Page 36 of Forbidden Property
If I don’t handle the big stuff, our little operation could make mistakes and that could end up getting the law involved. The last thing I need is a goddamn racketeering charge or anything of that nature. Not only would that screw up my life, but Luigi would cut my balls off himself with a butter knife.
No thanks… I like staying out of trouble and out of the limelight. It’s the best way to stay rich, which is the most important thing to me as an almost middle-aged man. I’ve donewell for myself and I have no interest in doing anything to screw that up.
Even Renzo is having a baby… What has this world come to? I can guarantee, I won’t screw up my life or some kid’s life by making that type of mistake. I’d rather live for my work – exciting, stimulating, lucrative work. That doesn’t fuck with my head the way a woman does.
Chapter Eighteen
Geralynn
Eight Weeks Later…
“Spread your legs wider,” Renzo demands, as if his commands determine my flexibility. We only have thirty more minutes in today’s sketching session before we shift intomydaily activity – studying for the LSAT. Renzo’s new rule about spanking me for every wrong answer on practice tests has left my ass completely raw, but hasn’t improved my performance. I need to review all those stupid logic question tricks.
My hips stretch as I make my best efforts to open my legs and give Renzo more of what he wants. I lost some of my self-consciousness for this man’s artistic process a few weeks ago, but the small baby bump protruding from me renews my uncomfortable awareness with my body. I have to sit slightly backwards to accommodate my stomach.
“This looks much better,” Renzo offers the rare crumb of approval. My exposed lips feel completely vulnerable, even if I know Renzo doesn’t care beyond his obsession with “documenting” my pregnancy. His hands make broad, sweepingstrokes across his sketch pad with the charcoal and then grins at the drawing.
“I know they’re larger than when I first sketched you,” he mutters.
“What, my thighs?” I grumble, expecting another cheap shot of an insult from Renzo, since he makes it clear that he finds me repulsive whenever he gets a chance.
“No,” he says, cold eyes roaming over me again. “Your breasts. The nipples are larger and they’remuchfuller than before.”
His tone and tongue sliding gently over his lower lip demonstrate his approval. I want to look down and away from Renzo’s gaze, but I don’t want to suffer the consequences of breaking his concentration and switching my position while he draws. It’s seriously not worth it. Trust me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, because I don’t know how he wants me to respond to this observation about my breasts.
There’s this constant pressure in my pelvis in this position that my body responds to by producing large amounts of lubricant which Renzo watches ooze out of me.
“Do you need me spread open like thisonthe dining room table?”
“It’s erotic.”
That’s the closest Renzo has come so far to giving me a compliment. He slept with me at first because of the drug and then to fulfill his end of the contract. Plus, he’s a guy. Most of them would fuck a ham sandwich if they could cum and leave no witnesses.
I struggle not to move and close my legs against his invasive and overly observant gaze. It’s bad enough I have to feel all mangled and stretched out by bloating, gas, and nipples the size of large pepperoni slices. Every part of me feels swollen and soft as my body prepares to growour baby.
When I shudder at the thought, Renzo notices the flicker of movement.
“Be still,” he snaps, overreacting as usual. He wouldn’t like it if I had him naked and spread over on the dining room table.
I muster up a few more minutes of posing exactly the way Renzo wants me to without provoking him to issue a sharp command or denigrating comment about my inability to sit still. He focuses intently on stroking the white page with charcoal lines. He only shares a few of his drawings but most of the ones I’ve seen look like he went to art school in Italy and not business school.
“It’s more relaxing than strangulation,” he tells me whenever I compliment him, shoving away any efforts on my part at accessing his vulnerability.
“I can’t stay still anymore,” I grumble. “I need to fart and I’m tired of sitting with my legs open. I’m pregnant, Renzo.”
“We’re going to get to your practice test soon. Those practice questions are a lot harder than the real thing. You’re wasting your time.”
“Right. My time is much better spent spread open on your dining table so you can sketch my pussy.”
“I’m sketching your whole body right now,” Renzo responds infuriatingly. “And I won’t be here much longer because I’m joining my brother and Peter for work tonight.”
He hasn’t worked since Nicki freed us from our two week breeding jail. I don’t want to overreact, but I am pretty sure Renzo’s jobs mostly involve crime.
“What work?”
“None of your business.”
