Always Belle Ch. 09

Belle took my hand for balance, then slowly stepped over my lap in her flowy dress. She settled in next to Uncle Artie, kissing his cheek.

"Had fun B? You look sweaty," he observed.

"Dancing's hard work," she humorously responded. "Babe, I want to head back to our villa. Let's go?"

"Sounds like a plan. After you," he smiled.

Belle stood up and turned to me. "Ken, we're gonna head out now. You're coming with us, right?" She held my hand for balance, stepping over my lap once more.

"Yeah, I'll follow," I replied.

"Cool. Thought you would," she said, a carefree tone.

As Belle exited our booth, her choice of words made me think twice, but my focus went elsewhere, seeing something weird on my pants. I brought my finger to a random droplet, rubbing the sticky substance between my thumb and index.

Jesus, when she had stepped over my lap, Viktor's creampie must've still been dripping from her pussy. Or shit... Was this fresh cum from an encore?

***

The next morning, it was time to go home.

We were being driven to a private airport, coincidentally by Alessandro, our driver the night Belle and I had landed in Italy.

On the car ride, I thought about Viktor last night, his excitement about finally getting to fuck Belle for the first time. I guess he wasn't the basement guy. And I guess neither was Sol, assuming what the agent said was true, that he didn't have sex with his clients.

At some point, Belle asked our driver if we could grab coffee. Alessandro obliged, making a pit stop at a café he recommended. We requested to-go cups for the road, much to the consternation of cultured locals. When Belle tried to pay for our drinks, our driver eagerly stepped forward to pay for them himself.

We soon re-entered the car, Belle and I in the back, my uncle up front in the passenger.

"Alessandro, you didn't have to buy these for us, but thank you!" Belle said, appreciatively sipping her caffé Americano.

"It's the least I can do," he replied. Our driver proceeded to share with Uncle Artie the events of our previous ride: his daughter's car accident, our last-minute hotel situation, and Belle's kindness and understanding about it all.

She followed up, "How's your daughter doing? Did everything turn out okay?"

"She's stable now but," he sighed a heavy exhale. "She's still at the hospital, resting after major surgery. I didn't want to leave her but at least my wife's there."

"Oh my! That must be a lot for you and your family to process. I pray your daughter makes a full recovery." Belle sincerely extended her sympathies.

Our driver added, "The doctors told us, there's a chance she won't walk again... I'm trying not to think too much about the worst."

"We'll keep you all in our thoughts," Uncle Artie shared small words of comfort, taking it upon himself to drop a generous tip into the center console.

Silence mostly filled the rest of the drive, as we now found ourselves on the road that led directly to the private airport. As we drove onto the tarmac, I could see Viktor's jet in the background.

"Are we flying home on the private jet again?" I asked.

My uncle responded, "Viktor texted me early this morning that we could use it. Nice little parting gift from him."

I kept my thoughts to myself, my mind lingering on the travel perks Belle's pussy probably afforded us...

"Oh shit!!!" Belle screamed.

I turned my head to see that her coffee had splashed all over the middle cushion between us in the backseat. I picked my ass up, trying to avoid the splatter.

Uncle Artie flipped around in his seat, confused by the commotion. Belle looked mortified, holding an empty, lid-less cup.

Alessandro safely brought his vehicle to a complete stop, turning his body to assess. "Oh wow! It's all over!"

"What happened B?" Uncle Artie asked.

"Ugh! The cup collapsed! The stupid lid!"

My uncle turned to our driver, "Alessandro, you got any towels?"

"None sir." The look on our driver's face, it was as if the severity of the spillage was starting to sink in. Brown liquid was seeping into the light fabric; it'd need a miracle of a wash.

"Hold on, let me see what I've got!" Belle scrambled for something inside her purse.

The item she withdrew made my stomach fall to the floor. Belle applied a lone napkin onto the mess—the five digits on it getting soaked and washed out by her coffee...

No fucking way! How was this the same napkin!? And shit, there it was too, my inadvertent rip down the middle. If she hadn't seen the tear then, she was definitely seeing it now. Out of reflex, I quickly turned my cheek out the window.

Belle appealed to our driver, "I'm so sorry Alessandro! I'll pay for all of it! New upholstery, anything you need."

"No no, you don't have to do that signora. You should all board the plane now, we're a little late since we stopped for coffee." He dejectedly exited his car and unloaded our stuff, steering our suitcases toward airport staff nearby.

When we stepped out as well, I clung within range as Belle pulled Uncle Artie off to the side.

"Babe, I feel so bad! First the sad news about his daughter, and then I had to go do something stupid to make things worse. Ugh!"

"It's alright B, shit happens." He rubbed her shoulders.

"You and Ken go board already. I'm going to help Alessandro clean it up."

"Okay, we'll make sure the plane doesn't leave without you."

Belle flagged down the luggage handler to fetch her oversized t-shirt, intending to use it as a makeshift towel.

Meanwhile, I stood planted to the tarmac, thinking hard about her use of the napkin, debating whether it was deliberate. Was it a sign for me to act? Could it have been another cryptic invitation for me? I was scared to confront Belle about it head on. But I just had to know...

"Hey Belle." I nervously walked up to her. "Do you, uh, need any help? Um, with cleaning up the car."

Belle simply looked at me.

I held my breath in, hoping for a favorable response. Or just not a disastrous one. I tried to gauge her reaction. Were her lips trying to suppress a smile? Or were her eyebrows signaling annoyance.

She finally answered, "Kind of you to offer Ken, but you should go with your uncle to board."

"Yep, will do!" I breathily let out, releasing a long exhale.

Once my uncle and I walked into the jet, he settled into a random seat, glued to his laptop.

As for me, I sat in a recliner with a certain window view, thinking terribly pornographic thoughts; Alessandro's car was in the distance, still parked on the tarmac.

Several minutes passed. When Belle eventually exited from the backseat, she thumbed the edges of her lips, wiping her fingers on her jeans. Seconds later, when Alessandro exited from the opposite side, he straightened his belt, adjusted his bulge, looking much happier than before.

Making her way now toward the private jet, Belle reached for her purse and withdrew a stick of lip gloss, popping its cap, smoothly reapplying a fresh layer.

I then turned my eyes away from the window, finding myself reflecting on all of these recent events. Paris. Porto Cervo. What was tacit and understood. What was still unknown and elusive. It was hard to parse, hard to really know. What aspects of this trip would carry over to daily life, when we returned home...

***