She loved morning sex as much as I did.
She clawed at my back and moaned directly into my ear, quieter than usual but still climaxing hard. Her teeth sank into my shoulder and her pussy tightened around me, begging my cock to give her the seed she loved so much.
I came right after, finishing us both off in less than two minutes. I dumped all my come inside her before I rolled over onto my back again. My eyes closed, and I caught my breath, still reeling from the orgasm I just had.
Fuck, I could do this every day.
Vanessa turned on her side and snuggled into me, her pussy full of new come and the come from last night.
Damn, she was always full of me.
Her arm wrapped around my waist, and she rested her head on my shoulder.
My fingers slowly dragged down her side, feeling her smooth skin. My fingertips were callused, but I could still feel her intimate details.
She sighed against me, satisfied and relaxed. “Morning…”
“Morning.”
She moved closer into me, her body all over mine.
I liked it—a lot. My hand moved to her thigh as it stretched across my body. “You’re studying art?” I knew a bit about her from my research. She was going to school in Milan with art as her discipline. She didn’t exhibit any specific traits that identified her as an artist, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had the talent to paint a masterpiece. She never failed to surprise me.
“Yes.” Her small hand rested right on my sternum. “I want to be a painter.”
“What do you paint?”
“Everything.”
“Be more specific.”
She tilted her head up so her eyes could meet mine. “Well, my last piece was an image of my parents working in the vineyards together. Husband and wife cultivating the soil. It’s supposed to represent Italian culture, of the foundation and loyalty of family.”
Anytime her family was mentioned, I became angry. But this time, I controlled my rage. It was too early in the morning, and I just had an amazing orgasm with my cock buried inside this woman. “So you want to paint professionally?”
“I guess. There’s not really any such thing. I just want to be good enough so people will buy my work. Maybe I can open a gallery or something. But making art is about connecting with people. I have to create something that moves people. If I fail to do that, then no one will be interested in my pieces. It can’t just look nice. It has to be something that someone wants for many years.”
“Has anyone ever bought one of your paintings?”
“Just my parents,” she answered. “And they would buy anything I make, so they don’t really count.”
She clearly had a perfect childhood, judging by the way she spoke so highly of her parents. They had a nice, quiet life in Tuscany, working their successful winery. I’d never started an honest business, choosing to remain in the dark and make my money in horrid ways.
“You have a lot of artwork in your house.”
“Richard picked it out.”
“They’re nice,” she said. “I’ve looked at them many times. I noticed you don’t have a picture of you or your mom anywhere.”
I turned my face back to the ceiling and never commented.
After a tense moment of silence, she sat up and pulled her hair from her face. “I should get up and take a shower. I’m really hungry and can’t wait for breakfast.” For a small woman, she had a big appetite. She always ate everything at our meals and complimented Richard on the dishes he prepared.
“Make sure you get enough to eat. We’re leaving today.”
She turned her gaze back to me, the hope obvious.
I didn’t like that look. I wanted her to stay at my house with me forever. I wanted to keep her as my prisoner forever. If she didn’t have such a powerful family, I probably would. But under the circumstances, I was risking too much. If I killed her, that would be one thing. But her family would kill me, and if I never finished what I started, I would have accomplished nothing. “Don’t be too excited.”
Once the snow was shoveled away, we got into my truck and left the property.
I handed her phone back to her. I had it in my office, constantly charging so it wouldn’t die. I looked through her text messages, seeing some of her friends check in with her. A few guys texted her too.
I didn’t care for that.
She took the phone with shaky hands, rubbing her thumbs over the screen like she couldn’t believe it was really in her possession again.
Some things were too good to be true, including this.
I pulled onto the icy road and then began the journey back to Milan. She was in the clothes she arrived in, but now they’d been cleaned. The heater was on so she wouldn’t freeze, but I kept the radio off.