“How I get so turned on by stuff I’ve never been into before. By stuff that doesn’t, I don’t know, fit my self-image.” I’m an independent woman. Financially secure, physically strong, and I hate being told what to do—by anyone. So how come this is working for me?
“I’m trying to figure out,” I continue, “why I’ve suddenly turned into some sort of BDSM sex freak. Why I like you tying me up and screwing me, when I’ve always preferred being the one on top.”
I don’t need to be able to hear his heartbeat to know he’s turned on as well. His pupils are huge, and I can see the outline of his heavy cock inside his pants. But he keeps his distance as I sit on the side of the big bed, watching me with that small, lopsided smile still playing on his lips.
“I think, Rosa, that it is possible to be more than one thing at once. A long life means many things, and change is one of them. I am not the same man I was a century ago. I’m not even the same man I was a week ago. And you like being tied up and screwed by me because it gives you freedom.”
“Being tied up gives me freedom?” It’s a contradiction, but maybe he’s onto something.
“Yes. You get to give over some of your control. To be made of nothing but need. You can enjoy the train ride, rather than driving the train. And you trust me—you know you’re safe with me. Nothing you can say or do is shameful, dirty, or weird. You’re not a freak. And to answer your earlier question, yes, there is a dungeon, though I haven’t used it for sex. I use my rooms at Vincenzo’s court for that.”
I ignore the flare of jealousy at the thought of him with other women and turn over what he’s said. I see the logic in it, and it has been nice to let go. To give up control. To let him take charge of me. He’s right; that doesn’t make me a freak. Maybe it just makes me lucky.
“So what do you use it for?” I ask, my mind still wandering down toward the dungeon. It’s not going to be a place where he keeps his cotton candy machine or pets his rescue puppies.
A flicker of doubt crosses his face, normally so self-assured, and I add, “Trust goes both ways, Luca. I know you think you’re a bad man. You think if I see that side of you, something will change. But I’m also not an idiot. I’m not naive—I know what you are. I just don’t care. Like you said, it’s possible to be more than one thing at once.”
He nods, his arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging. “I use it when I need answers from someone who isn’t going to make it out alive. If I need to take my time with them. On occasions when I don’t necessarily want Vincenzo to know what I’m doing.”
“Ah. So it’s your sneaky sidepiece of a torture chamber?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Matteo uses it as well.”
“Matteo?” I echo, recalling the brutal features of the vampire downstairs. He looked like a walking nightmare, but everything about him told me he was a gentle soul. Dogs are good judges of character.
“Yeah. He’s… hard to describe. But he came from a dark place. I found him chained up in a cellar, where he’d been raped and tortured for weeks. The vamp who had him forced him to turn, and when I pulled him down from his chains, he was ravenous and feral. It was a long road back for him, and I’m not sure he’s entirely made it. He also likes to take his time with certain people.”
“What kinds of people?”
“Bullies, abusers, child molesters, rapists. He has his own selection procedure.”
Huh. Well, I’m not going to shed any tears about the scum of the earth getting a taste of their own medicine. I kind of like the idea of a vigilante vampire, cleaning up the streets of New York one asshole at a time.
“Right. Well, good talk, but I’m tired,” I announce, stretching my arms. “And I really need to fuck before I sleep. Except this time, I want you on the bed while I’m in charge.”
He looks shocked, maybe even a shade worried, and shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Rosa. That’s not how this works.”
“Come on, we’re all about the change, right? How do you know if you haven’t tried it? You’re always talking about fucking me in the ass—what about if I did it to you?”
It’s not actually working for me, that image, much as I want it to. I’ve had men before who were into pegging, and I found it interesting but nothing more. It didn’t light any fires for me then, and it probably won’t now, but I’m feeling playful. I want to push him a little, see how far he gives.
Again, he keeps his distance, though I can practically see him twitching to get to me. To hold me down, shut me up… Fuck, right. Yeah. I feel a whole boatload of fire at that idea.
“You know I have been alive for over four hundred years, yes?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I like older men.”
“Good. So what makes you think that I haven’t experimented with every possible type of sex in those four hundred years? Every position, every kink, every combination of genders?”
My eyes go wide, and I feel foolish. Literally nothing about Luca screams vanilla, yet I hadn’t imagined those kinds of possibilities. I start to stutter a reply, my mind still swimming with images of him up to all kinds of marvelously deviant shit, as he walks toward the closet that’s built into one corner of the eaves.
He opens the door, stands before it looking for something, and says, “I’ve done everything it is possible to do with a body—my own and others. And that means I’ve learned what I like, and what I don’t. What I like when it comes to you, sweet Rosa, is taking away your power for a little while. Just long enough to make you scream, to make you come, to make you mine. I’d like to see you chained, and I’d like to use some toys on you. See you submit to me in every way possible. Gagged, blindfolded, helpless. Desperate for more. And I can smell how wet you are right now, cara mia, so don’t pretend that’s not something you want as well.”
Shit, he’s right. I am wet. I’m sitting here on the edge of his bed, clenching my thighs together, while my clit screams out that it very much wants all of those things.
He walks toward me, a predatory prowl, holding up a handful of neckties. I suppose even a Mafia vampire has to attend the odd formal event.
He throws them in my lap and starts to undress. And when I say undress, I mean strip so slowly and so sensually that my head provides its own background burlesque music. He peels back the sides of his shirt to reveal golden skin, rock-hard abs, the curved wings of his tattoo. He pops open the fly of his jeans and pulls them down. His cock is thick and erect, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and I lick my lips at the sight.
