He finally eased her off his lap and pulled her toward the couch. Deandra was relieved to be on her back for once, and opened her legs wide to welcome him back into her secret depths. Paolo eased between her legs once more and rode Deandra to several more climaxes before finally releasing his cum deep inside his newly charted territory. He stretched to his full height and flexed his muscles and smiled. He gestured toward the bathroom and indicated he wanted to shower before he left.
Deandra nodded her agreement and continued to lie on the couch, regaining her strength. She’d enjoyed her afternoon romp with Paolo; she hoped he’d show his appreciation for her time. When she heard the shower running, she fished his wallet out of his jeans. She found at least fifteen hundred-dollar bills and several 50s. She put the wallet, and the bills, back into his pocket and proceeded to her closet to retrieve a T-shirt.
Paolo emerged from the shower shortly thereafter and strode boldly and naked back into the living room. His hair was wet from the shower and its shiny, silken sheen reflected his use of her shampoo. His body was similarly covered with long, dark, fine hair, although there were thicker patches on his chest and pubic area. His face was handsome and he had dark piercing eyes. Adonis should have been so well put together.
After he dressed, he walked over to Deandra seated on the couch and planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on her lips. “Grazie, il mio amore,” he said as he reached for his wallet. He opened it, and seemed mildly surprised to see his money still intact. He pulled all the bills from his wallet and took one of the fifty-dollar bills out of the stack.
Deandra watched in silence. When he took the fifty off the top of that thick wad of bills, her heart sank. Did he think she was that cheap? Why should he pay her at all? Simply because she assumed he would reward her for her time and use of her body.
Paolo chuckled softly at the dismay evident on her face. He chucked her under her chin and pressed the wad of bills into her hand. The fifty-dollar bill he shoved in his front pocket. He said something in Italian, which was totally unintelligible to her, but it sounded so beautiful coming off his lips. Then with a wave and an “Arrivederci, bella,” he was gone.
Deandra gleefully counted the money he’d given her. She earned two thousand dollars for her afternoon adventure. Now she could afford to buy a new outfit for the art showing.
Deandra worked hard to remain well-connected, and it was one of those connections that came through with an invitation to a private viewing of a hot, new African-American artist at a local gallery. Her Internet research revealed Marshall James was a patron of African-American art. She was banking on James not missing this event.
Friday evening she dressed in a soft silk chiffon navy dress with a halter neckline and full skirt, cinched around the waist with a wide inset of pleated silk charmeuse. Matching leather navy high-heels complemented her understated look, saying sexy, not sluttish. She arrived at the gallery early to ensure she would have time to survey the premises for the best possible “happenstance” meeting. She flirted with several guests in attendance while keeping a sharp eye on the entrance. She knew it would not pay to pin all her hopes on his showing up and she needed a fallback plan.
When Marshall James stepped into the lobby of the Norton Museum of Art with a woman of obvious style and sophistication at his side, Deandra was only mildly surprised. She could not expect that a catch of his magnitude would be without a date, but disposing of the competition had become a hobby of hers. She quickly assessed the woman’s salt-and-pepper hair, which was coiffed to perfection. Simple diamond teardrop earrings bounced softly against her neck. Her flawless makeup brought out the rich tones in her caramel complexion. An elegant black designer dress sheathed her trim and petite figure. She oozed graciousness and class with every movement. Deandra took an immediate dislike to this interloper. However, her resolve to end up with him this evening was not in the least daunted by this development. She would have to choose her moment of introduction very carefully. Immersed in her plans for the evening, she did not hear anyone approach until a voice whispered in her ear.
“Careful, dear, your fangs are showing,” he said, and handed her a glass of red wine.
Deandra turned quickly and smiled slyly at the familiar face of Oliver Benson. They had been friends for several years and he was well versed in her predatory nature. She wasn’t in the least offended by his comment and laughed deliciously.
“It can’t be that obvious. I must be losing my touch,” she replied wickedly.
“Obvious only to me, darling. Is he on the menu tonight?” he asked, tipping his wineglass slightly in Marshall’s direction.
“Yes, I’m quite ravenous and he does look much better in person than in the photos I’ve seen of him,” she replied as she watched Marshall James from across the room.
Marshall was wearing a three-button black suit, complemented by a gray shirt with crisp white collar and French cuffs. Diamond and onyx cuff links matched the gold, diamond, and onyx ring on his ring finger. He was clean-shaven, with the exception of a neatly trimmed mustache. His attire screamed money and his demeanor projected class.
“He looks positively edible,” Deandra purred as she took a sip from her glass. “By the way, not that it matters, but who’s the old broad glued to his side?” she queried.
“Ah, that would be Viola. She’s looking elegant as usual this evening. Classy lady, and just to let you know, she will be quite a formidable opponent.”
“Really,” Deandra replied incredulously. She reassessed the woman who had now drifted away from Marshall’s side and was engaged in her own conversation with a few of the socialites in attendance. “I can’t imagine…” she mused.
“Viola James is no joke. Many beautiful women have not survived Viola’s inspection or gained her approval,” he advised.
“Approval? Viola James?” she pondered aloud as the name tried to register in her brain.
“She’s his mother, darling, and she can smell a gold digger a mile away. Be careful,” he cautioned, and wandered off.
Deandra’s gaze narrowed reflectively as she contemplated the best way to get Marshall away from his mother’s clutches and into her bed before the night was over.
Two hours into the evening Deandra had yet to wangle an opportunity to meet Marshall. Each time she managed to get within shouting distance, he was pulled away in another direction. Time was winding down and her feet were beginning to ache. She took a moment to slip into the corridor near the rear entrance and massage her aching feet. She leaned on the wall and slipped off one of her sandals. Balanced on her left foot, she massaged the ball of her right foot with her free hand and held on to her shoe with the other. Unexpectedly, a door opened behind her and bumped her just enough to unbalance her and send her careening face-first into the opposite wall. Flailing helplessly, she tried to prevent her body from crashing into the wall. Suddenly her arm was grabbed from behind and she was snatched from near disaster and landed smack in the arms of Marshall James.
At once angry and relieved, she started to let out a stream of expletives until she realized upon whose solid chest she was resting. Any and all sharp retorts were suddenly swallowed.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he eased her away and allowed her to lean on his arm as she put her shoe back on.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you. I didn’t realize I was standing in front of a door until it opened.” She smiled and inhaled a deep breath of the most delicious cologne. Tingling sensations started inside her thighs. This
