On Monday, Don Bianchi called his lawyer and had the woman draw up a custody agreement. The woman was paid enough money that, at her request, all she did was raise an eyebrow, pull out her laptop, and get to work. By the end of the day, Nico had an iron-clad agreement in his hands. An agreement in which the mother agreed to give him full parental custody and gave up all rights to the child, and once signed, she would not be able to appeal.
That was part of the reason he had chosen Gianna Alonso. She had no family backing, be it financially or in terms of raw power. She was young and independent, and she'd had her business fail on her. Surely she would be amenable to giving up her parental rights with the right amount of financial motivation. From her sacrifice, there would be a life of luxury for her and the children that would come after her. It was more than a fair trade.
By drawing up the custody agreement so early. Before they had even slept together, he might have been reaching a bit too far into the future, but it never hurts to be prepared.
The piece of paper served as a reminder and a grounding weight for what was to come. He would bed Gianna Alonso, get her pregnant, and then his child would be his to raise as he saw fit. His to nurture and love with all his might.
The Bianchi heir
He tried to picture them, but try as he might to combine his and Gianna's features in his head, he could not come up with a clear image. He would have to wait for the child to be born to know for sure.
Nico had set their first encounter for Tuesday night. Not that he needed to; by agreeing to the deal, Gianna had made herself available to him day and night. But given the importance of what he wanted from her, he did not want to force anything on her. He wanted her to be prepared, calm, and centered. He had read somewhere that such things were important when trying for a baby. So he had told her before. Which was why Tuesday evening found him at the penthouse that served as his primary home. He stood out on the balcony, watching the city below. A glass of whiskey in hand, his wrist watch ticking away softly, silently signaling Gianna's imminent arrival.
Right on cue, his phone buzzed, and Nico read the message.
She's here.
It said, and Nico knocked back the last of his drink, baring his teeth as it burned on the way down. Standing outside for a while longer, he let the cool night breeze wash over him. He stepped into his bedroom just as a hesitant knock came, and he went to open the door.
Gianna stepped into the room silently, her eyes on him, not even taking a cursory look at her surroundings. Most likely, she had followed the directions to his room without even looking at the house around her. The tunnel vision of a soldier on a mission The gray cocktail dress she wore shimmered in the light, her earrings hanging from her lobes, brushing lightly against the point where her neck met her jaw. Her slim wrist watch glinted in the soft light, and a dark purse gripped tight in her hands. This time, her nail polish was not chipped. It was a fresh coat, a soft pink that somehow did not clash with her dark evening clothing.
"Don Bianchi," She said with a slight dip of her head. Her hair was styled in soft waves, the light catching on it. She looked like an ethereal being, too pure for the world they lived in, and Nico found himself wondering just how it was that she was still single. Surely he could not have been the only man to see her beauty. If he was, the rest of mankind was stupider than he had initially thought.
Despite having waited for her in his bedroom, Nico was prepared for small talk. For the two of them to share drinks and conversation. Getting comfortable enough with each other until they could get down to the reason for their get-together without it being too awkward.
But to his surprise, she moved right past him and headed straight for the bed. He caught a whiff of her scent as she passed—roses and some sort of soap. It was very pleasant. Nico followed her with his eyes. Watching as she dropped her purse on the nightstand. Standing at the foot of the bed, she reached behind herself, the sound of her zip loud in the quiet room as she unzipped her dress, and without a hint of self-consciousness, let it drop to the floor. The soft material pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of it, her hands at her sides, no part of her hidden.
She had not a slip of clothing beneath the gray dress, not even lacy underwear. Now she was completely naked before him, her curves and pert nipples exposed. Endless smooth, creamy skin as far as the eye could see It looked like it would be soft to the touch and easy to mark up, giving him all sorts of ideas. Nico's dick twitched in interest. His breathing was picking up. Bending down, the top of her ass on display, her breasts pointing down, she unclasped her heels and took them off. That done, she sat on the bed, laid back on the soft mattress, and opened her legs. Knees held at her chest, her pussycat on display for him. Nico felt all the blood rushing to his dick at a dizzying pace, leaving him light-headed and helplessly turned on.
"Gianna," He breathed, his mouth suddenly dry.
He was across the room so fast that he barely felt himself move. By the time he got to her, he was naked too, his clothes abandoned on the carpet, his shoes kicked off, and his socks thrown somewhere behind him. He was acting like a horny college student, but he did not care; something about her getting straight to the point was impossibly hot.
He was used to women who played coy. Faking a shyness that did not suit them and was already debunked by the sheer number of their past conquests Or those that were too domineering and bossy. As selfish in bed as they were out of it.
Never had he had a woman who just walked in, got naked, and then held herself open for him.
It was quite up there on the list of sexiest things he had ever seen. As hot as the display was, what was not hot, however, was what he saw once he was kneeling on the bed. Her cunt was dry, completely so, with no hint of arousal. And she had her eyes closed, her head tilted to the side, and her fingers clutching her legs so tight that he was certain her nails would draw blood. She was even biting her lower lip, bracing for impact and pain.
This woman—did she really think he was some kind of brute? That he would have sex with her without even taking her pleasure into account? That he would just jam his dick in there and get it over with? His stomach contracted, and he swallowed around the urge to heave. Enraged that she would think so lowly of him and guilty that she thought she would have to endure him even if he were an awful lover.
His first instinct was to order her to close her legs, open her eyes, and face him. But the order died before he could voice it. Rather than order her about and further cement her view of him as a brute, He would show her his true intent. It might have been a business deal, but he would ensure that the sex was pleasurable for both of them. He would work her until she was begging for his cock. Only once she was wet and willing would he fill her with his seed.