Page 84 of Lorenzo

Then his hand settles lightly around my throat, just above the new collar.

Suddenly, it’s as if I understand what all the works of art in the museum were trying to say last night.

I understand why the women tolerated what initially looked like discipline.

But which I now feel to be a strange, twisted, very bizarre tease of pleasure.

My pussy pulsates in anticipation of my approaching orgasm.

Lorenzo’s words, and his grip on me heighten my intense excitement.

“If you want satisfaction, you must obey orders.”

“Yes … master.”

With those words, we both explode in orgasm.

When we’re both spent, Lorenzo uses the eucalyptus-scented liquid soap and thick washcloth to clean away his seed. “Mine,” he says. “Mine.”

CHAPTER 35

EMILY

“Hey there, Emily,” says Mike, pushing through Salvatore’s kitchen door, cradling a paper coffee cup in both hands.

He’s been gone since nine a.m.

In the quiet of the morning, I had let my daydreams get the better of me as I filled out some paperwork from our new suppliers.

“What’s up with that little smile wiggling around your lips?” Mike asks, catching me unaware.

I tighten my lips immediately. “I wasn’t smiling …”

“Okay,” he says with a little “gotcha” grin as Gina’s dog Biscotti trots forward to greet him.

I watch them embrace for a moment.

Mike was right.

I was smiling as I thought about Lorenzo and the experience we shared at the Koko lunch club yesterday.

It was the most incredible experience of my life. I had always thought that when it came time for sex, I’d be the romantic, old-fashioned type.

That I’d want my husband to make love to me in the classical the missionary position, where we could look into each other’s eyes and kiss on the lips.

And of course, in the utmost privacy.

To my surprise, I loved the thrill of having sex in unexpected places. Like the museum, especially since all the well-to-do muckety-mucks were audible just outside the gallery.

“And of course, the powder room at Koko, with the most influential Manhattanites just beyond the door. The memory of Lorenzo’s mouth moving down my neck, the way he pulled me by my new collar—or necklace, as the rest of New York saw it—when he was entering me from the back, makes me melt even now.

To my surprise, all I can think of is wanting more. I don’t want it to end with the collar. I want more restraint. I loved the way Lorenzo made me feel helpless and powerful at the same time.”

“I don’t think Gina would like the way you’re spoiling her dog,” I say, my voice coming out a little hoarse.

“Gina wants him to be spoiled. And entertained,” Mike says, scratching Biscotti’s belly. “Otherwise she wouldn’t ask you to bring him here nearly each day like it’s a doggy day care center.”

“True enough,” I agree. Gina must figure that having Biscotti here is a way to maintain a connection to her beloved restaurant project.