‘That’s a shame. It could have made a real difference to your time at school.’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me, though, I just never enjoyed learning at school.’
I give him an acquiescing smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest there was anything wrong with you.’ My face is hot with dismay at having offended him. ‘Anyway, you’ve clearly found a great outlet for all that energy you have.’
This seems to break the tension and he raises his eyebrows and gives me a provocative smile. ‘Yes, fucking is a great way to expend some energy.’
‘I was actually talking about your sculpting,’ I correct him with a self-conscious grin. ‘You know, I’d love to see some of it sometime.’
He assesses me for a moment, as if trying to decide something. Such as whether I’m serious, or just saying that to be nice.
‘Really. I’d genuinely like to see it,’ I say.
After another moment’s hesitation, where I’m sure he’s going to refuse, he finally gives me a nod.
‘Okay. I have some of them here.’ He still looks a bit unsure, though.
‘They’re here? In the apartment?’
‘Sì. I keep some of my work here. Maria lets me use one of her spare rooms as a studio.’
‘Okay, great,’ I say, jumping off my stool. ‘Then let me see it.’
Sandro
My hands shake a little as I unlock the door to the room at the back of the apartment that I use as a temporary studio when I need to get the hell out of London and find some peace.
I usher her inside. I’ve not shown my sculptures to anyone but Maria and I’m nervous about how Juno’s going to react. I have a nagging desire for her to like them. To think I have talent. It matters to me that she does. Especially after the conversation we just had about my struggles with learning. Her implication that it could be down to more than a lack of smarts needles at my mind. But I can’t think about that right now. I’ll give it some brain space later, when I’m alone. As much as I’d like it to be true, I’m afraid that it’ll turn out not to be the case and I’ll end up looking like an idiot for even suggesting it to anyone else.
The room my studio’s in is small compared to the rest of the apartment but there’s enough space for a work bench, which is pushed up against the wall, and for five of my sculptures, which sit on the floor so you can walk around them.
Three are of abstract shapes that change as you move round them, as if they flow into themselves like waves. One starts out as a bunch of different-sized curvy fronds at the head of the sculpture, like reeds in a pond, and becomes the body of a woman lying on her back as you move round to view the side of it. Another is a collection of arms reaching towards the sky as if waving at the sun, which then becomes a gnarly-looking oak tree as you walk around it. The majority of the things I make are made from interesting bits of wood I’ve found on beaches or in forests and then whittled or carved to make the shapes I need. Others are built from bits of scrap material and wire.
‘You have to walk around them,’ I say, bending down to turn on the floor lamps so she can see how the light transforms them.
She nods and begins to circle them, peering intently at each one as she does so. I can’t read the expression on her face and the nerves jumping in my stomach make me queasy.
After she’s studied every single one, she finally looks at me. To my relief she gives me a huge smile, her face lighting up with pleasure. ‘Oh, Sandro, these are beautiful. You have to get them shown in a gallery. People will go wild for them.’ Tears glint in her eyes and she blinks them back, seemingly embarrassed by her visceral reaction.
I love it, though, more than I can express. It’s exactly the type of response I’d hoped for and it means a hell of a lot to me, coming from her.
Truth be told, I’m terrified to show them to anyone in the art trade for fear of being laughed out of the building for how amateurish they are. ‘It’s not easy. As I said before, there’s a lot of competition, and you need good business skills as well as artistic talent to sell your work.’
‘You know, I could help you with that,’ she says, her expression deadly serious. ‘If you’d like me to?’ She peers at me from behind her fringe. ‘Perhaps it can be my way of paying you back for helping me out.’
I try to ignore the sting of shame that reminds me she’s already helping me out, only without her knowledge, and bend down to turn the lamps off again to give me a reason to break eye contact with her. ‘You don’t need to pay me back,’ I mutter, glad she can’t see my face now.
I hear her clear her throat, and when I turn round to look at her again she’s moved closer to me, so close I catch the sweet, musky scent of her. ‘Okay, well, maybe I could do...something else for you, then,’ she says in a teasing sort of voice that I’ve not heard before. There’s desire in her eyes, and determination, and my cock springs fully to attention in anticipation of what it might mean.
‘Oh, yeah? What’s that?’ I murmur, unable to tear my gaze away from the expression in her midnight-blue eyes. It’s mesmerising. I’ve never seen her like this before and it’s doing all kinds of strange things to me.
Without saying a word, she undoes the button on my trousers, then tugs down the zip. ‘Can I touch you?’
I give a jerky nod.
Her eyes don’t leave mine as she slides her hand into the waistband of my boxers and takes a firm hold of my cock. I’m already hard, but as her cool fingers wrap around me another hard pulse of blood joins what’s already relocated there.
She looks up at me with startled eyes. ‘I have no means of comparison, other than pictures I’ve seen, but am I right in thinking your penis is very large?’
My smile is wide and wicked. ‘Yes. I have a big cock.’
But to her credit she doesn’t wimp out. Instead she drops to her knees in front of me, slides down my trousers and boxers and then boldly wraps her hand back around my shaft.
I suck in a breath, aware that I don’t want her to think she needs to do this for me. I’ve deliberately not pushed for my own pleasure up till now to take the pressure off the situation, to allow her time to become comfortable with the idea of touching me, but to be honest it’s been really fucking hard. As has my cock whenever we’ve been together.
‘Juno, you don’t have to...’
She looks up at me imploringly. ‘I want to. I’ve never done this before and I want to experience it. Can I? Please?’
As if I could say no to this woman when she’s on her knees.
‘Yes.’
She explores me tentatively at first, as if she’s fascinated by the weight of my dick and the way it feels in her hand. Then she wraps her fingers firmly around my shaft and starts to pump her fist firmly up and down, catching the sensitive end each time with the pad of her thumb, and any thoughts of ending this fly right out of my head.
‘Fuck. That feels so good,’ I groan as my sex-starved body jumps in delight. Then without warning she moves closer, unwraps her fingers and takes my cock deep into the heat of her mouth.
And that puts an end to any more thoughts of arguing for her to go slow. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stop this now. It feels way too fucking good.
She’s a little hesitant at first with her movements, but every time I give a groan of pleasure it seems to spur her on and her movements become more confident. She begins to explore and play with my cock, swirling her tongue around the head, then gently poking the end of it into my slit. Then back to sucking. She’s using her tongue to lap me as she reaches the tip and the added pressure there is making me wild.
Fuck. This is not going to last long if she keeps doing that.
I try to think about something else...my sculptures that still need work, the gallery opening in the city I want to go to in a few days...but nothing seems to be working.
I decide the only option is to give in and let it happen.
‘Wrap your hand around the base and squeeze a little,’ I command, deciding I might as well make a lesson out of this too.
She does what I’ve asked and pleasure shoots through my balls as she continues to work her mouth over me, taking me deep, then sweeping her tongue hard over the head of my cock. I sense my orgasm growing and grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
‘A little faster,’ I say, groaning with satisfaction as she does it. The mind-melting pressure continues to build, until the only thing I can think about is her hot mouth around my cock and the hard flicks of her tongue against it. And then I’m coming, spurting into the cavern of her mouth, my whole body on fire with relief, but she doesn’t stop or draw away from me until I stop twitching.
When I finally get myself together and look down at her, she’s grinning up at me like the cat that got the cream.
‘You’ve really never done that before?’ I mutter, my voice guttural and low.
‘Never. But the Internet is a wealth of information.’ She seems delighted that she’s been able to make me lose my mind like that.
‘You’re a quick study.’
She shrugs, then smiles. ‘I pride myself on doing my research properly.’
‘Still, there’s always room for improvement,’ I cajole her, giving her a wink to let her know I’m teasing. ‘And practice makes perfect, right?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Juno
SO PRACTISE WE DO.
Over the next few days Sandro introduces me to all sorts of new physical delights.
I quickly come to enjoy sensory deprivation in the form of a blindfold and headphones playing loud music, especially when it goes hand in hand with the lavish use of Sandro’s tongue, mouth and hands on my body. I also find, to my surprise—once I pluck up the courage to allow it—that spanking can actually be rather pleasurable. It’s something to do with the release of endorphins into the bloodstream, he tells me afterwards, which heightened my orgasm and left me in a panting, shuddering mess of exquisite sensation.
The days fly by like that, with me working on my laptop during the day, him disappearing into his studio to work on his sculptures, then the two of us taking increasingly longer lazy lunch breaks in a nearby café before returning to the apartment to continue to feast on each other’s bodies.
I’m bolder now with my advances and requests for what I want and Sandro seems pretty pleased with my progress. But he still won’t take my virginity, much to my frustration.
Even though I’m very much enjoying our time in bed, I feel as though I’m missing something important. A closeness, perhaps. I think it’s something to do with the fact we haven’t actually kissed on the lips. I can understand why he might want to keep himself cut off from the emotional side of sex—we’re going our separate ways soon, after all—but it leaves me longing for something more. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
* * *
I’m taking a break for a little while, after a particularly intensive hour of working, and to distract my whirring brain decide to go and see what Sandro is working on.
When I gently push open the door to his studio I see that he’s in there working on a new piece, which seems to involve an awful lot of bright copper wire that he’s meticulously twisting into amazing shapes to form what looks like the cascading branches of a weeping willow tree. He’s so involved in what he’s doing he doesn’t notice me standing there, and I don’t want to break his concentration, so I content myself with watching him work for a while.
It occurs to me, as I stare at the careful, sure movements of his fingers, that for once he seems completely calm. His usual restless energy is noticeably absent and instead he appears to be completely serene and deeply focussed on the task at hand. It’s as if he’s channelling the whole of himself into his art.
Something about that makes my heart lurch in my chest.
It’s a truly awe-inspiring thing to behold and I experience a wave of pure admiration for him. I have a mad urge to do something—anything—to make him see just how unique and incredible his creative talent is. That he shouldn’t listen to his father and let him influence his feelings about his sculpting.
I want him to be able to see himself in the way that I see him. To know how good he is. To accept that there’s so much more to him than just being good in bed. That there are different types of intelligence.
I watch him for another moment or two before leaving him to it, determination to help him recognise his talent for what it is surging through my veins.
I’m not sure how I’m going to do it yet, but I know I’ll find a way.
* * *
On Friday night I’m fully expecting Sandro to want to go to the hottest new restaurant, bar or club, so I’m surprised when he suggests we call for takeaway pizza from the local pizzeria and eat it at home.
While we’re waiting for the food to be delivered, he drags me into the bedroom and introduces me to the delights of nipple clamps.
The painful pleasure from the clips mixes with the delicious sweep of his muscular tongue over my clitoris, which does something magical to my body, as if the two areas are connected and feeding off each other’s stimulation. Whenever he increases pressure in one area, I feel it in the other one too, until I’m gasping and moaning uncontrollably, unable to concentrate on anything other than the intense sensations he’s creating in me.
Afterwards, I lie panting for breath after an orgasm that seemed to go on for ever, and when I look up at him Sandro is watching me with a perplexed expression on his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, wondering if I’ve committed some sort of post-orgasm faux pas.
‘I was just wondering why you came to me for help—other than hearing about my amazing reputation in bed, that is. I can’t believe you don’t have men asking you out all the time.’
I let out a snort of surprise, which I quickly cover with a small cough. ‘That’s kind of you, but I don’t really. Not any more. I try to keep well out of the limelight now, after what happened with Malcolm, and I’m extremely wary about the men that approach me.’ I swallow. ‘Actually, the reason I came to you was because I knew there wouldn’t be any danger of anything like that happening with you. And because I like and trust you.’
He’s looking down at the bedspread now with a frown and for a second I wonder whether I’ve spooked him with that final comment. Was it verging on too emotional?
‘And hopefully you find me just about tolerable too?’ I joke, hearing the nervous quaver in my voice.
‘More than tolerable,’ he says, looking up now and giving me one of his heart-stopping grins. ‘And I feel privileged to be the person you trust enough to help you get past your hang-ups.’
I smile back, though a strange, heavy weight seems to have lodged somewhere in my chest.
I push it away.
‘Well, I really couldn’t see any of the men I know agreeing to such a preposterous-sounding request. I probably would have given them heart attacks if I’d suggested it. Not that there are many to choose from. The two men I’ve dated since Malcolm were both really gentle and unassuming. Beta, I suppose you’d call them. Unthreatening. Thinking about it now, I suppose I was attracted to them for that very reason. They made me feel safe, which was important to me after what happened. Neither of them were exactly proactive when it came to initiating sex.’
‘Lazy bastards,’ Sandro hisses with a disgusted wave of his hand.
I smile and shrug. ‘Maybe. My last boyfriend, Hugh, was the sort of person that would stay put until someone moved him and I was too insecure about sex to make anything happen myself.’
‘It sounds like you need to adjust the preferences on your dating profile.’
‘I don’t have a dating profile. I only ever meet men through work.’
‘Like this guy you’re so keen to impress—Adam, is it?’ He says the name as if he’s offended by it.
‘Yes,’ I reply, a little bemused by that. He’s not even met him so his insinuation that he’s not worthy of my attention is a little misplaced.
‘What is it about him that gets you so hot?’ he asks. There’s an aggressive undertone to his voice now, as if he feels a need to compete. He’s such an alpha male.
‘He’s one of the brightest minds in our area of research. I’ve had some really enlightening conversations with him about my PhD topic. He really knows his subject. And he’s clearly going places. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he ends up with a Nobel prize.’
‘A Nobel prize, huh?’ Sandro raises a derisive eyebrow as if he doubts this very much.
‘Probably,’ I say, bristling a little on Adam’s behalf.
‘He sounds to me like the kind of guy that thinks way too much of himself. Especially if he’s happy to pass up the opportunity to be with a smart, attractive woman like you.’
‘He really doesn’t,’ I argue, although thinking now about the dates we’d gone on, he’d mostly talked about himself and asked very little about me. ‘He’s a busy, in-demand guy who everyone holds in high esteem and wants a piece of. Especially women. He has every right to be a bit full of himself. He’s worked hard to be top of his game, so he’s entitled to be picky about who he chooses to spend his time with. And how,’ I bluster, though I’m less sure of myself now.
‘And this is the guy you’re so desperate to get into bed?’ Sandro mutters with such distain I feel a shiver of indignation run the length of my spine. ‘He sounds like a total narcissist.’
I feel myself getting hot with irritation. ‘Actually, he’s exactly the kind of man I want to spend the rest of my life with—someone who’ll be able to look back on his time and know he’s made a difference to the world. Someone who’ll stimulate me intellectually.’
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