What the Nanny Saw

Chapter 3: A Nefarious Game

Romano arrived home in a terrible mood. The case was leading nowhere, there could be mafia involvement, and worst of all, Enzo's had been shut when he stopped by for dinner.

"The catch was poor today, Inspector," Enzo had said, "I could make you an aglio olio if you like?"

Romano had declined, and resolved to find something at home. His stomach had growled the whole way back to his beach bungalow. And still worse, a carabiniere blockade had cost him an extra thirty minutes in a cacophony of motorists expressing themselves with their car horns.

So it was with extra joy that he arrived home to a heavenly aroma of warm baked flavors. He stepped across the threshold to find Ingrid, wonderful Ingrid, in an apron, bent over the oven, peering in. Romano had met Ingrid, the glamorous Swede, on a case a few years before, one involving an unscrupulous lover of hers. She had become a fast friend and sometimes more. And increasingly, when things turned chilly with Lydia, Ingrid would be first on his mind.

"Ingrid, did you make me dinner?" asked Romano in honest surprise. Ingrid was known for many skills, but Italian cooking wasn't one.

Ingrid laughed. "Don't be silly, it was Adelina. She had just finished cleaning and I saw her leaving as I came in. She said now that Lydia has gone back to the North, she wanted to get you some real food. It's that eggplant thing you like so much. What's it called?"

"Caponata. In Sicily, it's caponata."

While Romano showered, Ingrid set up on the veranda. Along with the eggplants were Alici d' aceto - tender little anchovies cooked in vinegar, and a bottle, and then two, of a Mastroberardino that Ingrid had brought.

As was his preference, the pair ate, looking out over the water, keeping a silence, save for the occasional small exclamation of delight regarding this flavor or that. As he finished off the last of the caponata from Ingrid's plate, she poured him another glass of the red, balancing the bottle and the cork in an outstretched left, while reaching with her right to clean off his cheek with a napkin. Her soft, strawberry-blond hair falling like a rose waterfall across her face.

"Why Ingrid, are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked, with less wit than he intended.

Ingrid took a sip from her own glass and looked at the Inspector shrewdly. "Maybe," she laughed, "Would you like me to? Your Lydia isn't gone 12 hours, my dear."

Romano waved her off, "Not at all. It sounded funny in my head. And thank you for rescuing me from another night of aglio olio."

"It was all Adelina. I was just in the right place at the right time. It's my special talent," she said with a soft smile. "So how is the investigation? We've eaten, now you can talk. You know I come by to live out my secret detective fantasy."

"I don't know Ingrid," answered an unsteady Romano, "this is an odd one. Our victim has no clear source of income but owns such a house. He must have inherited?"

"And the parties," said Ingrid, "Such incredible parties they threw. I hear they were a regular event, numbering in the hundreds of guests. You have to have money to manage that."

"Really?" asked Romano, "How regular?" Now Ingrid was showing her true value, or, at least part of it.

"I don't really know, I never attended. But I understood from Mirriam that they were maybe twice the month. Regular and routine, if a huge gathering can be routine. People came from as far as Palermo"

The air had turned cool while they ate. Romano went inside and brought out a blanket, two glasses and the half-empty bottle of whiskey from their last dinner together. "Want a glass?" asked Romano as they snuggled under the blanket.

As alway, Ingrid was warm and soft. Rounded in all the right places. A classic Scandinavian beauty. And, despite the wine, despite his two assignations that day already, despite his better instincts, in fact, Romano felt himself stirring.

Ingrid ran a lazy left finger down his chest as she cradled the whiskey in her right, getting dangerously low.

"Ingrid," cautioned Romano.

"Don't be an ass, Giaccomo," she answered, "We're adults, Lydia's not here, and I'm not expecting anything beyond this moment. I am expecting quite a bit, however, in this moment. Tell me about these pictures you found and I'll show my appreciation"

Her finger had left his shirt, altogether, and was toying along his rapidly hardening cock. She snuggled up to him, pushing her mouth into his neck. Kissing softly.

Almost despite himself, Romano found that his hand was on her breasts. Caressing and stroking. He undid the top few buttons and slid a hand down her shirt, admiring the soft swell of her in the moonlight.

He described the explicit photos. Each one pushing Ingrid to do more, touch more of him. She nibbled at his ear, whispering filthy thoughts. What she would do with his cock. How it would taste on her tongue. The way she would lick, run her tongue up and down the whole shaft. How she would make him come, tease it all out over her breasts.

She had her hands down his pants now, encircling his hard cock. Tugging and pulling.

Romano pushed her off and abruptly stood up.

Ingrid started to protest, but held her tongue, as Romano pulled her legs forward and up and yanked off her pants, getting them briefly tangled in her shoes, till he got them all off together in a jumbled knot. Then he fell to his knees and yanked at her panties. She lifted up just in time for him to get them off cleanly. Romano balled them up and stuffed them in her mouth.

He dove in head first then. Licking and kissing at her wet center. Pulling her open with his fingers and pushing a tongue into her pussy as far as it would go. She gasped and sputtered and sighed around the panties. Her moans mingled with the soft crash of the waves coming up from the beach.

He didn't stop. Not till she came. Hard. He licked and licked and licked at her tight clit, till she asked, no begged, him to stop. Till she couldn't take another minute. And then he stood up, a self-satisfied grin to see the amazed, grateful look on her face. He wiped at his wet chin with the back of a hand.

Romano didn't think he could come again. It had been an unusually full day. But Ingrid was nothing if not determined. She laid him back on the seat. She rode him, softly stroking her pussy up and down. Tensing and squeezing on each upward stroke. And when that didn't work, didn't bring him to climax, she got on her knees and sucked. Tasting herself on his cock. Using her tongue to just work that spot, that one spot just under his head. And when he erupted over her face, it was as much a surprise to him as it was to her.

They made a nest of the blanket right there, both too tired, and drunk, to move to the bedroom. As they cuddled, Ingrid murmured, "It's so sad really, Augusto and Mirriam were such patrons of these poor immigrants. Who will help them now... "

As he drifted off to a drunken sleep, she may have said, "They always had one or two in their care, where will they go now, who will take care of them?"