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Disguised, of course. Wasn’t that always the way? The villain rarely wore his true colors when he seduced his prey.

Sabrina rose slowly, gripping the polished brass railing of our balcony as if it were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

Poor little bird.

It was never going to save her.

I rose behind her, my hands bracketing hers on the rail, caging her in with ease.

On stage, the Duke sang with smooth, decadent arrogance: "Love is the sunshine of the soul; who does not know it has no heart…"

But I didn't want her to hear it from him. I wanted her to hear it from me.

My lips brushed her ear, my whisper dark silk against her skin: "È il sol dell'anima, la vita è amore; Chi non lo sa, non ha cuore."

Her breath caught.

I covered her hands, possessive, unyielding, just as Gilda, naive and aching for love, answered: "Yes, you are the light of my days; I would wish to live for love alone."

Pathetic. Beautiful. True.

I slid my palm from Sabrina's hand and trailed it down her hip, over the fine silk of her red dress, already knowing she wasn't wearing panties.

My fingers found the bare curve of her ass.

Even over the opera singers, her sharp inhale was audible.

She placed her small hand over mine.

Half protest.

Half surrender.

I didn't care.

The Duke crooned: "One day, if I remember well, Oh beautiful one, I met you…"

And I rasped into Sabrina's ear, twisting the lie, "Un dì, se ben rammentomi, O bella, t'incontrai…"

My fingers had already left her ass, gliding over the soft curve of her thigh, slipping between her legs.

Already wet.

Already mine.

Her hand reached back to grip my thigh as she opened her legs slightly wider.

Not enough to wantonly open for me, but just enough to show her coming submission.

"Sebastian, we can't…" she whispered, trembling.

"Hush, little one. Watch as I pleasure you. The houselights are down. None of the performers can see us."

I stroked her slick folds and circled her clit and drew the sweetest, most broken little gasp from her lips.

God, she was responsive.

I pressed my other hand against the side of her hip, guiding her back, right into the ache of my cock, straining against the fine cut of my slacks.