, its gin, thank you very much. Vodka has no flavor,” she corrected. “Regardless, I gotta hand it to ‘ya, girlie. The highlight of the Jemma Couture show was those guns. When they shot off and everyone hit the floor, I screamed at the top of my lungs. I haven’t had anything cray-cray like that happen to me since Lex, Taddy, Blake and I got thrown in juvie as kids.” />
  We laughed so hard my shoulders shook and I snorted.

  “What’s the second reason for your call?”

  “I need a quote from you for the article I’m getting ready to upload to my website.”

  “Give me the title…”

  “I’m calling it, ‘Sex, Fashion and Love: Jemma Couture’s Erotic Reinvention’.”

  “Bueno.” I liked the sound of that.

  “All I need for you to do is answer one question which is looming for my story and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Hesitating, I chewed on my lower lip for a second. “Okay…”

  “What’s it like to have two men who care about you so much that they’d go to the extreme of booking a sexual safari?”

  I paused for a second. I could either give the Brill, Inc. malarkey reply or the truth. I always spoke my mind, so I went with the latter. “Vive, the last few years may have been rocky for me and my latest collection was, as you so eloquently stated in your article, s-h-i-t, but today, right now…” Her nails struck a keyboard as I talked, making a loud clacking noise which was making it hard for me to focus, but I managed to continue. “I’m standing tall and feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have Luigi and Rocco at my side.”

  “Honey, luck has nothing to do with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The three of you are an unlikely trio. You’re what we call in New York ‘good people’. You deserve each other.”

  “Grazie.”

  “I hope you not only find romance on this trip, but love for yourself and for them again.”

  My eyes stung with tears. Did everyone know my relationship was in need of repair? I guess Death Star Galactica had made that all apparent. I swallowed back a cry and muttered, “Grazie.”

  “And thank you for accepting my apology,” she said.

  I cleared my throat and joked, “I’m sure your therapist will be happy to hear that, too.”

  “Hahaha. Indeed, he will.” She kept typing. “Have a great time. Text me pics, and let’s talk when you get to Moscow. I’d like an exclusive story on that leg of the trip. Something fun.”

  “Arrivederci,” I offered and hung up.

  I reached for the doorknob and held on to it for a second. I thought about my answer to Vive and my earlier prayer to God. I was the luckiest woman in the world, and I’d meant that. It’s about time I showed my boyfriend’s just how grateful I truly am. I’m blessed to have them in my life.

  The Scars on My Back

  “Naturally, I was curious, so I asked Rocco once what it was like to be in a poly relationship. He’d told me that when he, Jemma, and Luigi made love, he imagined they all three melted into each other as one. As if they were the only ones in the world who mattered. Rocco said something magnetic pulls them together and a sense of wonder happens. Desires are fulfilled. Needs are met, and afterwards, his soul doesn’t feel quite so empty. I’d remembered thinking when he’d told me that, how beautiful it must be for them and how fortunate they are to have found one another.” —Blake Morgan, Chelsea boy, Prada aficionado, and art collector of Miguel Santana paintings.

  Baring it All

  Jemma

  Ready for action

  Floor Four, Circus Bazaar

  I came out of the bathroom, making my way over to the area the pixie had roped off for us to the sound of Birdie Easton’s music. It was a lounge-like room with black satin pillows tossed about. The sofa, long and rectangular, was placed in the center. Or was it a bed? I couldn’t tell.

  A scent of vanilla bean came from the candles lit around the room. Rocco had been right, because the smell definitely soothed my nerves.

  My lips curved into a smile.

  Hanging from the ceiling on clear strings were tiny crystal prisms. The light show from the dance floor below reflected off them, scattering rays of bright purple and red against the three walls which gave us privacy. The refractions contrasted nicely against the dark shadows of the room, and it appeared as though we were in some far-off euphoric land. Not Germany. Not Europe. Just paradise.

  Birdie’s song sped up with a pulsating beat, and the music rocketed through me. Every fiber of my body came alive as she sang…

  “Unleash the beast inside.”

  Feeling a bit more confident, I rolled my shoulders back and stood tall.

  “Come to me,” a voice said in a demanding tone over the music. It sounded like Luigi.

  “Be the devil’s mistress.”

  Taking off my shoes, I hummed to the song’s verse. You had to hand it to Birdie, because her music was rather catchy.

  “Let your body get lost with mine.”

  The DJ echoed the last word so it played over and over again: “mine, mine, mine.”

  With his broad back against the wall, sitting amongst all those pillows, thick legs spread east to west, nuts full and hanging was my amore, Luigi.

  Unable to see his face, only his magnificent body, I could hear him grunting.

  “Get my dick nice and wet for our woman,” he demanded and then released a moan. “Bueno. Suck. Just like that.”

  His erotic sounds of approval and pleasure turned me on.

  In bed, Luigi was usually the verbal one. Rocco always had something in his mouth—either our lover’s cock was down his throat or he was sucking the cream from my clit—so he never seemed to say much. Luigi did all the talking for him.

  Funny, right?

  Especially considering outside of the bedroom Luigi was normally quiet, almost conservative in how he spoke. But in bed, he came alive.

  Total freaky-deaky.

  As I walked over to them, Rocco’s expressive, lust-filled eyes gazed up at me. Ravenous. Lips wide, going down, slowly tugging at the shaft as he came up, followed by a lick on the tip. He kept sucking our lover’s dick as I approached.

  Luigi’s left arm was slung over Rocco’s head while his right hand massaged the back of his neck.

  He always liked it when we put a concerted effort on his dick.

  What man didn’t?

  Those two could go at it for hours, milking each other. As if watching two unicorns playing in the wild, it was the most amazing thing to witness.

  “Come here,” Luigi instructed.

  I stepped closer. With a wicked grin, his face came into focus.

  Already on his knees, Rocco squatted beside me and stroked my leg. His very touch sent a prickle of excitement up my thigh.

  “Take off her panties, bello.”

  Before Rocco could pull them down, I looped my thumb and pointer finger under the thin elastic waistband. Arching my back, I held on to his shoulder to balance myself and started to remove the flesh-toned fabric.

  “No.” He snapped his fingers. “Rocco will undress you.”

  “And what are you going to do?” I asked playfully.

  “I’ll watch.”

  Grinning back at him, I put my hands behind my back as Rocco’s palm continued to caress my legs.

  “Sorprendente. So amazing.” Slowly, Rocco pulled the panties to my ankles. He lifted one of my legs up over his shoulder then carefully, utterly focused and with intention, he butterfly-kissed the inner part of my thigh then licked at my pussy.

  “Bello—”

  “Let me do as I please,” he grunted between my legs, dragging his wet tongue over my hot flesh.

  His kisses tickled me.

  His licks excited me.

  Causing me to spasm, I gripped onto his shoulders firmly as he inched closer between my legs.

  Air caught in my throat.

  “Breathe,” he instructed. “Just breathe.”

  I closed my eyes, leaning in to him, allowing all of my life’s tenses to fade.

  His tongue sunk between my folds.

  Snarling as if something wild, he buried his face—nose, tongue and all—deep inside me. I fisted his curly black hair between my knuckles, trying to do as he told me. I cried out, “Eat my pussy, bello.”

  He did.<
br />
  “Yes. God. Now, tongue-fuck me.”

  This was more intense than before. Earlier that night, Luigi had caught me so off-guard with that flick to my clit, I’d hit the ceiling. But this was slow, almost tantric, intimate, and from the looks on their faces they were going to drive me to new erotic heights of passion.

  “Enough. Bring her to me!” Luigi shouted as if he sat on some royal throne. In a way, I guess he did.

  Rocco got to his feet and with one fell swoop lifted me into his arms, causing me to feel a lightheaded rush.

  “I can walk, ‘ya know.”

  “Silenzio,” he shushed then lowered me onto Luigi’s lap.

  I straddled him cowgirl style, taking his cock between my two hands.

  Luigi’s arms came wide, pulling me into him. My breasts mashed against his chiseled chest. Like a rock, I always felt rather dainty when close to him. He pressed his lips up to mine. As we kissed, his hands, behind me, unfastened my bra then palmed my ass, buffing the skin. He always did that right before he—

  Whack!

  Spanked me.

  Rocco squatted behind me and tossed my bra to the floor. A dusting of his chest hair prickled my skin as we touched, sending a ripple of excitement to my core.

  “Since we’ve never gone bare before, I thought tonight we’d…” He stared at my breasts for a minute before saying, “make love. Get on my dick, dolce.”

  On my knees, I spread my legs apart while Rocco reached for Luigi’s shaft and I leaned into him, taking him. A sense of fullness washed over me as a tingle started on the crown of my scalp. My breath hitched as I whispered in his ear, “Amore, you feel bueno.”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve been inside you.” His chest rose up as he put both of his hands behind his head. “Let us savor this moment.”

  “Fuck me, you fool,” I sassed.

  He shook his head playfully from side to side and replied, “No.”

  I pulled myself up and then back down, riding him for a minute. The wetness between us increased, and a slapping noise started as I squatted up then down. Up. Down. Up. Down.