by KT Morrison
Contents
1
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5
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Other Books by KT Morrison
1
The Resort e San Piero was not quite what Kate had expected. When they’d travelled through Scarperia e San Piero she was taken with its charm. They were in Tuscany, Florence really, the Mugello Valley. The drive had been beautiful and she’d wished she was in better spirits to receive it. Nonetheless driving through that ancient Medieval village on this stunning summer day in a little sports car with her handsome lover had given her a real thrill. The resort wasn’t terrible, it was just a little small to be considered what she would call a resort. It was really just four great houses all built in a circle around a garden and possibly a pool there somewhere too. The houses were fairly faceless blocks of white stucco under terra cotta tile roofs. The grounds were well-maintained but when she’d gone with Omar to check in, the lobby was very small, a buffet and some dining tables and a big blue recycling bin were adjacent. The place was quiet, not even staff bustled about.
One of the houses was just for the team, the other house was probably a different race team, and the third and fourth houses held individual rooms where Omar had booked one separate from the team for Kate and him. They walked together back into the sunshine as she saw the other vehicles catch up to them coming up the gravel drive and stopping in the lane-way rather than in the parking area.
“The weather is so perfect,” Omar said, “I hope it’s like this on race day.”
Omar got ahead of her and went and stood at the door of one of the trucks. He passed keys around for all the guys, and they were going on in French. Kate went and leaned against the car again and watched them all.
One of them, Mohammed she was pretty sure, was unloading bags, the guys’ luggage she figured, mostly cheap gym bag looking things, no one here probably owned a suitcase. Omar slapped the door and walked back to her and the truck pulled around and went back down the drive. The other one followed as well and she watched the trailer with the black racer on board dip down the hill, the sun winking off the spoiler, and then it was gone.
“They’ve gone to put the gear at the track, and they’re going to start getting set up,” he said. “Let’s get ourselves into the room.” He grabbed the bags from the trunk of the M3 and he caught up with the guys that had stayed back to bring in the luggage. They parted ways in the garden the guys from the crew turning right to the residence they’d rented while Kate and Omar turned left and headed to the home that had their room. They went in and down a narrow hall and their room was the first one on the right. Omar unlocked the door and held it open for her and she went in. The suite was nice. It had a high ceiling that angled down to the window. The walls were painted in strange modern geometric designs in primary colours, and the ceiling was a dark stained wood. All the accents were kind of medieval looking, heavy wood furniture, curtain rods and accessories were all black iron with fleur-de-lis finials. The floor had heavy rugs over a terra cotta tile floor. They walked through and checked the place out, Kate opening the window over the bed to let some of that fresh summer air in. The kitchenette was all right, made better by a quaint fireplace set in the corner, but the bathroom was very small. Just a shower stall, no tub at all, but there was a bidet next to the toilet.
Omar put the bags next to the dresser in the sleeping area by the bed.
“Did you want to get cleaned up before we go?”
“Go where?” she asked.
“To the track. We have to set up the car, unpack all the gear.”
“Oh,” Kate said. She watched him go in the bathroom, heard him peeing in there. She didn’t want to go to the track. She thought that the less time she spent with him right now the better it would be for the sake of the team. Omar should know that, should appreciate the fact that she recognized it and was wanting to give him his space.
When he came out she told him, “I don’t think I should go, do you?”
“Why not?” he said, coming to her, putting his arms on her shoulders.
“I think the team might like to have your...undivided attention tonight.”
He didn’t say anything, kept his hands on her shoulders and she watched his face while he thought about it.
“I want you there,” he said.
“I’ll go sit by the pool. Do what you need to do, and I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back. You can take me out, we’ll go have some fun, yeah.”
“You okay?” he asked her. He put his arms around her, slid them down her back, let them sit at her waist.
She looked in his eyes and nodded.
He wanted a better answer, wanted her to give herself over to him, but frankly she still wasn’t very happy about what he’d done. She was okay, but he needed to let her know he was sorry. She was pretty sure he blamed her for the spat.
He kissed her forehead, said he’d be back in four or five hours. He grabbed his things, turned and left the room, off to join up with his crew.
Kate sat down at the edge of the bed. She thought he would have stayed a bit, maybe they could have finished what she’d started in the car. She wondered why he wouldn’t want to get himself finished off after she’d had him so close to coming. He had a beautiful young voluptuous woman here who was looking to get him off and he ran away to be with his friends and a car.
*
Kate put the bag they’d packed up on the bed and looked through it. This place had a pool somewhere out back and she wasn’t going to miss this beautiful day puttering around this tiny suite. She found the cheap swimsuit they’d bought at an Intermarche in Frontignan. A swimsuit at a supermarket. She pulled the tags off it and got herself undressed. She took it in to the bathroom with her and changed her tampon and then put the suit on. It was a two-piece and it wasn’t the best fit, the bottoms were all right but the top had a little trouble covering her up. She worked with it, getting the underwire as low as it would go without revealing the dark of her aureolas. She got it to where she thought she looked presentable and grabbed a towel from the white wooden rack above the bidet.
She remembered seeing magazines and some books or something in the kitchenette out by the fireplace and she went to find something to bring out to the pool with her. There were flyers, and narrow cards with attractions for tourists, there were a few books there as well, paperbacks someone may have left before lined up on a narrow little bookshelf set into the wall between the fireplace and a window that looked out onto a garden. She stood a moment going through the things looking for something that might keep her attention for an hour or two. There was a tall card in between two books that she pulled out when she slid the book, interested in the name on the spine. The card had a picture of a sort of castle on the front. It said Villa del Trebbio—Wine Tasting. She flipped it over and there was a blurb on the history, the Medici family. She put the card down quickly. That was Mitch’s thing. If they were here this is what they would do. They would go there, have a fine dinner, do their wine-tasting, Mitch would probably tell her all about this Medici family. She felt a dread come across her, felt like she had broke out in a sweat but she touched a hand to her forehead as she made her way to the door and she was dry as a bone. She felt better in the sunlight. She hadn’t brought any sandals or flip-flops and she had just slipped her feet into the canvas sneakers she’d been wearing all day. She walked the stone path through the garden with her laces dragging, looked at the book she had brought, it was whatever she was holding when she had to get the hell out of there. Fucking Davinci Code. She’d already read it. But it was somehow fitting for the locale. A previous guest must have had the same notion and brought it with them.
She passed under a small arbour and came o
ut to the pool area. You must be joking, she thought. It was a regular pool, with a concrete deck set in a lawn. She’d known a kid in the Council who had a pool like this. Same size and everything. She smiled and shook her head. At least there was no one there. She sat herself in a metal lounger on the deck and put her things down next to her. She looked around her, at the empty chairs, the well-manicured but quiet grounds. This was such a strange place.
God, this was all she had to do. All she could do. She didn’t have a car, she didn’t have money, she was stranded here. The sun felt nice on her though so she lay back in the chair, put her feet up and thought about having a nice nap out here. Her insides weren’t feeling so great from her period, and the heat baking her seemed to ease it.
She didn’t bring any sunscreen but it was getting later in the day, she’d probably be fine without it, she didn’t usually burn. She lay for a while getting sleepy until she heard some voices. Male voices from the stucco block across from the one where she knew Omar’s crew had rented. Deep voices, Italian, some laughter, breaking through the silence of the garden. Bottles clinking, then windows being opened, voices louder.
Then there they were, like flies on shit, faces at the windows, two men leaning by the sliding glass door, all watching her. She could hear them, their tone, talking about her, dirty things most likely, laughing. She felt very unsafe. These men were like Omar’s crew, ones she wouldn’t want to be left alone with. Her bikini felt even smaller than it was, felt like she was far too exposed. She sat up and gathered her things, slipped her feet into the sneakers. She got up and headed through the garden. Heard one of them bold enough to give her a whistle, his mate laughing for him, encouraging him.
In the room, she closed the door behind her and locked it, threw the book and the towel down on a chair. She sat on the edge of the bed and turned the small TV set on. Flicking through with the remote everything she found was in Italian and she clicked it off. There was nothing to do but wait for Omar to come back. She got herself into the middle of the queen size bed, brought her knees up and tried to fall asleep.
*
Omar watched Kate across the club, standing at the bar, lit up in flashes by the pulsing white strobe lights. Her perfect face, her white teeth winking in the intense light as she flirted with his driver, Prospero. The two of them were shoulder to shoulder at the busy bar and they took turns with each other, whispering into an ear, the other one laughing, throwing their heads back; forced into that intimacy by the deafening dance music. He watched Prospero’s hands touch her arm while they talked, how he would lean in and entertain her with some thought and she would smile for him, bat those long, sexy lashes for him. She was wearing a black T-shirt, the neck scooped low, and a short black skirt that he'd bought her in Frontignan. She had showered and preened and she looked stunning even in her simple cotton outfit. Prospero was into her, he could tell, that little Spaniard would fuck her behind his back if he wasn't careful.
He watched Prospero with her, wearing his tight jeans and his nice suit jacket, flashing that expensive watch. Prospero had rich parents. He played with his hair a lot as he talked, shaking his long glossy locks out like a girl. Kate was enjoying him, he could see that twinkle in her eye.
How could Mitch ever stand this? Knowing how she fucks, how she loves it, how she takes it and gives it; how could you let her be with another man? How could you stand to even think of her doing those intimate things she did with you to another man? Allow her to enjoy another man's penis inside her, to take one in her anus, enjoy the taste of him coming in her mouth. How could Mitch stand knowing he wasn't enough for her? Even when you thought you had everything she needed, she still wasn't sated. What would it take to satisfy this woman?
Herve was trying to say something but Omar waved him off. Six of the crew had taken up this booth, they’d been here for hours now, the evening had started out so fun. He drained his glass, tipped it back and felt the ice cubes stinging on his lip. He looked for the server, couldn't see her anywhere again. At nine euros for a vodka and soda he was surprised this place didn't have better staff, ones who wouldn't let you sit too long with an empty hand.
He shook his head. The money from Mitch had run out. He put it all in the car, into gear, and now the last of it was spent on this race. There was so much riding on its outcome. He had to meet the right people here or he would be in trouble. The shop was doing better but they'd built that new bay, and what with the new hires his accountant had told him that he was surprisingly less profitable than he was last quarter, even two quarters ago. He had to make an impression this weekend.
Prospero took Kate by the hand and he led her out to the dance floor. She really was perfect. Petite, full figured; he watched her dance with his driver, her hands over her head, the bounce of her chest. His stomach went into a knot watching her. She was having a great time without him. Not a care in the world. Turning her back to Prospero now, pushing that plump bottom out to him, letting him push his hips into her. She could probably feel his cock against her flesh. He had to be hard. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Prospero had his hands on her, running them down her sides as he pushed himself into her rump. Kate was watching her Spaniard over her shoulder. Not at her sexiest, she had said in the car this morning. Really, Kate? She should see herself from where he was sitting.
What had she got up to while he was away at the track this evening? She complained when he got back to the resort about some men who'd been watching her at the pool. She went out there and lay in the sun with that body of hers covered with a small bikini, surprised she attracted interest. She loved it, he was sure. Loved the attention. Did she lie to him? Could she have fucked one of them? Fucked him because she was bored, because Omar had to leave her alone while he went to work. Did she fuck all of them? He could see her on the lounger, her bikini pulled off, writhing in a shower of their come, as they stood over her stroking themselves. He slammed his glass down on the table, made Mohamed jump.
“Where the fuck is that server,” he hissed, looking around and over his shoulders.
Then Kate was next to him, squeezing into the booth. He felt her hot and sweaty next to him, worked herself up with another man.
“Having a good time out there?” he asked her.
She smiled at him, didn't answer. He saw her eyes regard him, she had measured his jealousy. And just like that he felt her take control. Now she was the one in charge. He felt small and weak and that he’d disappointed her.
She looked away, back at the dance floor and that made him mad. He grabbed her wrist firmly.
“Hey,” he yelled to her over the music. She didn't look over and he could feel her pulling her arm from his grip.
“I'm talking to you.” The others were watching him now. He was going to ask her where her boyfriend was but the waitress appeared. She looked at Kate, then down at her wrist where he held her tightly. He let her go. Threw his hands up in the air, said to the server, “Oh, where the fuck have you been?”
Kate got up and left the table, he watched her little figure pass over the dance floor, get swallowed up by the throng.
*
Omar was drunk. She'd never seen him drunk before. She didn't know where she was going but she knew that she had to be out of there. Away from that awful energy.
The dance floor was wild, vibrating with the sheer number of people bouncing on the floor. She squeezed her way through, pushing past hot bodies and groping hands. There had to be two hundred people out there all having a good time, getting lost in that thundering bass. The foyer was crowded too, no bouncers here tonight, just an open door, people coming and going as they pleased, some leaving with their drinks in their hand. The streets of Florence were filled with people tonight. A festival had the streets closed off and the tiny neighbourhood they were in was one packed party, everyone enjoying themselves.
She stopped at the open doors standing on the teeming sidewalk unsure of what she should do next. A cigarette
seemed like the best idea right now and she went up to two young guys smoking and talking to each other a mile a minute.
“Hey,” she said. She smiled at them and she put her fingers in a V up to her lips acting like she was smoking. “Please,” she said giving them a pleasant, pleading face. She got her cigarette, a race between the two who could get her one first. Second place got his lighter out and he held a flame for her and she got it going after a few puffs. She thanked him and they both were gracious, pleading with her in Italian, waving her back to stay. She walked from them backwards giving them a big thankful smile. She said, “I don't speak Italian,” and she shrugged for them then disappeared into the people on the street.
The festival was loud, people were celebrating something in particular but she couldn't read the banners that were strung across the street. A lot of people were spinning sparklers in their hands and firecrackers were going off. Earlier when they had arrived at the club the sky above the medieval village was lit up with a beautiful fireworks display, bright sparks setting off and colourful trails sizzling down through the night.
There was a parade headed her way, she could see it coming, pushing the crowd apart on this narrow ancient street. Up front were four men out front of a carriage holding beams that supported it across their shoulders. They were dressed like squires or something else from the Middle Ages, tights and skirts and a tunic, and blue and grey squares with a fleur-de-lis embroidered on their chests. There was a papier-mâché figure seated in the elaborate gilded gold litter, dressed in ancient garb, holding one hand up, maybe in greeting, maybe in prayer. Perhaps a Saint, or one of those Medicis. She got up on the curb and watched it pass, ducking under streamers held out by young girls, the streamers attached to the roof of the shoulder carriage. More firecrackers went off and there were more people coming behind the litter, musicians who were part of the procession.