by Marlene Hill
“Why are you standing in cold water? What happened to the hot?”
“Did I wake you?” he said, shutting the water off.
She noticed his cock and guessed the problem. Dropping the shirt and stepping inside, she took his cold penis in her hand. “Does this want my attention?”
“It’s in dire need and may never come to life again.”
“Hmm. Maybe we can resurrect it, but let’s get you warm first.” She switched the handle to hot. They soaped each other, played awhile and when he showed excellent signs of recovery, she gently grasped his cock and led him toward the bedroom. He stumbled after her, laughter bubbling up in his chest.
She turned to him. “Do you have any of that special oil left?”
“I do. You like?”
“Oh yes. My turn, though.”
“I’m ready.”
Chuck enjoyed her efforts at massage. When she asked him to turn on his back for a thorough oiling, as he did so, he whispered, “Climb on.” He lifted her onto his erection, and inch by inch, she began a slow descent, adding quirky little circular motions.
“Oh - my - God,” he said.
“Goddess. Remember to whom you’re speaking.”
“You imp.” He rolled her onto her back. “Now you’re going to get it.”
“Promise?”
He thrust and retreated slowly. Penetrated and withdrew, then thrust again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and shuddered. He sensed her body being claimed by wave after wave of ecstasy. In a ragged breath, she called his name. He had meant to wait until the last pulses of her orgasm faded, but that wasn’t going to happen. He plunged once more, and a hoarse cry tore from his throat. Then a hot rush of golden pleasure coursed through every vein in his body lasting for what seemed an eternity of bliss. They both fell asleep.
Later, however, she woke to him groaning, twisting and flailing. She rolled off the bed and slipped around to the other side watching his suffering in the dim light slanting through the blinds. When he calmed somewhat, Giulia crawled on top of him stretching out full-length. She put her face in the hollow of his sweaty neck and crooned softly, not wanting to wake him abruptly. He groaned once or twice more, then taking her with him, he rolled onto his side, curved around her, sighed and slept.
* * *
When they woke, the grey light in the sky had faded into night. She didn’t mention his earlier distress.
“Hey there,” Chuck said raising up on an elbow to look at her. “Was that your stomach or mine?”
“Mine for sure,” she said. “What time is it?”
“It’s only eight fifteen. Do you want to try an osteria not far from Fondamenta del Vin?”
“Del Vin? Hmm. Is that near the Rialto where they string colored lights over café tables for tourists?”
“Yes. Osteria al Diavolo e L’Aquasanta is down Calle Madonna, one of those narrow paths going off the Del Vin quay. Ever been?” He wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger and watched the silky curl slide away.
“Never. Intriguing name, The Devil and Holy Water.”
He nodded. They don’t take reservations. People are willing to line up in all weather for a table. This is one place,” he snorted softly, “where even The Marc can’t get in without waiting.”
“The Marc? Do you call him that to his face?”
“Of course.”
“What does he call you?”
“Can’t say.”
“Hmm. You do know you’ve thrown down a gauntlet?”
“I’m not worried. He’ll never reveal what he calls me—on pain of death.”
“You’ve got something worse on him?”
“Something like that.”
She laughed. “Is Diavolo outside like those tables on Del Vin? Shall I wear heavy layers and warm socks and boots or do I need to freeze my feet in more stylish shoes?”
“Neither. Diavolo is small and cozy, but we may have to wait outside a few minutes so do dress warmly. The temp’s supposed to drop tonight, and I don’t want to be attacked by someone’s icy feet later.” I sound like an old married man. Then it struck him. Married to Giulia might not be such a bad idea. Wait a sec. Is this the same guy who swore he’d never commit again?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday before the storm, Oliver lucked out when Novak walked past his table in the coffee bar. He spoke softly into his phone but Oliver’s hearing was acute. ‘All set, love? I’ll meet you at the station. We’ll start your search this afternoon.’
“All set, love?” he mimicked. The big oaf had to be cooing to Cavinato. What was she searching for? No matter, she’d be away—probably with him somewhere in Venice, maybe for the whole weekend. It’ll be easy to find out if she misses her classes tomorrow. If so, I’ll slip into her place Friday or Saturday night. Easy peasy. I can hardly wait.
* * *
Late Friday night, with wind as a cover, Oliver saw the perfect opportunity to break into Cavinato’s apartment. All classes had been cancelled and he counted on the storm to keep her in Venice. The rain drove across his field of vision, but he parked his dark Mercedes in the usual space, a half block away.
He wrapped a scarf around his neck, stuffed a pair of thin rubber gloves in a pocket of his dark trench coat and reached for his wide-brimmed rain hat. He was all set when lightning flashed, and he saw two men creep up her stairs. When the thunderclap followed, they broke the glass door and lights went on. Stupid jerks. After about twenty minutes, the lights went out, and the thugs ran down disappearing into the night.
Another downpour dumped a flood of water, but Oliver pulled the collar of his raincoat up and tied the hat’s string under his chin. With no one around, the rain created a perfect screen as he lumbered up the steps into a trashed apartment. He didn’t turn on lights but used his large flashlight, heavy enough for a weapon. What in the devil were they looking for? Cushions ripped and drawers dumped? What is that cunt into?
He went looking for her bedroom where his interest lay. Her top lingerie drawer wasn’t upended but had been pawed through. It bothered him that those ignorant brutes had touched her delicates. He lifted a handful to his nose and inhaled. Jasmine! He always ordered jasmine tea when he visited Signora Sylvia’s establishment.
He craved matching sets and found two tasty ones: pale blue trimmed in lace and pristine white, entirely lace! He placed them gently in a plastic bag and stuffed it into the deepest pocket of his coat. He dipped into a rainbow of panties in the second drawer and couldn’t wait another minute. Snatching up a pair of bright red ones, he tore off the gloves—had to feel the silk—and threw himself across her bed, unzipped and slowly masturbated into them.
He couldn’t leave his own precious essence behind. He ripped them into three scraps of lace and stepped onto the balcony. “Let the rain wash these pretties,” he howled into the thunderous night and tossed them over the side.
Back in her bathroom, he grabbed cosmetics and dumped them into the shower stall. Some broke and dribbled out their contents. He giggled while squeezing the toothpaste tube out on top of the mess then decided to leave a choice word for her on the mirror. He found a dark-red lipstick. She’ll understand that. She, the Italian expert.
After that bit of fury, he calmed down, pocketed the lipstick and put his gloves back on. Back in the living room, her books had been shoved around by those cretins. A few lay on the floor. Poetry books and a big one about Shakespeare. She’d written side notes in that one. Now she’s a Shakespeare expert. In another rage he began ripping its pages when an ingenious idea struck. He carried the tome to the shower stall, turned the water on and threw page after page into the mess already there.
Back in the living room again, he snatched up a small book of poetry called Strong Is Your Hold. Oh yea, missy, I want your strong hold on my rod. He read the poet’s name, Galway Kinnel. Who the hell was that? No doubt someone she admired. He shoved it in another pocket. Maybe they’d read it together. But then he recalled her hiss wh
en he touched her arm. She’d tell him he wouldn’t understand. He’d been so gentle with her that day, he’d only taken her arm to calm her. Talk some sense into her. They could have been friends. Buddies. But she had overreacted and drove her knee into his privates. It was all her fault. She had to be punished.
Oliver marched back to her bedroom, looking, looking until he found another pair of untorn panties. Bright blue, like one of her eyes. He sniffed, sighed and reached for his zipper, but changed his mind. Time to leave. He’d save the bright blue for later. Rain still pounded against her window. He had his trophies, and the storm covered his escape. It had been an excellent night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the way to the Diavolo restaurant, Giulia reminded Chuck of her coming appointment with Oliver only three days away. “Are things ready?” she asked. “I want to catch him and be done with it.”
He stopped, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You sure about this? We can keep wearing him down with our guard service.”
“It’d be marvelous if he went to another post, but, Chuck, a creature like that won’t stop preying on women no matter where he is.”
“Something is not right about him, about the whole thing. I’ve been thinking about the break-in. The underwear—some ripped, some taken—fits Oliver. But… but what about the other destruction?”
“The thought of him fondling my underwear is beyond creepy. Nancy reminded me that sleazebags enjoy messing with women’s underthings. But would Botteri’s thugs—or random vandals—bother with class notes or my Shakespeare book? It could be Oliver’s way to get back at me for kicking him.”
“Yeah. That’s true.” Chuck said, “I’d like to sneak into his office and find out what he keeps in there. Better yet, into his house on Viale Camisano.”
“That’s dangerous thinking, Chuck. If you got caught, you’d be in a lot of trouble with all kinds of authorities.”
He looked at her with a grin that said getting caught was not an option. And arm in arm they continued toward the restaurant.
“Micina? I need to ask one more time. Do you still want to keep that appointment on Friday?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay then, here’s what we’ve got. The lock doesn’t work from the inside even though it sounds as if it does. As far as I know, he hasn’t noticed. He did notice the jimmied door that doesn’t always close all the way. It seems the maintenance people are too busy to come adjust it. He’ll drive them crazy, but they’ll still be too busy.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m not seriously afraid of him, but I like all the precautions you’re taking.”
“You can still back out.”
“No.” She shook her head in one firm jerk to the side.
The calle had become extra narrow, and Chuck turned himself and Giulia flat against the wall to let people coming toward them pass by.
“I’ll be wearing a listening device that has voice-activated recording ability,” he said. “It won’t be admissible in court but I have a hunch it’ll be powerful way to convince skeptical officers on the base. More important, though, is I’ll know what’s going on while you’re in there. Do not hesitate for one second to scream or scram out of there. Devices can always malfunction.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. The rain had stopped and fog drifted back into the city. As they turned into the shadowy Calle Madonna, golden halos formed around overhead streetlights spaced along the way. Here, the upper floors of the buildings were very close together. Each light hung from a rod going from one upper extension of a building on one side to another on the opposite side of the calle. Although she knew they must be secured with bolts, to Giulia they looked as if the rods holding the lights had been wedged against each wall like the chin-up bars her brothers used in their bedroom doorway at home.
Throughout the city, calles were lit by lights that pierced the darkness every twenty to thirty feet. It had been this way for centuries, first with torches, then gas and now electricity. Giulia had read that the Council of the Republic believed in the adage that most crime happens in dark places. She agreed with the old leaders and always found those circles of light comforting.
The glistening walkway reflected the soft lights from above, and as they neared their destination, the wet paving stones seemed to emit an orange glow of their own. The mystical illusion came from the flickering neon flame-colored symbol of the devil’s fire that “raged” above the osteria’s doorway.
“Many upscale restaurants in Italy use the old-fashioned term ‘osteria.’” Giulia said. “What did osteria originally mean, do you know?”
“It meant a rustic place where wine and snacks were served. But now the term has a bit of cachet, and restaurants use it to get away with higher prices.”
“But I saw a simple osteria over on Larga Gallina.”
“I know the one. It’s good, maybe the only authentic osteria in town.”
Outside Diavolo’s door, a few people stood along the walls or sat on benches beneath the neon fire waiting their turn. It didn’t take long before Chuck and Giulia were seated and had ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the vineyards north of Venice.
Giulia looked at the menu. “I want to try the Bigoli in Salsa. I keep hearing how delicious it is but never ordered it in all the times I’ve been in Venice.”
“It’s a Venetian specialty for sure, and I can recommend it here. Do you like anchovies?”
“Uhm, in moderation. Is that what’s in the famous sauce?” she asked. “Bigoli are those large, thick noodles, right?”
“Right. The anchovies are in an onion sauce. This Pinot ought to be dry enough to go well with the saltiness of the sauce. Maybe the onions absorb the salt because Babička always said to add extra salt when using onions. I’m skipping the pasta because I want the large appetizer plate Frutti di Mare, with paté of cod, and—”
Giulia wrinkled her nose.
“Don’t knock it until you try it.” He gently pinched the end of her nose.
“We’ll see,” she said. “What other delicacies from the sea will be on your plate?”
“Can’t remember it all. Marinated octopus, for sure, and maybe pickled sardines. You might find a tidbit you’ll want to sample. What’s your entrée choice?” he asked.
“The pasta and then a mixed salad will be plenty, but maybe I’ll decide on something later. Is that allowed at Diavolo’s?”
“Of course. It’s allowed anywhere. But Italian waiters like to get people to order everything first while they’re ravenous.”
“I suspected as much.”
After she gave her order, he said, “Instead of an entrée, I’m going to order another appetizer. The musetto sausage. I’m sure you’ll want a taste of that. It’s a rich pork sausage spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, a touch of chili pepper, and . . .” he turned to the waiter and asked, “and coriander?” The waiter nodded. Chuck told him they’d decide later on other orders.
Here comes our wine and bread. Just in time. I’m starved.”
After their wine was sampled and poured and the waiter gone, Chuck leaned across the table and said, “That’s what spending time in bed with you does for my appetite.”
She blushed, and for a crazy reason, he wanted her even more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In “her” room in Chuck’s apartment, Giulia was using the top of a large dresser to organize papers for tomorrow’s class. She sensed Chuck’s presence a moment before he slipped his arms around her using his nose to push her hair aside and nuzzle the back of her neck. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Hmm?” She turned to lay her head against his chest and threw her arms around his waist.
“That, too.” He pulled her closer. “But first I have a proposition for you.”
She leaned back, looked up to his serious blue-grey eyes and waited.
“Tomorrow night, I’m going into Ogle’s office and maybe his house if the timing works out.”
He continued. “Doubt if I’ll find rings or jewelry. He’d want more intimate things. Are you missing any sexy scraps of lace?”
“Most of my lingerie was ruined, but come to think of it, the blue bra you liked so well is missing.”
“Not the blue one!” he shrieked.
She laughed and this time it was a full-from-the-bottom-of-the-toes laugh. He laughed, too and rocked her back and forth. Then, with a soft nudge to her chin, he tipped her face to his, meeting her eyes.
“It would be easier to stay at the studio apartment because I can’t go into Ogle’s office until people have left the building. There’s a dinner meeting in town that I think he’ll attend. If so, after his office, I hope to go on to his home. Otherwise, I might have to wait until Thursday, or later, to do his house, but I am checking his office tomorrow night.”
“You’re determined aren’t you?”
“Yes. I want to know just how sick this bastard is. If he does have your missing underwear, my guess is he’ll have other women’s, too. If so, I’ll have more confidence about pushing for search warrants. Want to stay with me?”
“I can’t talk you out of this?”
“Nope.”
“Of course I’ll stay.”
“Good. If I manage to get in and out of both places, we could drive back here late tomorrow night, but it makes sense—”
“We should stay both nights,” she said. “I can be a lookout for you.”
Her voice sounded breathy with excitement.
“Giulia, no. Please understand. Not that you couldn’t help, but I know me. If you were along, I’d be distracted. My hope is to get in and out fast and take as many pictures as I can with my mini camera. I want you waiting at my studio apartment. That way, I can show you whatever I find immediately. Hell, I want you there anyway,” he said with a dimple-deep smile.