Drive Her Mad (THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE POP DIVA VOL. 3) (4 page)

“VISA?”

“Virgin, Ignorant, Sexless, Abnormal.”

He chuckled. “Let’s replace your VISA card with…let’s see….HSBC.”

“And what does it stand for?”

“Horny, Sexy, Ballsy, Crazy.”

She laughed. “That’s a good one! Lovet!”

“Your wit is rubbing off on me.”

“Is that bad?”

He kissed her forehead. “No,
cara
. It’s good. You have no idea how people see me in my world.”

“Hmm, I must admit, I’m not really crazy of the formulas. How do they see you?”

He became quiet.

Okay, a good listener but not a good sharer. She kissed his chin.

“I’ll tell you in the shower.”

Oh. On second thought…

Valenna was enjoying a scalp
massage from her new lover. She wondered if all Italian men were this attentive and patient. She’d never been with a man who seemed to anticipate her every need. He opened doors for her, held her elbow when they went down steps, held her hand while they walked around the chalet. He filled her glass with wine, water or whatever and even wiped her lips with a napkin once!

She had always been independent but she discovered that a man serving her like a besotted lover was quite…addicting.

Besotted? This man? Nah. She was just so sexually drunk she was hallucinating.

Maybe it was just in his nature to be nice and caring to his lovers. And she couldn’t complain, really. It was so much more than she could ask for. He even paid for all her pleasure. She really felt like the most desirable woman on earth right now.

Leisurely, she ran the soapy sponge on his smoothly muscled chest. Frosh, this guy worked out a lot. She was used to seeing ripped bodies. Her male back-up dancers alone had physiques to die for, parading almost naked in the dressing rooms. Her exes were all buffed up Adonises, but Giane’s body was something else. Or maybe she was partial to his looks because she was familiar with every part of him now? His smell, his warmth, his taste…

She sighed discreetly.
You’re getting used to this so fast. Slow down.

“So, tell me more about the Medicis and art. About this Bruneloki guy. I’m so pop. I wanna learn the classics.”

He smiled. “Filippo Brunelleschi. He was the foremost architect and engineer of the Renaissance period and the favorite of the family. He built a lot of Medici villas and some castles, mostly in Florence and Tuscany.”

“You sound so…”

“What?”

“Learned.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. I just feel kind of a really common commoner next to you right now.”

“Come on, I’m not a Grammy Award winner and I don’t have one billion fans at YouTube.”

She made a face at him. “You’ve been googling me.”

“Breaking Bull.” He grinned lecherously.

She slapped his chest. “Shut up!”

“I’d like you to break my bull later.”

She closed her eyes, her cheeks and ears feeling hot in embarrassment. “Ohhh, stop it!”

“What. You were so hot in that video.”

She turned around, avoiding his eyes. While she was unapologetically proud of that racy video which broke a lot of internet records, knowing Giane had seen it made her feel kind of crass next to his Brunelwhatever and Donatello class.

With every hour that she spent with him, it was becoming more apparent, the differences in their social background. He was a blue blood, highly educated and came from old wealth while she was….

Oh no. Stop right there! Please, bitch, none of that shit. Stick to the fun. No drama.

Why would it matter anyway if he was practically royalty and she was one of those common American dreamers who got a little luckier than the others? It wasn’t like they were in love. No King Edward-Wallis Simpson complex here. They were only having this association for one week. No more, no less. She had to remind herself of that again or she would tread on dangerous territory.

Time to really act the big girl, where it mattered. For a decade, she had been the boss of her lucrative career, negotiating with shrewed record and movie executives, presiding over her little empire that made huge profit out of her name. She can certainly handle a week-long affair with an
uber
hot guy with the sexiest accent and walk away without regrets, armed with new, valuable experiences in the ways of men. Really, it was win-win from all angles.

She felt his slippery hands shaping the undersides of her breasts, but not quite cupping them.

“I watched the video maybe a dozen times,” he was saying.

“Nooooo!”

He drew circles around her areolas, avoiding the tips.

“You were so fucking hot I wanted to masturbate right there in the studio.”

She moaned and covered his hands with hers, pressing them to her breasts.

“And then I thought, if it made me want to jack off, there must be a million horndogs around the world who did what I wanted to do while watching your video…and I got so mad I wanted to cancel the interview and go back to the hotel and fuck you until my cock was permanently imprinted inside of you, until your pussy won’t want anything else.”

Her inner muscles clenched in response to his provocative words. Oh god, he could make her come just talking to her like that. She could feel her nether folds thickening, her clit blossoming, already attuned to what will come next.

He was kneading her breasts now, mashing them, molding their plump fullness in his palms, his fingers plucking her nipples, and she was going crazy.

She pressed her back harder against him, grinding her ass on his erection which was poking her from behind like a baseball bat. His erections were just epic. She would never get tired of looking at his rigid cock, knowing she had caused it.

He guided her to face the shower wall then he slipped his shaft between the legs. Instinctively, she clenched her thighs together to hold him there.

Feeling him so hard and hot against the lips of her pussy made her pant with desperate need.

He started humping her from behind. The entire length of his cock rubbed against her slit, directly hitting her clit. She mewed, arching her hips high to receive him, the sawing motion driving her mad, the creamy soap suds aiding their movements. He was not penetrating her, but it was just as good. So good!

He licked her earlobe. “Then I realized…” His hands slid down, shaping her hips, his caress so fluid on her body, like hypnosis. “I realized that you’re mine. That I’ve had what they’re just fantasizing about.”

His fingers converged between her thighs, strumming her clit from the top while his cockhead stroked it from the bottom. The fire in her belly blazed into an inferno.

“I got here first…spent my cum here first. This pussy is mine. Mine! You hear me,
cara
? I eat here... I play here... I come here… I live here!”

His words, fingers and cock danced in perfect tandem in that perfect rhythm. He was handling her body like a virtuoso, and it was out of this world incredible, like when she was playing a song she just composed and all the musical notes were coming perfectly together, blending into the most beautiful, ecstatic melody.

The pressure in her belly gave way to an orgasm so good her vision blurred and her legs buckled. But he was a rock behind her, solidly anchoring her to his possession. She arched against him, calling his name as she was lost in it all, consumed by it all.

She was barely aware of him slamming hard behind her, relentlessly going after his own pleasure, but she felt it when he reached his peak, for he embraced her so tightly her bones might just crack.

“
Dio
, Valenna! Fffffuck!”

He was a vibrating force at her very center, his essence warmly bathing the cold, dry places inside her.

He carried her limp body to the bed.

“Giane…”

“Hmm?”

“I think I’m dead.”

“Is it a good death?” he asked, tender amusement in his voice.

She made an unladylike snort. “He asks.”

Sighing in lethargy, she turned to her side. He arranged himself behind her spoon-fashion.

They were both naked, their bodies barely dry from the shower, their heartbeats just settling back to normal. Her bones had turned to jelly she could barely walk.

He arranged her long hair away from his face. She smiled as she thought of his clumsy attempt to dry it with the blower as she was too drained of strength to even lift a finger. She just wanted to snuggle and sleep.

“Death by orgasm,” she said sleepily.

He chuckled. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What question?”

“How do the people in your world see you?”

“Ah.”

He fell quiet.

“I have no energy to google you right now.”

He had gone still behind her. It took him a few moments to speak again.

“In my world, I’m an uncompromising, demanding, arrogant, self-entitled prick. The press hates me. Even the paparazzi steer clear of me. I have not many friends. I’m a difficult person to deal with, much less to live with. I’m not a good person, at all.”

She laced her fingers with his. What the hell was he talking about? “Somehow I find that hard to believe,” she said, her voice slurring. Sleep was a heavenly cocoon slowly wrapping around her.

“Why?”

“Because as far as I’m concerned…in the very short time that I’ve been with you…you’ve been nothing but wonderful to me. Epic…simply…epic.”

Giane felt her breathing become even.
She had fallen asleep.

What she said last made his chest expand with indefinable joy and then constrict with indefinable sadness.

Such trust and naivete was new to him. He had been jaded for far too long he had forgotten how it was to be appreciated by a woman without any preconceived notions. He had been surrounded by people who knew too much about him, what he had, what he could do for them, what they would gain from him.

His life story was not pretty. It was not something he would be proud to tell, especially to a self-made woman like Valenna Jones.

He was by far the wealthiest Medici in the whole of Europe today, but that was his curse more than his blessing.

The glory days of the Medicis ended in the 1700s, when the last male leader of the clan, Gian Gastone died without an heir. The Medici legacy was carried on for some time by Gian’s sister, Anna Maria Luisa but she eventually surrendered everything to the Holy Roman Empire. The Medici name ended with her death.

The Medici bloodline lived on through the intermarriages of the Medici women in various parts of Europe, but the dynasty was no more.

Almost a century later, a family who claimed to be direct descendants of the great Cosimo de Medici I, the most powerful leader of the clan who ruled the dynasty in the 1600s, rose to great power.

Thus a new generation of Medicis began.

They made successes in politics and commerce. However, their fortunes were not enough to elevate the family name to its old dynastic greatness. They needed more wealth to fill the Medici coffers.

Giovanni Zoldatti inherited a thriving automobile company from his own father. He turned it into a colossal enterprise. In the late 1970s, Impero di Zoldatti was already the biggest carmaker in Europe. But the Zoldattis lacked respectability. So, Giovanni manipulated his only son, Alfonso, to marry into the aristocracy. He chose a Medici bride for Alfonso.

The marriage was a disaster from the beginning. It was turbulent, filled with manipulations, hate, lies and infidelities it was a wonder that union produced a child at all. A disturbed child who grew up into an absolutely fucked up adult.

Him. Gianfranco de Medici Zoldatti.

His father died eighteen years ago. It was a tragedy he didn’t want to remember. Even today, he still felt sick to his stomach just thinking about Alfonso’s death. Three years after Alfonso’s demise, Giovanni followed his son to the grave.

As the only surviving legitimate Zoldatti heir, Gianfranco became the wealthiest young man in Europe in those times and everyone was after a piece of him. Every female he met wanted his children. But he didn’t want any. He won’t pass his demons onto an innocent child. Everything will end with him.

He was a stickler for protection since he’d knocked up someone in his teens. The pregnancy was terminated. He had learned his lesson.

No kids. No heirs. When he’d die, everything he owned will go to his chosen charities. His will had been drawn since he was twenty-one years old.

It was really out of his character to want to come inside a woman’s body unprotected.

But he just did.

Many times.

Inside Valenna.

Cazzo.
What in Dante’s inferno was happening to him?

He couldn’t remember spending so much time in the shower with a woman. He had fucked in the shower but he never found himself shampooing a woman’s hair, gently massaging her scalp, running his soapy hands all over her, relishing every part of her as if her body was the finest chassis ever crafted.