Free Bellissima by Anya Richards

Sergio, it was by you .”
    Gaze steady on her face, he cleaned himself and tucked his cock back into his pants. In moments, he was once more his usual, immaculate self, although his face seemed paler than normal.
    “ Domani , sweet Jane.” It sounded like a threat and a promise, all at once. “Tomorrow we will find out what this thing”—his hand inscribed a graceful line toward her and then came back to point at his chest—“is between us.”
    Then he was gone, slipping away before she could even blink.
    “Yes,” she whispered into the silent, empty room. “Tomorrow.”Chapter Eight
    Looking around the studio, Sergio was struck once more by how cluttered it really was. Despite being a large room, somehow he and Gustav had managed to fill it with a variety of odds and ends. His corner was relatively neat. All he really needed was his drafting table and art supplies, which, although various, he somehow managed to keep all contained in a chest of drawers he’d bought on Portobello Road. Yes, he’d added a comfortable armchair and two of the best gas lamps he could afford, but, in reality, those were but a small fraction of the room’s contents.
    Besides the obligatory easels, paints and brushes Gustav needed to produce his art, as well as dozens of paintings at various stages of completion, there were a hodgepodge of other items. The painter was constantly bringing in what he referred to as “props”—bits of furniture, fabrics and sundries he used as backdrops for his portraits. They made use of the old Chinoiserie screen, setting it up in a corner to hide a small washstand and commode, and the brass bedstead on which Gustav often painted nudes doubled as a place for either man to sleep, should one of them work late into the night. But the rest of Gustav’s oddities? Sergio shook his head. Even worse than the often ugly furniture were the vases of dried flowers, glass cases holding strange arrangements of diverse natural items, bibelots, trinkets and random found bits and pieces that seemed determined to take over the entire room. Gustav was a magpie, his compulsive collecting leaving the place looking like the worse example of an overdecorated parlor.
    Sergio had tidied as best he could, glad the charwoman they employed to clean once a week had been there the day before. Clearing away much of Gustav’s paraphernalia, putting it on shelves and in drawers, he’d spread a tablecloth over the paint-stained table, ready for the cold luncheon he’d brought. Opening the windows to try to get rid of as much of the oil paint smell as he could, he’d quietly cursed his friend for not being in the habit of using watercolors or pastels. Then he exchanged the bedsheets for ones he’d brought from home and draped a colorful shawl over the foot of the bed.
    Originally he’d bought the large silk square with its knotted fringe from one of the small shops selling Far Eastern goods, thinking perhaps to give it to his mother as a gift. Now all he could think of was seeing it wrapped around Jane, her burnt-umber hair and pale complexion set against the rich colors. Perhaps he would use it to tease over her skin—softness on softness—tickle her with the fringe until she twisted and writhed with pleasure.
    Dio . He was already hard for her, had been almost constantly since the day before, and he couldn’t even be sure she would meet him today.
    If she were wise, and he knew her to be a woman of keen intelligence, she probably wouldn’t, but he prayed desire would win over caution. He needed her, his yearning a constant ache in his belly. His world felt off-kilter, as though the ground shifted and shook under his feet, but just seeing her yesterday, even for that brief time, being reassured that what they shared existed and wasn’t just a figment of his dreams, had steadied him.
    For so long he’d strived to build a life that could satisfy him, fulfill the parts of himself he knew to be lacking. When he was with Jane