Page 71 of Lorenzo

“You’re not to question me, Emily,” he says in that commanding voice of his. “You’re only to obey. Take off that jacket.”

I do as he says.

“Now your bodice.”

I had worn a corset-like bodice under my business jacket. Maybe subconsciously hoping something like this would happen.

His eyes linger on me.

“The bra, too.”

My breath catches. I reach back and unclasp it, letting it fall forward off my shoulders.

The yeast-scented kitchen is cool against my bare skin. The chill air turns my nipples erect.

He looks at me, his dark eyes making his desire clear.

“Now that skirt.”

I peel the skirt down slowly, letting it drop to the kitchen floor. Then I stand in my stockings and wispy silk panties, teetering on my too high, too expensive Louboutin shoes.

I’m about to ask what he wants me to do next, when Lorenzo raises a rough hand to stop me.

“You’re not to ask questions. Take off those panties.”

I never considered myself a prude, but there seems something scandalous about wearing shoes and stockings but no panties.

As I peel them off and kick the silk undie away, I blush to think that Lorenzo can see my glistening pink sex. With all the blood pounding in my pussy, I imagine my lips must be puffy with want.

“Now, make some pizza. I like to see my woman cooking for me in nothing but stockings and heels.”

I wash my hands, then knead the dough. My weight going into the effort, my breasts bouncing as I move.

Knowing he’s watching my movements, my nude body, feels exciting and humiliating at the same time.

In a moment he comes behind me.

“Keep working,” he says, pressing his trouser-covered cock against my ass.

I remember that night we made love. The full length of him inside me. It hurt a little, but it also felt so natural. Like we were meant to be together.

Now he takes out his cock. I feel its moist tip, wet with pre-cum, against my tight entrance.

I flinch.

“Relax,” he says, his voice harsh, commanding.

I struggle to focus on the dough, my fingers numbly shaping it, slapping it down, then shaping it again.

The tip of his cock enters me very shallowly, barely a nudge.

“Lorenzo …” I say beneath my breath.

“You’re not allowed to talk,” he orders. He reaches for something in his pocket and whatever it is he rubs on his cock.

It’s some sort of lubricant.

It’s too soon. I’m not ready.