Page 47 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“When I first saw you at the masquerade, it was like getting struck by lightning. I’d never seen your bare shoulders before, except in pictures. And I had certainly never seen your back.”

A different shiver ripples over my skin. “It’s not the kind of dress I’m usually encouraged to wear.”

“I can definitively say that one of the reasons why we’re standing in the places we are now is because you wore that dress.”

I reach out and grip the railing, curling my fingers around the marble to steady myself as my breathing quickens. “I felt…”

“What did you feel?” Dominic prompts, his voice even closer.

“Beautiful. Sexy.”

“You were sexy. Sitting next to you in the gondola was torture.”

“When I saw you standing in the middle of my room, I thought you looked like a phantom. Or a vampire.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Very. When I was showering, I touched myself wishing it was you.” Mortified, I look away. Did I just say that out loud? Did I seriously just tell him?

“You touched yourself?”

My embarrassment evaporates as he growls out the words.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

The words come out as an order. I want to say something witty, remind him of his refusal to take orders from me.

“I touched my breasts first.” My nipples harden into points as I remember standing beneath the steaming hot spray, my skin slick with water and my body already heated. “Imagined you stroking them, cupping them in your hands.” I breathe out. “I love your hands.”

“Do it now.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Sit down on the chaise lounge and touch yourself. Tell me what you’re doing.”

I swallow hard. “Only if you do.”

A beat of silence. Then a soft noise, the faint whisper of buttons being undone or the rasp of a zipper being pulled down.

“My hand is wrapped around my cock.”

Heat stabs straight down to my core. I slowly lower myself onto the chaise lounge and lean back. A gentle tug and my dress lowers enough to bare my breasts. Cool air kisses my skin as I repeat my actions of that night that feels like forever ago.

“I’m cupping my breasts.”

“I’m stroking myself. Long, slow strokes,” he adds wickedly.

My thighs clench together. I remember him waking me in the night, sliding into my body so slowly it nearly made me weep.

Emboldened, I reach down and grasp the fabric of my dress. A few tugs up leave my legs bare. My fingers drift down, graze the sensitive skin of my mound.

“I’m touching myself.”

He groans. “Are your panties still on?”

“I didn’t wear any.”