“Does that scare you?” he asks, softening his grip.
“Not at all. Nothing you do could scare me.” My words hang between us for a moment before his mouth descends to take mine in a bruising, mind-numbing kiss.
When he releases me, I get my first real look at the room. A circular canopied bed with intricately carved wooden posts is the centrepiece and reminds me of the ones I saw at the Palace of Versailles in Paris. I go to stand at the end of it. Decadent swaths of royal-purple satin fall from the round canopy to the four corners of the bed and are fastened to the posts with thick gold tasseled ropes.
Crystal wall sconces on dimmers form pockets of warm light that are bounced around the room by three full-size ornately carved mirrors hanging on the walls. The large mirrors and other gold mirror-fronted furniture make it impossible not to catch my reflection whichever way I turn.
Gio watches me from where I left him at the door, and only when I catch him staring does he move.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asks, walking toward a console table where an ice bucket sits with a bottle of Dom Perignon poking out the top and two crystal flutes beside it.
My lips feel dry from the moisture-draining kiss moments ago. “Yes, please.” I move closer to him, knowing the moment I’m in his orbit, he will reach for me again.
Pop. The cork eases from the bottle with just the right amount of pressure so none of the precious bubbles are lost. Beside the ice bucket is a gold-footed bowl filled with ruby-red strawberries. Unable to resist, I pick one up and bite into its juicy sweetness as Gio fills the two glasses, golden bubbles fizzing to the surface.
He hands me a frosty flute, then lifts his thumb to brush it across my bottom lip. Pleasure chases the blood through my veins at his touch.
I step closer to him so the buttons on his shirt rest against my satin top. The heat from his body filtering through the thin covering of fabric to tease my bare skin beneath.
My halter top, while high-necked at the front, dips to my waist at the back, and with a flick of his wrist, he releases the clasp on the collar around my neck. The fabric glides off my body to bunch in a shimmering band at my waist. His heated gaze devours every exposed inch of skin, and I feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Goose bumps pebble my skin in anticipation of his touch. But he doesn’t reach for me. Instead, he turns me so my back is to him and I’m facing one of the large mirrors. He undoes the string tie still holding the gold satin to me, and my top falls to pool at my feet.
Gathering my hair in one hand, he lifts it to sprinkle a few kisses across my shoulders and down the middle of my back until he reaches the band of my mini, which is quickly unzipped and disposed of in the same way as my top.
I stand in front of the mirror in only a black lace G-string and ankle boots. I expect the boots to be next to go, but I’m wrong when he rises to his full height behind me to catch and hold my gaze in the reflection.
A sexy smile paints his handsome face, the sight of it turning the blood flowing through my veins into molten lava.
I’m soaked, my G-string damp and clinging to me uncomfortably. I want him to take it off, and it’s exactly what he does when he slides his hands up the sides of my thighs and twists the thin black lace strap on my hip until the delicate fabric is shredded and the remaining scraps fall from my body.
“You owe me new underwear.”
“I’ll buy you a dozen G-strings in the most expensive French lace if you’ll let me do that again.” His heated gaze traverses my naked body like a cartographer detailing a new map. Every dip and curve noted and memorized in a slow, methodical way, and it’s all-consuming. A shiver skitters up my spine.
“You’re so beautiful. I could look at you like this for hours.”
“Well, I was kind of hoping you were planning on doing more than just looking.”
His answering chuckle is low and sexy. “You’re right, I can look after.” Then, with a few taps on my butt, he says, “Hop on the bed. And leave the boots on.”
Excitement pools in my stomach as I crawl into the centre of the gold satin sheet and lie down on my back. It’s deliciously cool against my heated skin in a way my satin top hadn’t been.
From where he’s standing back at the console table, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Good girl.” The words pinken my cheeks. He strips with his back to me, and the view is almost as good as the front. I don’t think I ever noticed that before, but from his shoulders, down over his taut butt, to the dark hair dusting the backs of his thighs and calves, he’s a god.
And when he turns, I can’t unpin my gaze from his impressive, thick cock. My memories of our nights in Florence did him a disservice. He stops at the base of the bed, and a frown creases my brow as he’s hidden from the waist down.
“Spread your legs.”
I do.
“Wider.”
And again, I obey.
“Do you have any problems with being tied up?” he asks while holding out a black silk scarf.
This is different and not at all what I was expecting. I grin broadly. “Not that I’m aware of,” I reply.
“Perfect,” he mutters through a clenched jaw as he lifts my ankle and ties the strip of silk around it, then the other end to the corner post. In silence, he works his way to all four corners until I’m spread out, tethered to the bed.
