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"Fuck." The word comes from both of us as we step out of the bathroom.
I'm wondering if it's something regarding our family business. Once the email from Dr. Bireli confirms that it's not, calmness wraps around me as softly as the towel I'm wearing. Two matching reports for Mr. and Mrs. De Luca with a clean bill of health. The sound of the shower running gives me enough time to read through them both before stepping into the bathroom with my thoughts on it all.
The hot water fogs the glass just in time to mask the tip of the jagged scars stretching across his back. Suddenly, I feel like I'm invading his privacy, seeing too much of a secret that he's not ready to tell me. I'm just about to step out of the bathroom when I hear his voice.
"Mio dolce."
"Yes, Alessandro."
"Nothing is between us."
"Your friend confirmed as much." Poking the bear can be fun, and I'm anxious for us to circle back to this punishment I'm receiving.
"I've warned you about that mouth. Do you want to finish this up here or downstairs?" The way his voice echoes around the room makes it feel like he's everywhere.
"Wherever you like is fine with me."
"Very well. I want you in one of my shirts again, button up, green, silver, or grey. You can choose. Keep your hair pinned up. Nothing underneath. Meet me downstairs. Stand in front of the cross. When I get down there, don't speak until you're spoken to. Don't touch me until I tell you. Is that understood, mio dolce?"
"Yes, my husband." There's something in me that won't stop provoking him.
"If we're going to play this game, say it in Italian."
"Si, mio marito." It's clear he has the same urges I do. The only difference is when he provokes me, we both know it's going to be him who ends up on top.
"Bene. You can begin, mio dolce."
The steam from the shower's hot, but the raging lust tearing through me is hotter. There's a sense of secret urgency ramming through me as I walk through a door to find myself in Alessandro's closet. Time is of the essence, forcing me to grab the first silver shirt among the dozens hanging inside a longer hallway of a closet. Notes of cinnamon and leather waft from his room and stoke my curiosity, but exploring will have to wait.
The noise of the shower covers my footsteps as I move back into the bedroom, where I'm happy to have stopped at my folks' place to grab some of my favorite products. The hundreds of thoughts and ideas circling my mind threaten to keep me indecisive, but I don't want to disappoint Alessandro.
The elevator ride into the basement keeps my heart racing. The door opens into the low-lit playroom. The deep bass accompanying an electric guitar riff playing from speakers I can't see sets a somber and dangerous mood. The music playing is just loud enough to let me hear the rapid beating of my pulse.
The giant X-shaped cross mounted to the wall, clad in crimson leather and adorned with black straps for the wrists and ankles, is intimidating but enthralling. It's smooth to the touch and smells like a new designer handbag.
There's a mirror behind the large mahogany leather armchairs across from me, allowing anyone strapped to the cross to watch, unless, of course, they're blindfolded. My nipples harden at the idea of Alessandro watching me in the restraints.
The mechanics of the elevator motor are like a jolt through my system. He's coming.
My reflection stares back at me, giving a glimpse of what Alessandro will see. The length of my neck leading down to the gap between my breasts, mapping a trail down to the triangle of pleasure between my thighs. Silver threads from a shirt he wears for work draw attention to my olive green eyes.
I have to press my fingertips against my cheeks to stop myself from overthinking, blushing red to ruin the aesthetic. The elevator arrives, and like a model off a runway, Alessandro emerges from behind the door. His hair is dry, out of his face without any product. He's not wearing a shirt, just a pair of black linen pants hanging perfectly off his waist. There's a scant line of black hair traveling up the center of his stomach, and my eyes struggle to avoid staring at the scar.
The bulge of his muscular arms lets my imagination force a lump in my throat to form. What if this hurts?
"Mio dolce, I need you to understand a few things." Control seizes every syllable with his eye locking onto mine. "Whatever happens between us has to be agreed upon, but the kinds of things that I'd like to do need some leeway. If you ever feel scared, nervous, unsure, or unsafe, you need to tell me to stop. Am I understood?"
"Si mio marito." Yes, my husband is all I can say. There's concern in his eyes, but I have questions.
"To be sure our words don't get lost in the moment, say fermare. No confusion about saying stop in Italian. Would you like to ask me anything before we proceed, mio dolce?"
Even though there are a dozen questions clattering around my mind, one comes out more prominently than the others. "What if I can't speak, or I can't move?"
His eyes glance behind me at the cross. "We can adjust as we go, but depending on the position we're in, three firm taps on my nearest body part if your arms and hands are free. Three hard snaps if your wrists are bound should do. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. Let's begin." The firmness of his tone settles over me, but the anticipation has every single nerve on edge. Alessandro circles around behind me, his warmth, scent, all encompassing presence, looming over me like a cloud. The strength of his hands gripping my shoulders, fingers curling around the fabric of the shirt to reveal a sliver of my nipples underneath, has me wet and ready for whatever comes next.
